Chapter 2 Meeting Mr.Morreti

Alexander's POV

She stormed out on him, heels clicking furiously against the cracked pavement, her brown hair whipping behind her like a banner of defiance. Alexander's jaw tightened as he watched her shove into the nearest cab without looking back.

No woman has ever walked out on him. They leaned closer, desperate for scraps of his attention. But not Emily Santiago. She was stubborn, sharp-tongued, and reckless. The kind of woman who burned bridges rather than beg.

It should have annoyed him. Instead, it ignited something low in his chest.

Before he could follow the cab with his eyes, his phone buzzed. One glance at the screen made his stomach harden. *Hospital.*

He answered instantly. "Doctor."

"Señor," came the doctor's brisk voice. "It's about Amara. She's taken a turn. Her fever spiked, and her blood levels were critically low. She needs a transfusion immediately."

" Then do it, I don't care about the cost" Alexander said with rage.

"The problem is-her type is RH null. Very rare."

Alexander's pulse faltered, just for a second. He turned away from the street, back into the shadow of the prison gates. "How bad... is it?" Alexander said .. his voice shaking.

"If we don't find a match within forty-eight hours..." The doctor trailed off. "She won't survive and we might end up losing her"

Silence slammed into him. For all the power Alexander Moretti wielded, for all the men who jumped at his orders, there were still moments that reduced him to just a father. A helpless, desperate father. It made him think if this was his punishment for all the lives he has taken.

"I'll find a match," he said coldly, steel coating his voice even as dread sank into his bones. "Money is not a problem."

"Understood, Señor. But time is...."

The line went dead. Alexander stood motionless for a moment, the hum of the city swallowed by the storm building in his head.

He hadn't wanted to come to this godforsaken prison today-business with an informant-but fate had forced him. Now, as he pocketed his phone, something in the air felt twisted. Emily's face flickered in his mind-those eyes, lit with fury and pain. He pushed it aside. He didn't have the luxury to dwell on fiery girls who hated his existence. Not when his daughter's life was bleeding out.

He turned to Luca, who was waiting by the car. "Put the word out. I want every donor registry, every back-alley doctor, every underground channel scoured. I don't care if the blood comes from Madrid, Moscow, or the moon. Find a match." he said,every word ryming with the beat of his heart.

Luca nodded. "And the reward?"

Alexander's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Two million. Cash. Anyone who can save my daughter's life gets paid in full. No negotiations."

Luca's brow arched, but he didn't question it. He knew better.

As Alexander turned away from the prison gates, the echo of Emily's voice drifted back to him-her sharp words, her defiance. He didn't know her, not really. But something about her lingered.

He shook it off.

Amara first. Business later.

And somewhere between the two, fate was already weaving a noose around both their necks.

He knew they would see again.

EMILY'S POV

The cab rattled through Madrid's narrow streets,brushing across shuttered shops and sleeping balconies. Emily leaned her forehead against the glass, shutting her eyes against the ache in her chest. She told herself walking out on that arrogant self indulged man had been the right thing. No man - no arrogant, self-indulged bastard like him - was worth her pride.

She just wanted to get home. To breathe. To find some scrap of peace before anything else.

But peace was already slipping through her fingers.

The cab stopped in front of her building, and she paid the driver with the last crumpled bills in her wallet. Her shoes clicked against the pavement as she climbed the steps, exhaustion weighing her limbs.

Then she froze.

Her front door was wide open.

Her heart hammered as she pushed forward. Inside, two bulky men in cheap suits moved like vultures through her living room. One carried her and Michael's photograph, wrapped carelessly in a newspaper. Another was hauling a box of her sister Lilithe's prison letters - the only pieces of her left outside those cold bars.

"Hey!" Emily's voice cracked. She rushed inside, her pulse a blur in her ears. "What the hell are you doing in my house? Put that down!" she screamed out of frustration, her heart rate spiked.

Neither man stopped. The taller one shoved a paper toward her face without slowing. His tone was flat, bored, as if he'd done this a hundred times before.

"Debt collection. The owner failed to pay. We take collateral." he said without any care in the world.

Emily's fingers trembled as she grabbed the sheet. Her eyes skimmed the bold numbers at the top: $184,000. Her name filled the debtor's line.

Her stomach dropped. "This isn't right. This is a mistake. I didn't borrow anything."

The man shrugged. "A mister Michael did. He signed you as guarantor. Which means now it's your problem, señorita."

Her throat went dry. Micheal.

She fumbled for her phone, fingers numb, and called him. It rang once, twice, before his voice came, smooth as ever - and just a little too calm.

"Em? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Her voice broke, sharp with disbelief. "I walk into my home to find strangers stripping it bare...and they're waving a paper with *my name* on a loan for one hundred and eighty-four fucking thousand dollars! Micheal, tell me this is a mistake. Tell me you didn't do this."

A silence. Then a soft sigh. "Em, listen... I was going to handle it before you found out." He said calmly, like all this wasn't a big deal.

