The Debt he owed.

‎The room went silent. 

‎The bald man glanced at me for a long moment, dropping his cigarette on my floor before speaking again. "How much did Simon tell you?"

‎I frowned, lost. "...Tell me what?"

‎A rough laugh tumbled in his chest. "That bastard really kept you in the dark, didn't he?"

‎"I don't know who you people are," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "And I don't know what you're talking about."

‎The man didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. He glanced at it once before looking back at me, grinning. "So it really is you."

‎He tossed it onto the floor at my feet. I hesitated before bending down to pick it up. It was a photograph of me. Leaving Moretti Corporation. My heart lurched. "...Why do you have this?"

‎No one answered. My grip tightened around the photograph as I slowly looked up. "Who are you people?"

‎The bald man leaned back in the chair. "We're the people your father owes."

‎My stomach tightened. "What?"

‎Before he could continue, I pulled my phone from my pocket. "I'm calling the police."

‎I barely managed to unlock the screen before one of the men crossed the room in two quick strides. The phone was ripped from my hand. "Hey!" I lunged forward, but another man grabbed my arm and shoved me back.

‎The bald man didn't even look at me. He simply nodded toward the bedroom. "Bring him."

‎A moment later, two men emerged, dragging a battered man between them. The instant I saw his face, the blood drained from mine. "...Dad?"

‎My father stumbled forward as the two men threw him onto the floor. He hit the ground hard and immediately scrambled onto his knees. "Elias..." His voice shook. "Elias, please..."

‎I stared at him. His face was bruised. One eye had swollen almost shut, and dried blood stained the corner of his mouth. "...What happened to you?"

‎He crawled toward me before one of the men grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him away.

‎The bald man exhaled a stream of smoke. "Your father borrowed three million dollars."

‎I looked at him in disbelief. "...Three million?" My gaze snapped back to my father. "Dad... what is he talking about?"

‎He lowered his head. "I... I can explain."

‎"Then explain!"

‎His shoulders trembled. "I just needed a little more time."

‎"A little more time?" I repeated. "Three million dollars isn't 'a little more time!' What did you even do with that kind of money?"

‎He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

‎The bald man laughed. "He thought he could make it back." My father squeezed his eyes shut. "I was going to repay it..."

‎"You lost," the bald man cut in coldly. "Again."

‎Silence filled the apartment. I shook my head. "No... There has to be some mistake."

‎"There isn't." The bald man leaned forward. "The debt belongs to him." His finger pointed at my father. "But he can't pay." His gaze shifted to me. "So now we're having this conversation with you."

‎I swallowed hard. "I don't have three million dollars."

‎"We know."

‎"Then why are you here?"

‎The man's smile returned. "Because people who owe us don't get to disappear." He glanced at my father before looking back at me. "And neither do the people they leave behind."

‎My father suddenly crawled toward the bald man. "Please... just give me more time." He reached for the man's trouser leg, but one of the thugs yanked him back before he could touch it. "I'll pay you back," he pleaded. "I swear I will."

‎The bald man looked down at him with open disgust. "You've been saying that for months." He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray beside him and stood. "I'm done waiting."

‎My father turned to me, panic filling his face. "Elias... please. Help me."

‎I stared at him in disbelief. "...Help you?" "You have a good job now." His voice became more desperate. "You work for Moretti Corporation. You can borrow it... ask someone... do something."

‎I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "...Three million dollars?" He lowered his head. "I know it's a lot, but—" "But what?" I snapped. "Do you even hear yourself?"

‎Silence. "I don't have that kind of money."

‎The bald man gave a small nod. "I figured as much." He looked at the men behind me. "Take him."

‎Before I could react, two hands grabbed my arms. "What—" I struggled instinctively. "Let me go!" They tightened their grip. I twisted, trying to pull free, but it was useless.

‎My father remained on his knees, unable to do anything except watch. "P-Please... don't take him!"

‎The bald man ignored him. I kicked at the men holding me, but another stepped forward and drove a hard shove into my shoulder, forcing me back against the wall. My heart pounded. "...Let me go!"

‎The bald man raised a hand. One of the thugs stepped toward me, his fist slowly tightening.

‎Then— Crack. The sound echoed through the apartment. The thug's eyes widened. Without warning, he crumpled to the floor.

‎The room fell silent. Every head turned toward the doorway. A tall figure stood in the doorway. For a brief moment, the light from the hallway hid his face. Then he stepped inside.

