THE DEBT OF DESIRE

The crisp night air hit Matteo DiCarlo’s face as he stepped out of his car, the tires of his black SUV screeching as it came to a halt on the gravel driveway. The mansion before him was an ostentatious display of wealth—an image that now seemed tainted by the stench of desperation.

He adjusted his tailored black suit, his piercing eyes scanning the surroundings as he walked toward the front door. A sense of impatience gnawed at him. He didn’t like waiting, and he certainly didn’t like dealing with people who couldn’t pay their debts.

Richard Thornton, the businessman whose debt he was here to collect, had failed to keep up with the payments. Now, it was time to make sure he understood the consequences of crossing the wrong people.

Matteo knocked once—hard—on the large wooden door.

A moment later, it opened. Thornton stood in front of him, his once-immaculate appearance now disheveled. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days, eyes bloodshot, his expensive suit rumpled. He was sweating, his hands trembling slightly as he greeted Matteo.

"Don Matteo," Thornton’s voice was strained, forced. "I... I wasn’t expecting you."

"You should have been," Matteo replied coolly, stepping inside without an invitation. "Where’s the money, Thornton?"

Thornton’s face went pale. "It’s... it’s complicated. You have to understand, I—"

"I don’t need your excuses," Matteo cut him off, his voice low and dangerous. "You owe me, and I expect you to pay."

"I will, I will. Just... please, don’t hurt me." Thornton’s voice wavered, his desperation clear. "I have something else I can offer. Something more valuable than money."

Matteo raised an eyebrow. "You think you can buy your way out with something else?"

Thornton’s gaze flickered nervously, then he seemed to steel himself. "My daughter... Isabella. I’ll offer her to you. As payment."

Matteo froze for a moment, his gaze narrowing. "Your daughter?"

"Yes. She’s... she’s beautiful. And I’ll give her to you in exchange for my debt being cleared."

Matteo’s lips curled into a cold, mocking smile. "You think I want a woman? A weak, pampered little girl to pay for your mistake?"

Thornton winced at the insult, but his desperation drove him to continue. "Please, Don Matteo, I know she’s not what you’re used to. But... she’ll do whatever you ask. I swear."

The mafia lord studied the man before him with growing disdain. Isabella Thornton. He’d heard her name in passing—whispers about the sheltered daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the city, known more for her beauty than her strength. Matteo had no interest in weak women. His world was one of power, of strength, of control.

He took a slow step forward, his imposing presence filling the room. "I don’t need her, Thornton. You’re wasting my time."

"Please," Thornton begged again, his voice cracking. "She’ll make it worth your while. I know I can’t repay you with money, but... this is all I have left."

Matteo’s eyes locked onto the other man’s. The offer was a desperate, pathetic attempt to escape the consequences. He was disgusted, but something gnawed at him—a curiosity about this daughter. He wasn’t a man to entertain weakness, but for some reason, he found himself intrigued.

"Fine," Matteo said, his voice flat. "I’ll see her. But don’t expect this to change anything. Your debt isn’t paid yet."

Thornton led Matteo through the grand hallway, the marble floors shining under the dim lighting. It was a palace of excess, and Matteo could feel the weight of the lies that permeated this place. The closer they got to the back of the house, the more the air seemed to thicken with tension. He had no idea what Thornton’s daughter would look like, but he already knew he had no time for her.

They stopped in front of a closed door. Thornton hesitated before knocking.

"Isabella," he called, his voice trembling.

The door opened slowly, revealing a woman standing in the doorway. Isabella Thornton.

She was stunning—no doubt about that. Her soft features, pale skin, and long dark hair gave her the appearance of an angel, almost too perfect to be real. But there was something about the way she stood there, a hint of vulnerability in her posture, that made Matteo’s mouth tighten.

She wasn’t weak—at least, not in the way he expected. There was a quiet strength in the way she held herself, a defiance hidden beneath the surface. Still, she was exactly what Matteo thought she’d be: sheltered, naive, and most likely terrified of him.

Isabella’s gaze flickered nervously from her father to Matteo, then back to the floor.

"D-Don Matteo..." she stammered, her voice soft as she spoke, barely audible. "I... I understand my father’s debt. If... if you’re here for me, I’ll... I’ll do what’s needed."

Matteo’s eyes narrowed. "You think you can just offer yourself up and everything will be fine?"

She met his gaze for a brief moment, her blue eyes wide and uncertain. "I... I don’t want to be a burden to my father. He’s done so much for me. If this is the only way to make it right, then I’ll do it."

Her words were innocent, naive even, but there was a strength in the way she spoke them. Still, Matteo was unmoved.

"You don’t know what you’re offering," he said coldly, his tone unyielding. "I don’t want a weak, spoiled woman who doesn’t know the first thing about real life. You think you can please me just because your father told you to? You think I need a pampered little girl?"

Isabella flinched slightly, but she didn’t back down. "I’m not... I’m not a little girl. I’m not weak. I’ll prove it."

Matteo regarded her silently, the tension between them thickening with every passing second. He could see the fire in her eyes now, a flicker of defiance he hadn’t expected. Maybe she wasn’t as weak as he thought.

"Prove it," Matteo said finally, his voice low, almost daring her.

Isabella took a step closer, her delicate hands trembling but resolute. "I’m not afraid of you."

Matteo’s gaze hardened. "You should be."

But as she stood there, unwavering, something inside him shifted. His usual cold control slipped just a little, and he found himself staring at the soft curve of her neck, the way her skin seemed to glow under the light. Her vulnerability wasn’t a weakness—it was a challenge.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, fingers grazing her skin just above her collarbone. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it made his pulse quicken.

Isabella gasped softly, her breath catching in her throat at the contact. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away.

Matteo’s heart slammed against his chest, and he quickly withdrew his hand, taking a step back. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to get to him.

"I’m not here for games, Isabella," he said, his voice rougher than usual.

She swallowed, her chest rising and falling with each breath. "I’m not either. I’ll do what you ask... whatever it takes."

There was something in her voice, something deeper than obedience. It was... yearning. Matteo felt a strange pull in his gut, but he quickly buried it beneath layers of indifference.

"You’ll regret this," he warned her, his voice low.

But deep down, he wasn’t so sure anymore.