Chapter 2

Bianca stared at the gun.

It was black. Sleek. The kind of weapon she had only seen in movies, never in real life, and certainly never pointed at someone she loved. The man holding it had no expression on his face. His finger rested on the trigger with the casualness of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Her father was still crying. Quiet, broken sobs that made his whole body shake.

"Please." The word came out of Bianca's mouth before she could stop it. "Please do not do this."

The woman in red tilted her head slightly, studying Bianca like she was something interesting under a microscope. "Do not do what, exactly?"

"Whatever you are planning to do." Bianca's voice was steadier now, even though her hands were trembling. "Just put the gun away. We can talk about this. We can figure something out."

"Figure something out?" The woman laughed, and the sound was cold, empty of any real humor. "Your father has had nineteen years to figure something out. Nineteen years to make even one single payment. Do you know how many payments he has made in all that time?"

Bianca looked at her father, waiting for him to answer, to defend himself, to say something that would make this make sense. But he just stood there with his head down, tears dripping onto the floor.

"None," the woman said. "Not one payment. Not even an attempt to contact me and explain his situation. He took my money, buried his wife, and then pretended I did not exist."

"My mother died!" Bianca's voice rose, sharp and defensive. "She died and he was grieving. You cannot expect someone to think about debt payments when they just lost their wife."

"I expect people to honor their agreements." The woman's voice did not rise to match Bianca's. It stayed calm, controlled, which somehow made it worse. "I expect people to understand that when you borrow money, you pay it back. That is how the world works."

"But two point three million dollars? That is insane! No one can pay that back. You know that is impossible."

"The interest rate was clearly stated in the contract your father signed. He knew what he was agreeing to."

"He was desperate!" Bianca took a step forward, and immediately the man with the gun shifted his aim from her father to her. She froze. "He was trying to save his wife's life. People do not read fine print when someone they love is dying. They just sign whatever they have to sign."

The woman considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You are probably right about that. Desperate people make foolish choices. But that does not erase the debt."

Bianca felt something hot and furious rising in her chest. This woman, whoever she was, standing in their cafe on the anniversary of her mother's death, holding a contract over their heads like a noose. The unfairness of it made her want to scream.

But screaming would not help. She forced herself to think. To focus.

"What do you want?" Bianca asked. "Clearly you did not come here just to threaten us. You want something. So tell me what it is."

The woman's lips curved into that strange almost-smile again. "Smart girl. Yes, I want something. I want what I am owed."

"We do not have two point three million dollars."

"Obviously."

"So what, then? You are going to shoot my father because he cannot pay you? How does that help you get your money back?"

"It sends a message to other people who owe me money," the woman said simply. "It reminds them what happens when they try to avoid their debts."

The casual way she said it made Bianca's blood run cold. This woman was serious. She would actually do it. She would kill Bianca's father right here in this cafe, in front of her, and not lose a single night of sleep over it.

"There has to be another way." Bianca's mind raced, searching for any possible solution. "We can set up a payment plan. We can sell the cafe. We can do something."

"Sell the cafe?" The woman raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "The cafe that I already own? The cafe that your father used as collateral for his loan?"

Right. Of course. Bianca had forgotten that part for a moment in her panic.

"Then tell me what to do," Bianca said. "Tell me what you want from us. There has to be something."

The woman walked closer to her. Close enough that Bianca could smell her perfume, something expensive and floral that did not belong in this cheap cafe with its worn-out floors and coffee-stained tables.

"What is your name?" the woman asked.

Bianca blinked at the sudden change in topic. "What?"

"Your name. I assume you have one."

"Bianca," she said slowly, confused. "My name is Bianca."

"Bianca." The woman repeated it like she was tasting the word, testing how it felt in her mouth. "Pretty name. How old are you, Bianca?"

"Twenty-five. Why does that matter?"

"Just curious." The woman circled around her slowly, and Bianca felt like prey being evaluated by a predator. "You work here in the cafe with your father?"

"Yes."

"Every day?"

"Six days a week. We close on Sundays."

"And what do you do when you are not working here?"

Bianca's patience was running thin. "I do not understand what any of this has to do with the debt. Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Because I am trying to decide if you are worth keeping alive," the woman said, and her voice was still calm, still casual, like she was discussing the weather.

Bianca felt her stomach drop. "Excuse me?"

"Your father cannot pay his debt. That much is clear. So I have two options. Option one, I kill him now and take ownership of this cafe and your house, which I technically already own anyway. Option two, I find another way for him to pay me back. And you, Bianca, might be that other way."

Something in the way she said it made Bianca's skin crawl. "I do not understand what you mean."

"Do you not?" The woman stopped circling and stood directly in front of her again. "You seem like a smart girl. Surely you can figure it out."

Bianca's mind was spinning. What was this woman suggesting? That Bianca work for her? Pay off the debt herself somehow? But doing what? And for how long?

"I need you to be very clear about what you are proposing," Bianca said carefully.

The woman smiled, a real smile this time, and it was somehow more frightening than her cold almost-smiles had been. "All in good time. First, I want to see something."

"See what?"

"I want to see if you can control that sharp tongue of yours." The woman walked over to one of the chairs and sat down, crossing her legs elegantly. "I want to see if you can be obedient. Because if we are going to have any kind of arrangement, you need to learn when to speak and when to shut your mouth."

Anger flared hot in Bianca's chest again. "You want me to just stand here and let you insult me?"

"I want you to understand the reality of your situation." The woman's voice hardened slightly. "Your father owes me a debt he cannot pay. That means I own him. I own this cafe. I own your house. And if I decide I own you too, there is nothing either of you can do about it."

"You cannot own people," Bianca shot back. "This is not the eighteen hundreds. You cannot just claim ownership of human beings."

"Can I not?" The woman looked amused. "Tell me, Bianca, what do you think happens to people who cannot pay their debts to someone like me? Do you think they get to walk away? Do you think they get to say no?"

"Someone like you?" Bianca's voice was shaking now, but not from fear. From rage. "What does that mean? Who are you? You walk in here with your expensive suit and your guns and your threats, but you have not even told us your name."

The woman's smile widened. "You want to know my name?"

"Yes."

"My name is Anna Adams." She said it like it should mean something, like Bianca should recognize it. "And if you had any sense at all, you would be on your knees right now begging for mercy instead of standing there running your mouth."

Anna Adams. The name did not mean anything to Bianca. Should it?

"I do not care what your name is," Bianca said, even though her voice was not as strong as she wanted it to be. "I care about my father. I care about making sure you do not hurt him."

"Then stop talking and listen to me when I give you instructions."

"What instructions? You have not given me any instructions. You have just been standing here making vague threats and asking weird questions."

Anna stood up from the chair so fast that Bianca did not have time to react. One second she was sitting, the next she had crossed the distance between them and grabbed Bianca's shirt, twisting the fabric in her fist and pulling Bianca close enough that their faces were inches apart.

"Here is an instruction," Anna said, and her voice was low and dangerous now. "Invite your father to sit at the table with me. Right now. Or I swear I will rip your throat out with my bare hands."