Her knees buckled against the wall. "Handle it? You put my name on a loan? My name?"

"I didn't have a choice," Micheal said quickly. "The debts were stacking up, and they needed security. You've always been better with money. I thought...I thought I'd pay it back before it touched you. Look, I will fix things... just let them take it, we will get them back, i promise.."

"I can't believe what I am hearing.. you must be out of your damn mind if you think I will let them take my things...what the hell did you do with the money? It's bad enough that you keep secrets from me, now you have to drag me into it" Emily's voice cracked, tears stinging her eyes. "You risked everything I have - our home, my sister's letters - for your gambling, your lies?"

"Please," he said, his voice slipping into pleading. "Just give me a little time. I swear I'll fix it. Don't give up on me now, Em. I'll get us out of this."

Her hand shook as she ended the call, staring blankly at the men carting away pieces of her life. The taller one smirked at her helplessness.

"You've got one week," he said, voice low and cold. "Pay up, or you're on the street. Everything goes. Understood?"

Emily didn't answer. She couldn't.

The men left with their boxes, and the house fell into suffocating silence. She sank onto the couch, her chest hollow, her world collapsing in pieces around her.

Micheal's betrayal wasn't a sharp knife. It was slow poison. And tonight, it was already eating her alive.

The door slammed shut behind the debt collectors, leaving only silence. A silence that gnawed at the edges of her sanity. She cried her heart out in her home,looking down at the repossession letter in her hands.

Emily stood in the middle of her living room, staring at the hollow spaces where her life used to be. The bookshelf was half stripped, her sister's letters gone, her memories vanished. Even the chipped coffee table she'd grown up with had been dragged away.

The house felt like a carcass, picked clean by vultures.

She lowered herself onto the couch, one of the few things left and buried her face in her hands. Rage pressed against her ribs, but so did grief, exhaustion, betrayal. Micheal's voice still echoed in her ears: I'll fix it. Don't give up on me now, Em.

Her heart wanted to scream at him, to demand why four years of loyalty had turned into this knife in her back. But her mind knew the truth already: Micheal wasn't going to fix anything. He never had. He never would. He was just filled with empty promises... still she had no clue why she was still with him.

The ticking clock on the wall was the only sound. Tick. Tick. Tick. Each second stretched into an eternity.

Thirty minutes passed before her phone buzzed against the armrest. She flinched at the sound, half hoping it was Micheal, half dreading that it might be. But the screen showed the hospital's number.

She hesitated, wiping her face quickly before answering. "Hello?"

"Emily?" It was Carmen, the night supervisor. Her tone was rushed, frazzled. "We're short-staffed again. A patient in emergency just coded and we need extra hands to sanitize, prep, and turn over the rooms. Can you come in? Now?"

Emily's throat tightened. Every part of her wanted to say no, to scream that she had nothing left to give. But rent was looming, her sister's legal fees were unfinished, and now there was a debt notice hanging over her head like a guillotine.

"Yes," she whispered, because there was no other answer. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Thank you, cariño. I'll mark you down."

The line went dead.

Emily looked around her half-empty home one last time,shoved the repossession notice into her bag, and stepped back into what she would call hopelessness.

Peace would have to wait. Survival didn't.

_

The bus jolted over a pothole, and Emily gripped the rail, staring blankly at the blur of Madrid nightlife outside. Laughter drifted from tapas bars, music spilled from neon-lit clubs, and couples strolled hand in hand across the cobblestones.

Her world had stopped hours ago, but the city never did.

She was still replaying the debt collectors' voices when the conversation from two men sitting across the aisle drifted to her ears.

"...two million dollars, just like that," one said in awe. "Moretti's desperate. They say his daughter's on her deathbed. She needs some rare blood type-RH null, I think."

The other whistled. "Two million for blood? Madre mía. I'd cut my own arm open if it matched."

Emily's chest tightened. Two million. Enough to wipe Micheal's debt clean, pay Lilithe's lawyer, and still have something left to breathe with. But Alexander Moretti? The name alone was poison.

She pressed her lips together and stared out the window.

By the time she reached the hospital, she thought she'd buried the idea. But Carmen, her supervisor, caught her by the locker room before she could even change into scrubs.

"Emily," Carmen said breathlessly, her hair frizzing from the long shift. "Have you heard?"

Emily forced a tired smile. "About what?" Emily asked as she sorted out her clothes from her locker.

"The donor offer that was set up by MR. MORETTI. Two million dollars if anyone matches the girl's blood type. I already tested, but I'm negative." She squeezed Emily's arm. "You should try. You're already here, cariño. What's the worst that could happen?"

Emily froze, the number ringing in her head. Two million.

Her throat tightened. "But I'm just a cleaner. They wouldn't-"

"Don't be ridiculous." Carmen pushed her gently toward the corridor. "Blood doesn't care if you mop floors or run companies. If you can save a life, you try."

