CHAPTER 3-UNPAID DEBTS

The night had barely begun, but Lucian Moretti’s office was already steeped in silence. The lights from the city filtered through the tall windows, painting long shadows across the marble floor. His desk was covered with neatly arranged files, reports, and a single photograph that had not left his sight since

morning.

Aria Russo.

He sat with one leg crossed over the other, glass of whiskey untouched beside him. His fingers tapped once against the armrest before stilling. Every move he made was deliberate, every thought calculated. Yet the image of that girl from the café had remained in his mind longer than it should have.

Enzo entered without a word, a thick file in his hand. He placed it on the desk and waited. Lucian lifted his gaze slowly, his expression unreadable.

Report.

Enzo straightened. We traced the name to Oliver  Russo. Confirmed he was part of the Valencia transaction four years ago.

Lucian’s jaw tightened slightly. The Valencia deal had been one of his largest arms operations. Oliver had handled distribution for a smaller network and vanished with a portion of the payment. That betrayal had cost Lucian both money and men.

Go on, he said quietly.

Enzo opened the file. Oliver died two years ago in a car crash outside New Jersey. His wife passed from illness the same year. The girl, Aria, has been alone since. No known affiliations. Clean record.

Lucian leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. Clean.

Enzo nodded. Works part-time at a café called La Rosa. Pays rent on a small apartment uptown. Lives quietly. No criminal activity. No ties to any known groups.

Lucian’s gaze lingered on the photograph again. A quiet life. That was unusual in his world. People who owed debts never left behind peace. They left chaos, broken promises, and blood. Yet this girl seemed untouched by the storm her parents had caused.

Matteo stepped in next, casual as always but sharp beneath the surface. His grin faded when he saw Lucian’s face. The room felt heavier around him.

Found nothing on her, boss, Matteo said. She’s clean. Too clean, if you ask me.

Lucian turned slightly toward him. Meaning

No debt collectors. No records of suspicious income. No contacts to any known families. If she’s connected to her father’s mess, it’s buried deep.

Lucian said nothing for a long moment. The rain from the previous night had left the city wet and glimmering. His gaze stayed fixed on the skyline.

Her father stole from me, he said finally, voice low. That debt does not vanish because he’s dead.

Matteo nodded carefully. What do you want to do about the girl

Lucian looked back at the photo. The soft lines of her face contrasted sharply with everything he stood for. He should have felt nothing. She was a name, an obligation, a loose end to tie. But the longer he stared, the more something unrecognizable stirred beneath his calm.

Bring her in.

Enzo’s eyes flickered. Alive, I assume.

Lucian gave him a single glance. Do I ever repeat myself

No, boss.

Lucian set the glass of whiskey aside, untouched. I want to know who left that picture at the gate. I want to know why they want me to find her now.

We’ll handle it, Matteo said.

When they left, Lucian stood and walked to the window. The city pulsed beneath him, a living thing that obeyed his every command. For years, power had been the only language he spoke, and fear the only currency he trusted. He had built an empire on silence and precision.

Yet here he was, staring at a photograph of a stranger.

He told himself it was curiosity. A strategic interest. Nothing more. But deep down, he recognized the faint echo of something he had buried long ago. A pull he couldn’t explain, one that felt dangerous simply because it existed.

His phone vibrated. Vince’s name flashed on the screen.

Lucian answered, tone clipped.

Found something, boss, Vince said. The two men who attacked me yesterday weren’t street thugs. They were paid.

By who

Still tracing that. But there’s more. The girl who helped me, Aria Russo, didn’t hesitate. No fear, no questions. Just helped.

Lucian’s eyes hardened slightly. Describe her.

Soft voice, sharp mind. You can tell she’s used to surviving. But she didn’t recognize me or what I do.

Lucian ended the call without replying. He stared at the glass surface of his desk, where her name was written neatly on the corner of the report.

Aria Russo.

A civilian. Untouched by his world. But connected to it by blood and legacy.

