The Offer
1083 Words
Camilla slammed the door behind her, the echo cracking through the hallway like thunder. Her hands were shaking, her breath short. Every inch of her screamed to fight, to scream, to tear something apart. But she forced herself to stay quiet. Rage would get her nowhere—not in Riccardo Falcone’s world.
She needed a plan.
Storming down the hallway, she passed staff who bowed their heads or averted their eyes, as though her presence was an unspoken stain on the perfection of this mansion. She was a guest here, yes—but a guest in a gilded cage.
Back in her room, she paced like a trapped animal. Riccardo wanted her to break. That was the game, wasn’t it? Slowly wear her down until she accepted her fate. She refused to be another one of his possessions—another debt collected.
A knock on her door made her freeze.
“What now?” she muttered.
Luca stepped in without waiting for a response. He held something in his hand—an envelope, sealed in deep red wax with the Falcone crest stamped on the front.
“He wants you to read this,” Luca said, holding it out to her.
Camilla narrowed her eyes. “You his messenger now?”
“I’ve always been his messenger,” Luca said, unbothered. “And you should read it. He doesn’t hand-write anything unless it’s serious.”
Camilla snatched the envelope from him, watching as he turned and walked out, shutting the door gently behind him.
She stared at the wax for a moment before peeling it open.
Camilla,
You deserve answers, and I’m offering them. Tonight. No games, no threats. Just truth. Join me in the east garden at nine. Come alone.
—Riccardo
Her eyes scanned the note twice, a frown settling between her brows. No threats? That was a joke. Riccardo’s very existence was a threat. But curiosity burned in her gut. He wanted to talk, not demand. That was new.
She looked at the clock. 8:03 p.m.
Alone.
Right.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another move in his power play. Something had shifted between them, and it made her uneasy.
At precisely nine, she made her way down the winding halls, taking the longer route to the east garden to avoid being escorted. If this was a trap, she wasn’t going to walk into it blindly.
The east garden was bathed in moonlight. Sculpted hedges, marble statues, and fragrant roses surrounded a stone fountain at the center. And there he was.
Riccardo stood by the fountain, sleeves rolled up, blazer discarded. He looked almost… normal. Almost.
“I was beginning to think you’d stand me up,” he said without turning.
“Still considering it,” Camilla replied, folding her arms. “Talk. I want answers.”
He turned to face her, eyes dark, unreadable. “Then listen.”
She waited, not moving closer.
Riccardo exhaled slowly. “Your father came to me over a decade ago. He was bleeding money, running from men far more dangerous than me. The kind of men who don’t ask for payment—they take limbs. He begged me for help. Said he’d do anything to protect you and your sister.”
Camilla blinked. “My sister?”
“Yes,” Riccardo said. “You were eight. She was barely a toddler. Your father knew what those men would do if he didn’t pay. I cleared his debt. In return, he promised something I never expected to claim.”
“Me.”
He nodded. “It was never about ownership. It was about leverage. Insurance. But then you grew up… and you walked into my life again. And I realized you were the kind of storm I couldn’t afford to ignore.”
Camilla’s throat was dry. “You expect me to believe you did this out of… what? Admiration?”
“No. I did it because I’m a man who doesn’t let go of what he’s owed. But you—” he stepped closer, “—you’ve become more than just a debt.”
“Don’t romanticize this,” she snapped. “You bought me. That’s not affection. That’s power.”
His jaw clenched. “I know what it sounds like. I’m not asking for forgiveness.”
“Then what are you asking for?”
He stared at her in silence for a beat. Then:
“An agreement.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of agreement?”
Riccardo motioned toward the stone bench beside the fountain. “Sit with me.”
She hesitated, then walked over, choosing the far edge of the bench as he lowered himself onto the other side.
“I want you to be more than a bargaining chip,” he said. “I want you to work with me. As my equal. In name, in presence, in control.”
Camilla blinked. “You want me to what?”
“Marry me. Publicly. Not because of your father’s debt. Not as a hostage. But as a partner. You’ll have power, say, authority. A stake in everything I own.”
She stared at him, stunned. “You’re insane.”
“I’m offering you a seat at the table,” he said coolly. “You want power? Take it. With me, you’ll have more than anyone ever gave you.”
Her laugh was bitter. “What if I say no?”
“Then I keep you here until I’m done repaying the debt. I’d rather not. But I will.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” she muttered.
Riccardo leaned back. “I don’t pretend to be a saint. I’m offering survival. Power. And yes… maybe something more, if you want it.”
She stood. “I need time.”
“You have three days.”
Back in her room, Camilla paced. Again.
He wanted to marry her. Not just to bind her, but to pull her into his empire. On the surface, it was a power move. But beneath it… there was something else. Something she couldn’t name.
Her mind warred with itself.
Marry him, and she gained security, influence, maybe even the leverage to change the game entirely.
Refuse… and remain a prisoner until he decided otherwise.
It wasn’t love. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it was something. Dangerous. Complex.
And right now, in this brutal world she’d been dragged into—maybe it was her best shot.
- Writer
