Debts of Desire

Verona City never slept.

It prowled.

The glass towers stood like sentinels of greed. Below, the streetlights cast their usual golden haze on smoke-slicked pavement, where the rich wore guilt like silk and the desperate swallowed it down with wine. And tonight, Selene Castille walked into the belly of that beast with nothing but a half-broken phone and the torn hem of her father's legacy dragging behind her.

The rain hit her like it had a grudge.

She stood at the gate of a building she should have owned.

Her name was still on the gold-plated plaque-Castille Holdings.

But inside, her stepsister Cassandra sat in her father's chair, signing away the last of the fortune. And Rafe, the man Selene once dreamed of marrying, leaned over Cassandra's shoulder now, kissing her neck as he stabbed Selene's inheritance in the back with a pen.

They'd taken everything. Her house. Her stocks. Her father's company.

And they'd smiled doing it.

Selene wanted to scream.

Instead, she pressed her thumb to the bruised skin at her throat where Rafe had once kissed her-right before telling her she was too soft to survive in this world.

Tonight, she had one final card. One name she never wanted to use.

Dante Moretti.

---

The bar he owned wasn't listed online.

It didn't need to be. The red door knew who was worthy.

Selene stepped inside, and silence fell like a guillotine. Cigarette smoke curled in the air like serpents. Men in dark suits stopped mid-drink. A woman with blood-red lipstick stared as if Selene were already dead.

And at the back, in a throne made of black leather and shadow-

He sat.

Dante Moretti.

He didn't look up right away. He didn't need to. He knew when a storm had walked into his den.

His shirt was black. His suit was darker. The tattoos crawling up his neck were like violent whispers. One hand cradled a glass of whiskey; the other played with the ring on his finger-a sharp silver band shaped like a serpent biting its tail.

When his eyes did meet hers, Selene forgot how to breathe.

Steel gray. No light in them. No warmth. Just power.

The kind that didn't flinch at blood.

"You're early," he said, his voice deep enough to drown in.

Selene blinked. "You were expecting me?"

He tilted his head. "Your father was a man of honor. When he died, he said his daughter might one day come crawling."

He smirked. "I didn't expect you to look so... delicate."

"I'm not here to crawl," Selene said quietly.

"You're here to beg."

Her throat tightened. "I'm here to collect a favor. One he told me you owed him."

He stood now. Slow. Like a panther deciding whether or not to strike.

"I owe Arthur Castille more than a favor," Dante said. "I owe him my life. The man dragged me off the street when I was seventeen. Gave me food. Shelter. Taught me to read stocks instead of stealing watches."

He stepped closer. Every inch of him was heat and danger.

"So yes, Selene. I owe him. But he's dead now. You are not him."

"I have nothing left," she whispered.

"Then you're exactly the kind of woman men like me buy, not protect."

---

Selene's cheeks flushed. Shame burned her like acid. But before she could retreat, Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a small steel coin. It bore the Castille family crest.

"I keep this on me always," he murmured, voice suddenly low. "Because once, when I was bleeding out on a cold marble floor, your father pressed it into my palm and said: 'One day, you'll be strong enough to return this to my daughter. On that day, she will need you more than she's ever needed anyone.'"

He closed the distance between them.

And placed the coin in her hand.

"Tonight, I become your shield. Your sword. Your sin."

Selene swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled as they clutched the coin.

"But," Dante added, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek, "you don't get that kind of loyalty for free."

"What do you want?"

His eyes burned into hers.

"You."