He exhaled slowly, turning the photograph face down. Whatever had drawn her into his orbit was no coincidence. Debts always came due, no matter how many years passed.

And Lucian Moretti never left a debt unpaid.

The next morning, Lucian’s office was quiet again, but the energy had shifted. The memory of her face, the way she had moved to help his man, refused to leave him. He poured another glass of whiskey and set it back down, untouched, letting the amber liquid catch the light. He did not drink to calm nerves. He did not drink for pleasure. It was simply there, like everything else he controlled, ready to be used.

Enzo entered again, carrying a small tablet. Lucian gestured for him to place it on the desk.

We’ve started surveillance on the girl, Enzo said. Nothing invasive yet. Just background checks, social media, apartment location, daily routines.

Lucian leaned over the screen, scrutinizing every detail. The apartment was modest, rent paid on time, utilities in order. Every report painted the picture of an ordinary life. Yet his instincts told him there was more beneath the surface. People who lived ordinary lives rarely ended up in extraordinary situations without reason.

Matteo stepped in after Enzo left. Boss, he said, she’s careful. Nothing to indicate danger, no known enemies, no affiliations. She’s clean, pure almost. That’s unusual.

Lucian’s lips pressed together. Pure does not exist in my world. Everyone has a weakness, everyone has a secret. But Aria… she had none that showed. That made her both simple and complicated. A civilian, yes, but one tied to an unpaid debt. And debts, he reminded himself, always came due.

He sat back in his chair and studied the skyline. Manhattan’s chaos moved below him like a river, each light a life, each shadow a secret. And somewhere in that river of people, Aria Russo existed, unaware of the storm her name had already unleashed.

He called Vince. Find out who left the photo at the gate, he instructed. Whoever wants her found has a reason. I want it uncovered.

Vince’s reply was calm. Already tracing connections, boss. Shouldn’t take long.

Lucian hung up, letting his mind drift to her. Her hair, dark and unkempt in the photograph, her eyes holding something defiant yet cautious. He had seen many women in his life. Women who bent, broke, screamed, manipulated, or destroyed. But Aria Russo… she was different.

The word curiosity did not exist in his vocabulary. Yet that was the only way to describe the sensation tightening in his chest. He did not like it. Curiosity was dangerous. It led to mistakes. To attachments. To vulnerability. But he could not ignore it.

He instructed Enzo to prepare. Bring her in. Alive, of course. I want answers.

Enzo paused, knowing the girl had done nothing wrong. Boss, she hasn’t even been aware of anything. Do we really need to…

Lucian’s gaze fixed on him, sharp and unyielding. Do I need to repeat myself

No, boss, Enzo said quietly, nodding. She will be brought in

Lucian’s eyes returned to the city. He needed to see her life without touching it yet, understand her routines, how she moved, who she trusted. Matteo had already compiled everything they could find online. Social media posts, work hours, friends, small interactions captured in photographs on public pages.

He reviewed the details with meticulous care. Friends included Ava and Lorena. Sister Helena appeared occasionally in posts, a woman of calm and influence in Aria’s life. These connections told him little, but enough to map her immediate world. He could see patterns, routines, habits. Patterns could be exploited. Habits could be predicted.

Lucian did not feel impatience. He felt calculation. He was studying, assessing, weighing risk versus reward. Everything about her life screamed safety, ordinariness, ignorance of the underworld she was about to enter. That would change soon enough.

Vince returned with updates. The two men who attacked him had been traced to a small independent crew working for a shadowed figure. Not directly tied to Lucian’s empire, but loosely connected to his enemies. They were sloppy, careless, the kind that left breadcrumbs. The photo of Aria, however, was deliberate. Someone wanted her noticed.

Lucian’s hand tapped lightly on the desk. Someone had chosen poorly. He liked to control situations before chaos controlled them. Yet the choice to use her as bait, intentionally or not, intrigued him further.

Enzo entered with more files, quietly placing them in front of Lucian. Personal history, school records, small interactions in her neighborhood. Clean. Too clean.

