Chapter Two

The Arrangement

Lila

I had been sitting in this sterile hospital room for hours, my body numb against the hard plastic chair. The soft hiss of oxygen and the rhythmic beeping of the monitor were the only sounds keeping me tethered to the moment. I had learned to measure time by the machines, how long between the warning chimes, how often the nurse adjusted the IV.

And still, no miracle.

My mother lay motionless under the thin blanket, her skin pale, her lips cracked and colorless. Each shallow breath sounded like a battle she was losing. My throat burned as I watched her chest rise and fall, slower each time. I had promised her I would take care of everything. I had promised her I wouldn’t let her die alone and afraid.

But promises didn’t pay for chemo. Money did. Money I didn't have. 

The doctor’s words replayed in my mind like a cruel mantra.

Stage four. Immediate treatment. You need to prepare for the worst.

The worst.

I pressed my palm over my mouth, trying to muffle the sob that clawed up my throat. It felt obscene to cry when I needed to be strong, when I needed to figure out how to save her life. But in the hollow silence of that room, I felt like a child again powerless, small, and afraid.

My phone buzzed on the tray table, snapping me out of my thoughts. I didn’t need to check the screen to know who it was. The chill that prickled up my spine told me everything.

Luca Deluca.

I should have ignored it. God, I wanted to. But my fingers moved on their own, snatching it up before the call went to voicemail. My thumb hesitated over the green button.

One touch. One word.

And everything would change. My mother would be under treatment, and all I needed to do was just say yes. 

I swallowed the knot in my throat and pressed answer.

“Lila.”

His voice was smooth as polished marble, cold and steady. Even after all these years, it made something deep inside me recoil.

“I assume you have spoken to the doctors by now,” he continued, as if he were reciting the day’s weather. “I’m sure they explained how grave her condition is. She doesn’t have much time.”

I shut my eyes, my hand trembling so hard I almost dropped the phone.

“You can save her,” he said softly. Almost gently. “All you have to do is say yes to my offer Lila.”

His offer hovered in the air, deceptively simple, as if it wouldn’t shatter every last piece of me to accept.

I gripped the phone tighter, my voice raw when I finally spoke. “I don’t need anything from you. Leave me alone.”

There was a pause, one heartbeat, maybe two, before he answered. “Okay.”

The line clicked dead.

I let out a shaky breath, squeezing my eyes shut. My pulse throbbed in my ears, my body locked in a tight coil of grief and hatred.

He was a monster.

The memories rose up without warning. My father’s voice shouting into the phone, the way he looked that night before he left the house like he knew he wouldn’t come back. The phone call that shattered my life, telling me he’d been found on the roadside, shot in the chest.

The police said it was business. A bad debt, a worse deal. But I knew the truth.

It was him, Luca Deluca.

He had orchestrated it all, every threat, every humiliation that drove my father to desperation. And now he dared to stand between me and the only family I had left.

I was about to turn off the phone when it buzzed again. My hand flew to it, fury eclipsing fear.

I picked up without thinking.

“You” My voice cracked as the words tore out of me. “You killed him. You killed my father.”

There was no hesitation in his reply. “I did.”

Just like that. Cold. Certain.

My stomach lurched. I pressed my fist to my lips, the grief and rage so sharp it felt like my bones would splinter.

“But I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he went on, as if he hadn’t just confessed to destroying my life. “I’m asking you to think about your mother. You can hate me forever. It doesn’t matter. But she doesn’t have forever.”

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let him hear me cry.

“I’m offering you a way to save her,” he said. “Every treatment, every specialist. A private suite in the best hospital in Milan. She could start chemo tomorrow. She could live.”

“And what do you get?” I spat. “The satisfaction of watching me crawl to you?”

“A wife,” he said simply. “Nothing more.”

The quiet certainty in his voice was worse than any threat.

“I won’t do it,” I whispered. “I would rather watch you burn.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and almost pitying. “You think this is about revenge? You overestimate your importance. This is a transaction. I need a wife to salvage my reputation, and you need your mother to live. That’s all.”

“You are a monster,” I hissed, tears sliding down my cheeks. “You destroy everything you touch.”

“Your father destroyed himself,” he corrected, his tone like steel. “And you are about to do the same. Think carefully about what pride will cost you. You have already lost one parent, don't let pride cost you the other.”

I wanted to scream. To throw the phone against the wall. But instead, I stayed silent. Because under all my fury, his words were knives of truth.

If I said no, she would die.

He didn’t need to threaten me further. I already knew.

“I’ll give you a few hours to decide,” he said. “Don’t make me wait longer than that.”

The call ended just as abrupt as his previous one. 

I stared at my reflection in the dark screen. My eyes were red, my face hollow with exhaustion and grief.

What kind of daughter would I be if I let her die because I hated the man who held her future in his hands?

A sudden alarm began to blare inside the room. My heart lurched into my throat as nurses rushed past me.

“Ma’am, you need to step out,” one of them said, her voice urgent.

I stumbled back as they closed the door in my face.

I pressed my palm flat to the cold glass, my breath fogging the pane. Inside, I could see my mother’s face, twisted in pain even through the sedation.

I felt something break inside me.

The next thing I knew, I was back in the corridor, my hands shaking as I scrolled through my contacts.

I found his number. Pressed call.

The line picked up after the second ring.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered. My voice sounded small and dead in my own ears.

“Good girl,” he murmured. I could hear the satisfaction in every syllable. “I’ll send someone for you. Be ready.”

Before I could speak, the line disconnected.