‎My breath caught. No way.

‎Recognition flashed across the bald man's face. "...Xavier Moretti."

‎A small smile tugged at Xavier's lips. "So you know who I am."

‎The apartment fell silent. The men who had been holding me immediately let go, taking a cautious step back without being told. Even the bald man's confidence seemed to falter. I rubbed my sore wrists, my eyes darting between Xavier and the men surrounding him.

‎...Vice CEO Xavier Moretti? What was he doing here? How did he know this place?

‎The bald man forced out a stiff smile. "This doesn't concern you, Mr. Moretti."

‎Xavier glanced at the unconscious thug lying on the floor before looking back at him. "It concerns me now." His voice was calm, almost lazy. "I don't appreciate people causing trouble in a place under my watch."

‎The bald man's smile disappeared. "We're only here to collect what's owed."

‎"I'm sure you are." Xavier slipped one hand into his pocket and took another slow step into the apartment. His gaze swept over the room before settling on me for the briefest moment. Then he looked back at the bald man. "But you're finished here."

‎Neither man spoke. The silence stretched until the bald man finally clicked his tongue. "...Let's go."

‎His men didn't wait to be told twice. Two of them hauled the unconscious thug to his feet while the others hurried toward the door. The bald man was the last to leave. He paused beside the doorway and looked back at me. "This isn't over."

‎A second later, he disappeared into the hallway.

‎The apartment fell quiet once again. I let out a slow breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and looked at Xavier. "...How did you get here?"

‎Xavier didn't answer. Instead, his gaze wandered around the apartment, taking in the worn furniture, the peeling paint, and the cracked ceiling before settling on me again. "So this is where you live."

‎I frowned. "...You still haven't answered my question."

‎A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I heard Dante almost killed someone today."

‎I blinked. "...What?" His eyes lingered on my face, studying every flicker of confusion. "You really don't know."

‎Before I could ask what he meant, he turned toward the door. His hand settled on the doorknob before he glanced back over his shoulder. "We'll meet again, little secretary."

‎Then he walked out.

‎The second the door clicked shut, my knees almost gave out. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. My hands were shaking. What the hell was he talking about?

‎"Elias..." a weak, trembling voice called out. I snapped out of my daze and looked across the room. My father was still curled on the floor, clutching his bruised ribs and looking at me with desperate, pathetic eyes.

‎The man who owed three million dollars. The man who had just ruined my life.

‎I couldn't even bear to look at him. Without a word, I stood up, walked into my bedroom, and locked the door behind me, ignoring his faint cries. What the hell just happened?

‎******

‎The warehouse was silent except for the sound of heavy breathing. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly. It threw long shadows across the concrete floor, over the dark stains that were already there.

‎A man knelt in the center of the room with his hands tied behind his back. His face was a mess. One eye swollen shut, lip split, blood running down his chin and dripping onto the floor. Marco stood nearby with several armed men. Enzo stayed by the entrance, arms folded. No one spoke.

‎The heavy door opened. Dante walked in. The air seemed to change.

‎The kneeling man lifted his head, and when he saw Dante he started shaking. "P-Please..."

‎Dante stopped in front of him. He didn’t speak. He just looked down. For a long time.

‎Then his gaze moved to the table. Knives. Pliers. A metal bar. He picked up the pliers.

‎The man lost it. "No! Wait! I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything, just don’t—"

‎Dante crouched until they were eye level. His voice was quiet. "You had your chance to talk. In the bathroom. Before you put your hands on him."

‎The man started begging, words falling over each other. Dante didn’t blink. He grabbed the man’s hand and forced it flat against the concrete.

‎The first scream tore through the warehouse when the teeth of the pliers clamped down. It didn’t stop. The man thrashed, begging, sobbing. Marco watched without expression. Enzo didn’t move.

‎Dante worked in silence. Methodical. No wasted

‎motion.

‎When the screaming finally broke into choked, wet gasps, he dropped the pliers. They hit the floor with a dull clink. Blood was everywhere.

‎Dante stood, took the clean towel Marco offered, and wiped his hands slowly. Once. Twice. He tossed the towel onto the table and turned toward the door. "Keep him alive," he said over his shoulder. Voice flat. "I’ll need names."

‎"Yes, Boss."

‎The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, cutting off the sound of the man’s broken breathing.

‎