Chapter 2 A deal

Zamian The scent of cigar smoke hung heavy in the private room of the abandoned cathedral-turned-hideout. Golden candlelight flickered across ancient stone walls and polished mahogany, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts of the past. Zamian stood with his back to the arched windows, the stained glass painting his tailored suit in hues of crimson and sapphire. His men stood in silence behind him, the tension palpable. Across from him, trembling but pretending otherwise, sat the man who had dared to cross him. Mr Coleman. Mid-forties. Widowed.

Recently gambling with money that didn't belong to him. Money that belonged to the Sicuro Famiglia-and by extension, to Zamian himself. Zamian's voice was like crushed velvet laced with venom. "Did you think you could steal from me and live?" "I-I didn't steal-" Mr. Coleman began, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I was going to repay-" "You're already late," Zamian cut in coldly. "You didn't come here to negotiate. You came to beg." Thomas swallowed hard. His hands shook as he reached into his coat pocket. One of Zamian's guards moved instinctively, but Thomas only pulled out a photograph-creased, smudged, but intact. "My daughter," he croaked. "Avery. She's... she's all I have left. Please, Zamian, you're a businessman. We can make a deal. Use her as leverage. She's innocent, but I-I'll do anything if it means she stays safe." Zamian took the photo without a word. His eyes narrowed. In the faded photo, the girl was sitting on the front porch of their modest home, school uniform wrinkled, earbuds in, head tilted as if listening to music. Her honey-brown skin glowed beneath the afternoon sun, her curly hair tied in a lazy bun. Something wild lingered in her posture-free, untamed. A jolt of recognition struck him like a knife to the gut. Her. Weeks ago. He'd been walking down the pier after a deal with the Albanian syndicate when she bumped into him. No apology. No fear. Just fire in her eyes. She'd looked up, called him an "arrogant b*st*rd," and stormed off. At the time, he let it slide. He hadn't known who she was. She didn't know who he was either. But fate... fate had a dark sense of humor. He stared at the photograph for a long moment before he finally spoke. "I've already seen her," he said slowly, eyes never leaving the image. "She was brave. Rude. Untouched by this world." His voice dropped to a whisper, like a vow. "That won't last." Thomas paled. "Please... don't hurt her. Just take what you want from me-" "You already gave me what I want." Zamian slid the photograph into his coat pocket and turned away. "She's mine now." Avery I sat curled on the cold velvet couch in that giant red-walled room, arms still tied, wrists burning. The door opened with a hiss, and I jerked my head toward it. He walked in again-the man from before. The one with eyes like winter and a face carved from authority. I expected to feel fear. I expected to cower. But I didn't. I stared right back. He watched me with a strange look, almost... fascinated. He set his drink on the table, sat across from me, legs spread slightly, hands resting on his thighs. Power radiated off of him in waves. "You don't recognize me, do you?" he asked after a moment. I blinked. My mouth was dry. "Should I?" He leaned in slowly. "Weeks ago. Down at the docks. You bumped into me. Called me an arrogant b*st*rd. Ring a bell?" I searched my memory-and then it hit me. That man in the designer suit. I'd been in a rush, earbuds blasting music, and I slammed into someone without caring. My breath caught. It was him. But this man... he was darker now. Meaner. More dangerous. "You were-" I faltered. "You're that guy from the pier?" He smirked. "I see your memory's coming back." "But... you're..." My voice faded. My skin crawled. "Mafia," he finished for me. I flinched. "You're catching on quickly," he murmured, rising from the chair and walking over to me. I swallowed hard, my spine stiffening as he towered over me. "Why me? What do you want?" He crouched beside me again, not touching, just watching. "Your father owed me something he couldn't pay. You're what he offered in exchange." My head reeled. "You're lying." "I don't lie, Avery. I don't need to." My stomach twisted violently. My father... gave me away? I wanted to scream, to fight, to claw my way out of this gilded cage. But part of me already knew-there was no escape. Zamian's fingers brushed a lock of hair from my cheek. "You didn't seem so delicate when you cursed me out at the docks. Where did that fire go?" I jerked my head away. "Why don't you untie me and find out?" He chuckled, low and dark. "There she is." He stood up and motioned for his men. "Take her to the rose room. Clean her up. I don't want her looking like she's been dragged through hell when I come to her next." I looked up sharply. "Come to me next?" His smile was all wolf. "You're not just payment, Avery. You're possession. And I don't leave my possessions untouched for long."