Lucian studied them carefully. Clean meant no manipulation. Clean meant no preexisting ties to danger. Clean meant that if he intervened, the effect would be entirely his to control.

And that was what interested him most.

Lucian moved to the window and watched the street below. Somewhere in the crowd, she walked unaware, smiling at small things, living her quiet life. He could see her in his mind’s eye, helping a stranger, unaware of the larger game at play. That same instinct, that bravery, had already set her apart in his calculations.

He set the files aside. He needed more than just reports. He needed context, motion, reactions. He needed to understand how she thought, how she moved when under pressure.

Matteo stepped closer, voice careful. She doesn’t know about us yet. Should we wait, observe more, make sure the approach is safe

Lucian shook his head slowly. Observing is fine, but preparation means nothing if the target moves freely without constraints. She will be brought in.

Matteo exhaled softly. Understood, boss

Lucian returned to his desk and picked up the photograph again. Her eyes were striking. Not the typical defiant or fearful look of most women who crossed him. There was fire there. Calm fire, measured fire.

That fire would either make her useful or dangerous. And he intended to find out which before she could make any choice for herself.

For hours, he poured over every detail available. Where she went, whom she trusted, small habits. Patterns began to emerge. Even the smallest indicators mattered. He noted how she worked double shifts at the café, how she spent evenings alone studying, who she interacted with most frequently. Everything was logged, categorized, and filed mentally for his later use.

Lucian did not feel impatience. He did not feel excitement. He did not feel anything that could be called weakness. He felt calculation, and beneath it, curiosity. The smallest flicker, easily dismissed, yet impossible to ignore entirely.

The world moved beyond his office, lights blinking in the city, traffic moving endlessly, lives intersecting in chaos. Aria Russo moved within it, oblivious to the eyes tracing her path, the plans being laid, the storm that would reach her doorstep sooner than she could imagine.

Lucian Moretti poured himself another glass of whiskey and let the silence settle. Every calculation, every observation, every pattern pointed to one inescapable conclusion. She belonged to a debt her parents had left behind. That debt could not be ignored.

But something about her, something in that fire behind her eyes, demanded more than simple collection.

Lucian Moretti was the Devil of New York, the man who never left debts unpaid, the man who thrived on control, fear, and precision. Yet in the quiet of his office, with the city glowing below, he felt the first hint of a complication he could neither calculate nor control.

And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to consider it.

Aria Russo was no ordinary girl.

Enzo returned later that evening, stepping into the office without announcement. Lucian’s eyes tracked him immediately, sharp and unreadable. He placed a folder on the desk and waited.

She’s unaware, Enzo said. The girl from the café, Aria Russo, has no idea she’s being watched.

Lucian nodded slowly. That is how it should be. Knowledge makes people dangerous. Ignorance makes them pliable.

Matteo appeared moments later, leaning slightly against the doorframe. Boss, we have all the routines mapped. Her shifts, her small outings, times she leaves the apartment, the people she trusts most. No signs of threats, no complications. It’s clean, straightforward.

Lucian’s gaze fell on the photograph again. Straightforward rarely lasts. People like Aria, people who appear untouched by the darkness around them, often carried strength hidden beneath their ordinary facade. That strength was a variable. It was fascinating.

Bring her in, he said finally. Alive.

Enzo’s eyes flickered. Alive, yes, boss. How should we approach her

Lucian tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, a rhythm only he noticed. Carefully. Observe her reactions. Assess her intelligence, her courage, her ability to withstand pressure. Everything is information.

She will be brought in without harm, Enzo said, voice cautious

She will be brought in, Lucian repeated, letting the weight of the words settle. Every debt has a cost. Every action has consequence.

Vince entered silently, tablet in hand. Boss, tracing who left the photo has revealed a shadowed intermediary. Someone wanted her found, someone who knew she was the last connection to her father’s debt. They underestimated us.