After a couple of seconds, Emily gave in. " OK,but after my rounds" Emily said smiling softly. " that's great... I'll take you once you are done... just let me know when" Carmen said then quickly left the locker room.

---

The chemical smell of bleach clung to Emily's fingers as she wrung out the rag and wiped down the last of the bed rails. She was tired, worn thin, her mind still circling the disaster of her half-empty home, but work was work-at least here, she could bury herself in it.

Her supervisor had told her to test after her shift, but Emily wanted to finish her cleaning rounds first. It gave her something to focus on, something other than the hollow silence waiting for her back at home.

The final room on her list was Room 408. She pushed the cart forward, the mop wheels squeaking, and eased open the door.

Inside, the steady beeping of machines filled the silence. A little girl lay on the bed, her skin pale as porcelain, dark lashes fluttering against fragile cheeks. Her tiny frame seemed swallowed by the sheets. Emily's chest ached at the sight of her. She recognized her from whispers around the ward-Alexander's daughter. The one whose life hung by a thread.

Emily moved quietly, trying not to disturb the child, but as she bent to wipe the floor near the bed, she felt a gentle tug.

Her heart jumped.

The little girl's small hand had fisted in the hem of her shirt. Emily froze, then slowly turned her head. Amara's eyes had opened-wide, glassy, but aware.

"Mommy..." the girl whispered, voice weak and trembling.

Emily's throat tightened. "No, sweetheart, I'm not-"

But she couldn't finish. Amara's grip only tightened, as though letting go would cost her something she couldn't afford. Emily, moved by an instinct she didn't dare question, reached out with her free hand, hovering over the child's face. Her fingertips trembled as they neared her cheek-

The door burst open.

"Amara!"

Emily barely had time to look up before the slap came. A sharp sting exploded across her face, so hard she staggered back.

Sophia.

Every photo, every magazine cover Emily had ever seen of her-perfect hair, flawless beauty, the kind of face that could sell lies and dreams-now twisted with fury. She stood at the foot of the bed, trembling in outrage.

"How dare you," Sophia hissed. "How dare you put your filthy hands on my daughter!" Sophia fumed, staring at Emily as though she was an abomination.

Emily touched her burning cheek, stunned. "I wasn't-"

"You weren't what? Do you think being a cleaner makes you entitled to touch my daughter?" Sophia's voice rose, sharp and venomous. "Do you know who she is? Who I am? And you...standing here, disgusting, trying to pretend you belong in the same air as us." She spoke with hate and rage as though Emily wasn't human and didn't deserve to be one.

The door opened again, this time her supervisor and one of the doctors rushed in, alarmed by the commotion.

Sophia turned to them, her fury switching targets. "Who gave this thing permission to come into my daughters room... and more importantly the audacity to touch her?" Sophia asked. Waiting patiently like a python ready to strike at the responder.

"I did mam'm ... .but I can assure you that this is all..." Carmen said, her voice shaky. Why wouldn't it be? Everyone knew that messing with Sophia or Amara was like slapping Alexander Moretti and no one was willing to lose their life for that.

"I want her fired. Right now." Sophia said. Looking Carmen dead in the eyes with no sympathy whatsoever. "I want her out of this hospital right now and see to it that no one offers her a job in this city.... Otherwise I will see to it that whosoever it is that goes against my word exits this world without a proper goodbye...do I make myself clear" she turned around. Signaling two hefty men ill black suits to come in.

"No!" I stood in front of Carmen like a child protecting her favourite toy. " How evil can you be?" i said.knowing very well that my sharp tongue might be the reason for my own demise. "what?" Sophia stood there, bewildered by the audacity I had.

"So you can talk? I thought you were dumb as well as useless "Sophia said like the witch she was. "You came in here throwing a tantrum; not even caring to know what really happened. Yes she is your daughter and no one is denying that fact. But Carmen didn't know I was coming in here to clean and I had no evil intentions towards your child. If you had calmed down like a responsible and sensible mother that you so claim to be rather than being melodramatic as though this was a scene from one of your sophopras... You would have seen that i was just helping and your daughter thought I was her mother"

Before Emily could make another statement. Sophia's hands went across Emily's face for the second time. "How dare you? How dare you refer to yourself as the mother of my child? How dare you ever think you could be me or live my life?" Sophia fumed with anger.

"That's enough!" a familiar voice from the hallway said just before entering the room. My heart did a summersault; seeing the same irritating self indulged man from outside the prison. ' What is he doing here?'

"Mr.Morreti, I am deeply sorry for this. I will handle it now" the head doctor said. Looking at him with utmost fear.

'Did I hear him right? Did he just refer to this crazy man as morreti... it was at this moment I knew my life had come to an end. The same family this city fears the most is the same family I just had to mess with today of all day. If I didn't know any better, I would think I had a bad luck charm on me.'

He stood right in front of me. Daring as I remember him to be. "We meet again sweet cheeks" he whispered and this time around he had that look that would make a woman's heart melt.

Oh lord save me.