The Debt I Never Asked For

The rain pounded against the windows of my tiny Brooklyn apartment, a constant echo that couldn’t drown out the knot in my stomach. In front of me, piled up on the kitchen table, was a mountain of unpaid bills—a cruel mockery of my efforts to keep afloat the accounting firm I had inherited from my father. It had been a year since he died, and I still felt his absence like an invisible weight. But that night, something darker was keeping me awake.

My father’s last accounts didn’t add up.

Not only were there discrepancies in the numbers, but suspicious transfers, hidden accounts, names that didn’t appear on any legal record. Going over them again and again did nothing to shake the chill from my spine. I could hardly believe it. He taught me everything I know about numbers. He had a nearly poetic way of seeing them. “Math doesn’t lie, sweetheart. If something doesn’t add up, it’s because there’s a hidden truth,” he used to say. I wondered if he had forgotten his own advice.

It was two in the morning when my front door burst open with a loud bang. I jumped, my heart in my throat. Before I could reach the phone, three men stormed into the room, their silhouettes stark against the flickering hallway light. The leader, a burly man with a scar running across his brow, pointed a gun at me.

“Are you Sofia Russo?” His voice was pure gravel, and he didn’t wait for an answer. “Your father owed us a lot of money. And now, that problem is yours.”

It was summer, and I’d been saving on the electric bill, so the air conditioner was off. Sweat clung to my light pajamas. Even so, I forced myself to stay calm. I had experience dealing with difficult clients—and collectors—but this was something else entirely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. “My father is dead. He died a year ago, and he never dealt with criminals.”

The man laughed dryly and let his eyes travel over my body.

“Your father was a lot of things, sweetheart. And none of them as clean as you think.”

Before I could respond, a fourth figure appeared in the doorway. Tall, dressed in a black suit that seemed to absorb light, his presence filled the room like the air itself bowed before him. He was a handsome man, and I recognized him instantly: Marco Vallardi. His name was a whispered fear on the streets of New York—the head of the Vallardi family, a man whose reputation was as lethal as his gaze. His eyes, sharp and steel gray, locked onto mine as if assessing me. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“That’s enough, Enzo,” Marco said, his voice low but commanding. The scarred man lowered the gun immediately, stepping back like an obedient dog. Marco took a step forward, the floor creaking beneath his polished shoes. “Miss Russo, I apologize for the dramatic entrance. But we have an urgent matter to discuss.”

I refused to show fear, even as it crawled through every fiber of my body. My legs were trembling, as if they no longer belonged to me. But I didn’t move. I had to look strong, even if I was falling apart inside.

“If this is about a debt, send me a bill. I don’t need thugs breaking down my door.”

A flicker of amusement passed over Marco’s face, though his lips barely moved.

“Miss, it’s not that simple. Your father diverted millions from my family. Money we need to recover. And you, with your… talent for numbers, are going to help us.”

“And if I refuse?” I lifted my chin, though my pulse was racing. I’d heard rumors about the Vallardis—about bodies turning up in the Hudson River.

Marco stepped closer, stopping just inches from me. He was taller than I expected, his scent a mix of leather and spice invading my space. There was something about him that repelled me… and something else that drew me in against all reason. Maybe it was his confidence, or the way he seemed to know me without ever having seen me before. As if he had already decided I would be his.

“You don’t want to know what happens if you refuse,” he murmured, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet. “But I’ll give you a reason to accept. Your brother, Nico. A brilliant kid, right? It’d be a shame if his dream of becoming a doctor were… interrupted.”

The name Nico hit me like a punch. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I pictured him studying into the early hours, his eyes red from hours of anatomy books. He always said he would save lives, that he would never let Mom die the way she did. I couldn’t let him down. I was all he had.

“Don’t you dare touch him,” I spat, my voice trembling with fury.

“I don’t want to,” Marco replied, his tone almost gentle, as if discussing the weather. “Work for me. Find the money. And Nico can keep dreaming of scalpels and white coats. Deal?”

I stared at him, trapped between rage and fear. There was no way out. Not that night. With clenched teeth, I nodded. I had no other choice. If the numbers that had kept me awake were my father’s debt to the Vallardis, we were talking about a massive sum. In the criminal world, people had died for less.

“Deal.”

Marco smiled, a dangerous curve twisting his full lips.

“Good. Tomorrow at nine, my driver will come for you. Don’t keep me waiting, Sofia.”

When he stepped back, I was still shaking—but not just from fear. I was trembling from the way his gaze, sharp and seductive, had traced every curve of my body, barely covered by my flimsy pajamas. I felt exposed—not just physically, but in something deeper. As if Marco had seen something inside me I didn’t even know was there.

When the men left, the apartment fell silent again, save for the rain. I sank into a chair, my mind spinning. My father, the man who taught me to love numbers, hadn’t lived the perfect past he showed me. I couldn’t believe it. I remembered how he used to say everything could balance—if you looked carefully enough. He taught me to love figures like poetry. And now it turned out he’d used his art to steal?

The apartment, once cozy, now felt too big, too hollow—like the ghosts of the past had entered with Marco. The shadows seemed darker, and the sound of the rain was no longer comforting, but a sinister metronome marking the start of something I wasn’t sure I could control.

One thing was certain: Marco Vallardi wasn’t someone you played with. And somehow, I knew that after that visit, my life had just changed forever. I didn’t know if I’d just been recruited… or condemned. But I did know this: I wasn’t just the accountant’s daughter anymore.

Now, I was part of his debt.

And in this world, debt is paid with more than just money.