Chapter 8 DEBT PAID IN FLESH

(Nevio's POV)

Silence.

That's all there was in this goddamn house lately. Not peace. Not quiet. Just this... eerie, choking silence. The kind that wraps around your throat and squeezes like it's got a grudge.

I sat in my study, staring blankly at the newspaper I wasn't reading. Pages open, eyes glazed over. My mind wasn't in the room. It was pacing the floorboards. Regretting. Wondering. Waiting.

She wasn't here anymore.

Ariana.

The only thing I ever got right in this rotten life and even that, I gave away like trash.

A knock broke through the quiet. Just one. Sharp. Cold. Like it knew it had power over me. I didn't need to look out the window to know who it was. He said he'd come tonight. Punctual. Mafia men always were.

Greta beat me to the door, peeking through the curtain with her snake eyes. "He's here," she whispered. She sounded... pleased. Disgustingly pleased.

I wanted to vomit.

I adjusted my shirt, wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. God, I hadn't even had a drink today, but I was shaking like I'd downed a whole bottle of whiskey.

The man at the door didn't look like a threat. That made him worse. He had that clean, polite kind of face. Not too young, not too old. Calm eyes. Still. Like nothing in this world surprised him anymore.

"Mr. Aldo," he said, voice steady, cold. "We need to talk."

I stepped aside. Greta didn't waste time playing hostess, fluttering around with wine glasses like we were throwing a party. She offered him a drink. He didn't take it.

"My name is Renzo," he said. "I represent an interested party."

"Interested in what?" I asked, pretending like I didn't know. Like I wasn't drowning in debt with my hands tied behind my back.

"You've owed for years. And now they want a return." His tone didn't change. Not a threat. Just the truth. "But I'm here with a better option. An offer."

He pulled a slim file from his coat and slid it across the table. I opened it with shaking fingers. It wasn't long. Maybe three pages. But I knew the weight of what it meant. My daughter. My blood. My Ariana.

All to pay off a mistake I couldn't fix.

"All debts cleared," Renzo said smoothly. "You walk free. No interest. No more knocking at your door. In return... your daughter marries the man I represent."

I stared at him. "Marry? Ariana? She's just-"

"She's of age," he said simply. "She'll be protected. Provided for. That's more than you've done for her lately, isn't it?"

I flinched.

He didn't say it cruelly. Just... matter-of-fact.

"And if I say no?"

His eyes locked on mine. Calm. Flat. "Then your debt comes due. You know how that ends."

Greta grabbed my thigh under the table. A warning. Or pressure. I couldn't even tell anymore.

"I don't even know who this man is," I said, voice low.

"You don't need to. You just need to sign."

That was it. That's all he said. No threats. No bribes. Just facts. Cold and neat and brutal.

When he left, Greta poured herself a drink and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke like she'd just won something.

"Well," she said, smiling like a cat. "That was easy."

I stood up, pacing. "This is madness. Ariana's my daughter"

"Your daughter?" she snapped. "That little brat who disrespects me in my own house? Who sneaks around with that broke supermarket boy?"

My heart thudded. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, come off it," she hissed. "She's been seeing him behind your back. Kissing him. Probably more. What kind of girl hides a man like that if she's not ashamed of him?"

I said nothing. Couldn't. My stomach twisted.

"You want to protect her now?" Greta said, voice rising. "You weren't worried about her when we couldn't afford dinner last week. Or when I had to pawn my necklace to pay off the gas. But now-suddenly-you're father of the year?"

I sat down, staring at the empty glass in front of me.

"She's all I have," I whispered.

"No," she said coldly. "She's all you had. And if you don't let her go, we're all dead. You think those men joke around, Nevio?"

I didn't respond.

Because I knew they didn't.

I told Ariana two days later.

She screamed. Begged. Clung to the doorframe like her life depended on it.

And maybe it did.

"You're giving me away like a stray dog!" she yelled, tears streaming down her face. "To who, Dad? Who is he?!"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I didn't even know.

When she looked at me, I saw something in her eyes I'd never seen before.

Hatred.

Real, burning, white-hot hatred.

She spat at my feet before they dragged her away.

I drank for a week straight after that. The house felt haunted. Her room was too quiet. Greta pretended she didn't notice. Acted like the money sitting in our account made up for everything.

But I noticed.

Every damn second.

And then one day, they came.

Two men in black. No words. No warnings.

They stormed into the house and dragged me and Greta out like we were trash. I didn't even fight. I knew it was coming. Greta screamed the whole way. I didn't make a sound.

The first lash broke something inside me.

The fifth made me bite my tongue till I bled.

By the time we hit forty, I couldn't feel my back. Just heat. Just blood.

Greta was somewhere nearby. I heard her sobbing through the walls every night. Funny. She used to be so strong. Now she cried like a little girl.

Me? I just lay there. Staring at the ceiling. Letting the silence scream again.

I stopped blaming Leone after the third day. Whoever he was... at least he cared enough to punish us for what we did to Ariana.

No. This wasn't his fault.

This was mine.

I sold my daughter.

I traded her for peace.

And now, every night, I see her face in my dreams. And every morning, I wake up in pain.

Maybe that's justice.

Maybe it's not enough.

But it's what I get.

And I take it.

Every damn day.