Collateral Kiss

The Rossi house always smelled of worry. Old bills hid inside drawers, and the sound of her father’s pacing filled the small rooms. Emilia Rossi had grown up knowing what it meant to struggle — but she never thought her father’s weakness would one day cost her freedom. It was raining that night. Thunder rolled over the sky, shaking the thin windows of their tiny home. The kitchen light flickered as her father sat at the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him. His eyes looked dull, like someone who had already lost everything. “Papa?” Emilia asked softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer. He stared at the table, hands shaking. The sight made her heart squeeze. She had seen him broken before, but not like this. Finally, he whispered, “I made a mistake I can’t fix.” Her breath caught. “What kind of mistake?” He rubbed his face with trembling fingers. “A loan. I thought I could pay it back. But— His voice broke off. Her chest tightened. “How muc

The silence of Dante’s mansion was louder than any noise Emilia had ever known. The soft hum of the rain outside, the faint tick of a distant clock, even the whisper of her own breath seemed to echo against the marble walls.Her room was too large, too grand, too strange. Silk sheets, velvet curtains, a balcony overlooking endless gardens—it was everything her family could never dream of. And yet, Emilia felt nothing but trapped. The room was not a gift. It was a cage.She sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her knees to her chest. Her mind replayed the ultimatum Dante had given her. The rules. The kiss. That final condition unsettled her more than the rest.Why a kiss?It wasn’t the demand of a cold-hearted mafia lord; it was something else. Intimate. Possessive. A claim. And though the thought of it made her skin burn with defiance, a traitorous shiver of curiosity lingered in her chest.A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She stiffened.The door opened without her answer. Dant

The Moretti mansion was a palace of shadows. By her second full day within its walls, Emilia had memorized the endless hallways, the sweeping staircases, the way every corner hummed with quiet menace. Guards lingered everywhere—silent men in black suits, armed but pretending otherwise. Their gazes never softened, not even when she passed.This wasn’t a home. It was an empire. And Dante Moretti was its king.She found him that evening in the great hall, standing before a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the gardens. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders broad, the city lights glowing faintly in the distance. He looked less like a man and more like a carved statue—immovable, untouchable.He didn’t turn when she entered. “Did you enjoy your walk through the gardens?” His voice carried easily across the space, low and commanding.Emilia stiffened. She hadn’t told him she’d gone there. “Were you watching me?”A faint smile curved his lips as he finally glanced at her. "I

The dining hall stretched before Emilia like something pulled from a painting. High ceilings arched above her, painted with fading frescoes of angels and demons locked in eternal battle. Golden chandeliers dripped light like molten honey, spilling across the polished marble floors and long table set for a feast.It was beautiful—too beautiful. The kind of beauty that hid knives under silk.Emilia lingered at the doorway, her fists clenched tight against the soft fabric of her black dress. Dante had insisted she wear it, sending it up with one of his maids earlier in the evening. It fit too well, hugging her waist, dipping too low at the neckline. She hated it. She hated how his control reached even into her clothes, dictating what she should show and what she should hide.At the far end of the table, Dante Moretti sat like a king in his castle. His charcoal-gray suit molded to him like it had been stitched onto his skin, his dark hair perfectly in place, his eyes gleaming with that qu

A knock sounded. Emilia sat upright instantly, her heart lurching, but it wasn’t Dante this time—it was a maid. She entered quietly, balancing a silver tray laden with breakfast: fresh fruit, warm croissants, eggs and smoked salmon, and a glass of orange juice so vibrant it looked unreal.“Signorina,” the maid said softly, placing the tray on the bedside table. “Mr. Moretti asked that you be given this.”Emilia’s brows knitted. “Asked? Or ordered?”The maid hesitated, eyes flickering nervously. That pause was answer enough.Emilia sighed and nodded toward the door. “Grazie. You may leave.”When the door clicked shut, she stared at the untouched food. Every luxury Dante gave her—silk sheets, designer clothes, meals fit for royalty—only reminded her of the truth: this wasn’t kindness. This was a cage. A cage gilded in silk and gold, but a cage nonetheless.Her appetite soured. She pushed the tray away. She wanted freedom, not feasts.Before she could rise, the lock clicked again. Her pu