Lucian stood and moved to the window, watching the city stretch endlessly below. Manhattan was his kingdom. He ruled through fear, strategy, and precise violence. Yet Aria Russo was now a factor in his calculations, a wildcard that demanded attention.

Curiosity, he reminded himself. Nothing more. Observation is necessary. Curiosity is acceptable. Attachment is forbidden.

He returned to his desk and reviewed the patterns of her life again. Double shifts, small social circles, careful routines. She had discipline, awareness, and independence. Traits that could either make her cooperative or complicated. Both scenarios were valuable. Both scenarios would be studied.

Matteo spoke again. She’s cautious, boss. Not naive, not weak. Whatever approach we take, it must be controlled. She will notice anything that seems off.

Lucian nodded. She must notice nothing.

He picked up the photograph one last time for the evening and let his eyes linger on her expression. Her calm, defiant, yet unassuming gaze seemed almost to mock him. It was impossible. It should not have mattered. She was a girl, a civilian, tied to a debt that belonged to her parents. And yet, he could not push the image from his mind.

A faint impulse stirred. A curiosity that threatened to complicate the predictable, calculated world he had built. He ignored it, labeling it as interest, nothing more. But deep down, he acknowledged that Aria Russo had become more than a name on a file. She was a variable. A puzzle. And for someone like him, every puzzle demanded solution.

Prepare her details for retrieval, he instructed Enzo. Precautions must be in place. No missteps. She will be brought in, quietly, efficiently, without alarm.

Vince spoke quietly, almost hesitant. Boss, she has no known enemies. No connections to the criminal world. Are you sure she’s the right target

Lucian turned toward him slowly, eyes dark and unwavering. She is the daughter of Marco Russo. That alone makes her the target. Everything else is secondary.

But the faint stir in his mind, the pull he refused to name, persisted. She had courage, intelligence, and an untouchable quality that made her stand out. That combination was rare. Dangerous. And yet, it intrigued him.

Everything about her life screamed ordinary. Yet she had already interacted with his world in a way that no ordinary civilian would dare. Helping one of his men, unafraid, unknowing, but courageous enough to intervene. That act alone marked her.

Lucian studied the files once more, memorizing schedules, noting routines, examining social contacts. Each detail fed into a growing map in his mind. He did not think about her feelings, her life, or her fears. He thought only of control, patterns, strategy, and the inevitable debt she carried.

Still, despite himself, he allowed a thought to linger. One that was sharp and unwelcome and completely unnecessary.

She may be more interesting than I expected.

He set the photograph aside and rose, moving to the balcony overlooking the city. Rain had started again, washing the streets in silver. Lights shimmered against the wet pavement, reflections of a city that never slept, never paused. Somewhere down there, Aria Russo continued her quiet, ordinary life, blissfully unaware of the Devil who now considered her part of his world.

Lucian closed his eyes briefly, breathing in the night air, letting the rhythm of the city calm the calculation spinning endlessly in his mind. He had made his decision. She would be brought in. The debt would be collected. And every move from this point forward would be measured, precise, controlled.

Yet, even as he reminded himself of rules, boundaries, and consequences, he could not deny the growing pull of curiosity. The pull that whispered that Aria Russo was no ordinary girl.

He had encountered women before. Many had tried to challenge him. Some had failed spectacularly. Some had been broken before they realized it. She, however, had been different in the smallest, unexplainable ways. She had fire. And fire, in his experience, was never easily contained.

Lucian Moretti had never allowed interest, curiosity, or emotion to interfere with his empire. Yet here, in the quiet of his office, overlooking a city that feared him, he acknowledged a fact that made him almost uncomfortable.

Aria Russo would be different.

And the Devil of New York had already begun to consider how he would meet her, how he would control her, and how he would use every advantage at his disposal to ensure the debt was paid.

But deep down, something else had started, a faint, imperceptible thread that he could neither name nor extinguish. Something dangerous, something he did not allow, but could not resist.

She would be brought in. She would be studied. She would be accounted for.

And the Devil of New York would discover, in his own way, that curiosity was the first step toward obsession.