CHAPTER FIVE: THE PRICE OF LOVE

Damian POV

As I hold the gun in deliberation, thinking desperately whether to end these hoodlums and face the consequences of my actions, or let them walk all over me in my house, my hands tremble.

“Don’t even think about it, Damian!” A hoarse familiar voice rings from behind me as I turn to stare.

“What the heeeeeelll?” I exclaim nervously, but I am indeed relieved. Help has come.

“Yeah, it’s me. The one and only Emperor Mark.”

Who knew that I would be so relieved to see Mark, the very same bully who dealt with me, almost killing me in the alley. This wasn’t just a coincidence. The universe brought him to me in this crucial hour.

“So you were the one who brought these bad men to come and order me around in my house?” I ask mockingly.

“Put the gun down, Damian,” he repeats as he lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. “Why so troubled, psycho? Your girlfriend left you? Or should I say, boyfriend? Whatever you guys call each other.”

I wasn’t surprised he would call me psycho. He had always used these not-so-encouraging adjectives to quantify my status.

“He didn’t leave. He was kidnapped. A number called me this morning and asked for five hundred thousand as ransom.” I suddenly turn to Mark with a pleading look. “Can you lend me some money?”

Mark bursts into laughter as he stares at me, then pauses. “Wait… you are being serious?” He bursts into another round of laughter.

“Forgive me, I’m just intrigued.” He finally sits still in an uncomfortable silence, then breaks it. “Narrate everything. Let me see if I can use my influence to get your girlfriend back to you. SHIM might just be scared breathless wherever SHIM is.” He speaks hoarsely, trying to crack a joke once more, as all his subordinates laugh in an awkward manner.

I patiently narrate the whole incident, and even go as far as giving a backstory of my time in Caldara and the lack of trust that lingered between Caleb and me.

“Wait, are you an idiot? Cause even a fool will clearly see that he is being manipulated.” He pauses, then puts his arm around me like a senior brother advising his kid. “You see, Damian, I don’t know how your love story should take shape, but one thing I know is… this guy is using you.”

“Hell, the kidnapping isn’t even real, because you, a poor pilgrim, shouldn’t be a target in this place.”

“Perhaps if you were from the royal clan or had a name here. But in your case, there is nothing of such. Just pretend nothing happened and leave this messed up room. In a week your girlfriend will be free…”

He continues to speak as he tries to convince me, but my mind is made up.

“I’ll take my chances,” I mutter in silence as I interrupt his heroic speech.

He sits down with a loud thud as he stares at me once more. His eyes tell a story, and I can definitely translate it.

He sees me like an idiot who chooses to be cheated even when the truth glares, sparkling before my eyes.

“Guys,” he points at the two gangsters comfortably seated on my couch.

“Guys, he has made up his mind to go after his lost lover. The only thing we can do now is to support him in his decision.”

He then turns to me. “I’ll tear down the underground and get your SHIM for you. I hope it’s worth it though.” He then storms out of my apartment with a dangerous resolve. His gangster friends follow closely behind like minions.

Immediately he leaves, my demons welcome me to their cold embrace, the unclean spirits in my head.

What was I going to do to make 500,000? As I think about it, my soul basks in uncertainty and confusion.

I hear voices in my head. They talk to me. I understand.

They talk to me. “If he doesn’t give you, go take it by force.”

I pick up the gun and march to the door with determination. No… this isn’t me. I need to do better.

Walking out of the room, sorrow embraces me like a mother to her suckling child.

Cold and loneliness envelop me as the quietness in the room scares me silly. It feels as if an eerie shadow demon hunts me for the grievous mistake of coming to this accursed city.

I remember those joyous nights. He would leave me dinner. The way he looked at me, his lips brushing against mine, his breath on my neck and my collarbone. I pace back and forth, soaked in fear, drenched in dried sweat. The message still lingers in my hands.

WE HAVE ALESSIA. DO NOT CALL THE POLICE. BRING THE MONEY, OR SHE DIES.

There is no signature or clue, just a location and an unrealistic deadline.

“How do I go about this?” I think to myself.

I press both palms to my face and let out a big sigh.

Caleb has been missing for only twelve hours before the message arrives.

Long enough to crack something inside me. Every second without her feels like I am going to lose her forever. I have to act on it before things get out of hand.

I stand amid the ruins of our shared life, trembling.

“Hold on, Caleb… I’m coming. I’ll get you out. I swear.”

Then I calculate the last remains of my savings I brought from Caldara, which amount to 238,000, not up to the 500,000 mark. If only Alessia were resourceful enough to keep that 72,000 she had stolen, I would be getting her out right now. But nothing else matters.

I grab my jacket and run out into the storm.

I begin to search for the ransom I will use to bring Alessia out of this crazy situation. I have close to 38,000 in my account. I empty my bank account first, every penny saved for the future. I then sell the small car I bought for work for 14,000, and then my tools.

Finally, I sell the last watch my father gave me, an antique from home, intended for the Caldara heir, that fetches a huge amount of money.

I sell it for just 20,000, trading it to a stranger for cash just to save the man I love. Still not enough.

I go from door to door, begging neighbours, old coworkers, men I barely speak to but have helped in the past. I beg out of pure desperation. Some give out of pity, some refuse. Every contribution matters.

I find myself knocking on the door of a retired mechanic I once assisted. He looks at my soaked clothes and pale face, then disappears inside before returning with an envelope.

“For your girl,” he mutters, “and for whatever hell you’re walking into.”

By nightfall I manage to gather together about 48,000. It’s still short. My lungs tighten with panic.

“What do I do from here?” I murmur to myself out of depression.

Then I finally turn to borrowing from strangers in the black-market lending district. This is obviously a big mistake.

These guys are gangsters, loan sharks. They are the type I watch on television, the ones who brutally desecrate and torment their debtors, who collect exorbitant interest and extort clients foolish enough to fall into their wicked hands.

How do I repay these men with scarred faces, blisters on their hands, and dead eyes? I know I have crossed a line I can never return from. Their interest rate is predatory. Their terms are brutal.

But I don’t care. I sign the papers without reading them, trading away my stability, my future, and every ounce of security I have left. Before the day goes dark, I have the full amount, all in cash. Everything I own is gone.

My pockets are empty except for the piece of paper showing the drop-off point for the ransom and the fear that I might already be too late.

The city bell rings as I run like a mad dog to get a taxi. The driver smiles slightly.

“Where to, mister?”

“Take me to the subway,” I retort hastily.

“Quite a fine briefcase you’ve got right there, mister.”

The driver speaks as he stares at the briefcase covetously. Something in me hesitates. I shouldn’t be in this vehicle. Not after the unhinged compliment from the driver.

But the more the bell rolls, the more desperate I become, so I hop right in.

This is my greatest mistake.