The dept
The sound of shattering wood echoed through the narrow hallway of the Perna home like a gunshot.
Alicia gasped, dropping her worn textbook onto the cheap rug. Before she could even stand from her desk, heavy footsteps thundered into the small living room. Cold, night air rushed into the warmth of the house, bringing with it the iron smell of rain—and absolute terror.
"Please! Per favore!" her father’s voice whimpered, high and broken.
Alicia rushed out of her bedroom, her heart hammering against her ribs, only to freeze at the edge of the doorway.
Three men in tailored dark suits filled their modest living room. Her mother was already on the floor, weeping quietly into her hands. Her father, Mr. Perna, was flat on his stomach, a heavy leather boot pinned directly onto the back of his neck, pressing his face into the carpet.
And standing in the center of it all, looking as calm as an executioner, was a man Alicia had only ever heard of in whispered rumors.
He was intimidatingly tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a fortress. Dark, wet strands of hair—damp from the midnight rain outside—fell messily over his sharp forehead and shadowed his face, giving him an unstudied, lethal aura. His crisp white dress shirt had the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing thick, corded muscles covered in dark tattoos—a shadow of ink that crept down his wrist and across the back of his right hand. He had a high, straight nose, a harsh, chiseled jawline, and eyes—an piercing, icy blue—that held no human warmth whatsoever.
Julian D’Cruz.
The undisputed head of the syndicate.
"Julian... please, give me time," her father sobbed, his voice muffled by the carpet. "The customs clearance... it was an accident. The police seized the shipment, I couldn't stop them—"
"You didn't just lose a shipment, Perna," Julian said. His voice was shockingly deep, a quiet, gravelly baritone that vibrated through the small room. He didn't raise his voice, which made it ten times more terrifying. "You gambled away the bribed clearance codes at the tables. You traded three million euros of my cargo for alcohol and cards."
Julian slowly reached into his inner jacket pocket. The soft clink of metal echoed like a death knell as he pulled out a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol.
Her mother let out a strangled shriek.
"Julian, no!" her father begged, his hands clawing uselessly at the rug. "I'll pay it back! Every cent!"
"With what?" Julian racked the slide of the gun with an effortless clack. He lowered the barrel, pointing it directly at the back of Mr. Perna’s head. "Your business is bankrupt. Your name is useless. In my world, broken trust carries a single interest rate."
Panic surged through Alicia, burning away her frozen shock. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees and crawled frantically across the floor, throwing herself near Julian’s polished leather shoes.
"Wait! Please, stop!" she cried, her hands trembling as she stopped just short of touching his trousers. She lifted her head, her amber eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. "Please don't kill him! Spare him!"
Julian’s gaze shifted downward.
For a fraction of a second, those intense blue eyes locked onto hers from beneath those dark, damp strands of hair. His expression didn't change, but his gaze swept over her—taking in her messy brown hair, her delicate, pale face, and the desperate, raw fear in her eyes. The silence in the room stretched until it felt physically heavy.
"Alicia, get back!" her father choked out, trying to lift his head under the enforcer's boot. "Don't look at him!"
Julian didn't look back down at her father. He kept his eyes fixed on Alicia, watching her chest heave as she begged for her family's life.
Slowly, Julian lowered the gun, resting the barrel against his thigh.
"You have a voice, little girl," Julian murmured, his tone smooth, dark, and lingering. He stepped closer, his shadow completely swallowing her small frame on the floor. "Seven days."
Alicia’s breath hitched. "W-what?"
"Seven days," Julian repeated, looking back down at the trembling man beneath his enforcer's boot. "Seven days to bring me three million euros, Perna. If the sun sets on the seventh day and my money is not in my hands, I will not just shoot you. I will burn this house to ashes with everyone inside it."
He turned on his heel, his dark coat sweeping around him. The two enforcers lifted their boots from Mr. Perna and followed their Don out into the rainy night, slamming the broken door behind them.
Alicia collapsed onto the floor beside her weeping parents, her hands shaking violently. Seven days. Three million euros.
It was an impossible sum for an ordinary family.
Holding her mother close, Alicia stared at the broken front door, her mind spiraling into dark territory. She knew of only one way to make that kind of money in seven days. She had heard rumors of an underground, high-end escort agency hidden in Naples—an exclusive house where wealthy men paid fortunes for a woman's time and body.
Her stomach turned at the thought, but looking at her broken father on the floor, her mind hardened. She was ready to do anything—sell her body, ruin her life, sacrifice the only thing she had left—just to save her father from a bullet.
