Chapter 2 - THE DEBT MARCO BOUGHT
Giovanni answered on the second ring.
Marco did not introduce Emily or explain why a soaked administrative assistant was standing barefoot in his penthouse wearing one of his shirts.
He simply said, “Buy Robert Foster’s paper from Andrangetta. All of it.”
Emily stared at him.
The city glittered beyond the windows, blurred by rain. Somewhere forty floors below, a clock was moving toward midnight and Lily was still on campus with no idea that men had put a price on her safety.
Giovanni’s voice was faint through the phone.
“How much?”
“One hundred fifty thousand principal. Whatever poison they added after.”
A pause.
Then, “Why?”
Marco’s eyes remained on Emily.
“Because I said so.”
He ended the call.
Emily’s hands tightened around the brandy glass.
“That easy?”
“No.”
Marco crossed to the bar and poured water instead of another drink. “Nothing involving the Andrangetta is easy. But debt is property. Property can be purchased.”
“You said they were going to take Lily anyway.”
“They were.”
“Then why would selling the debt stop them?”
“It won’t by itself.”
The answer landed like ice.
Marco handed her the water.
“Drink.”
She did, mostly because her mouth had gone dry.
“What else?”
“I make taking her more expensive than leaving her alone.”
Emily stared at him.
“You say things like a villain in a bad movie.”
“I’ve been called worse by better people.”
Before she could answer, the secure phone rang.
This time Marco put it on speaker.
Giovanni did not waste words.
“Andrangetta wants two hundred ten.”
“For a note worth one fifty?”
“Interest, acquisition premium, and insult tax.”
Marco’s expression barely changed.
“Two hundred.”
“They’ll say no.”
“Then tell Carlo Andrangetta I’ll buy the note for two hundred and forgive the Belluccis the port penalty he owes me next quarter.”
Silence.
Emily did not understand the economics, but she understood the tone.
Giovanni did too.
“That makes the package closer to two-fifty.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“Done.”
Marco hung up.
Emily nearly dropped the water.
“You just spent a quarter of a million dollars.”
“I purchased leverage.”
“On me.”
“On the problem.”
“That sounds worse.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then Silvio entered without knocking.
He was older than Marco by perhaps ten years, broad through the shoulders, with close-cropped silver at his temples and the weary expression of a man who had spent his career confirming that paranoia was frequently justified.
“We have eyes on the campus,” Silvio said.
Emily stood too fast.
“Lily?”
“Still inside the library. Two Andrangetta spotters outside. One on Waverly, one by the south gate.”
Her heart began pounding.
“Get her.”
Marco raised one hand.
“Not yet.”
Emily turned on him.
“What?”
“If my people rush the library before the paper changes hands, Andrangetta knows we intervened before the sale closes. They may decide the debt is more useful unsold.”
“My sister is not a closing condition.”
“No. She’s the reason I’m not making a mistake.”
The calmness in his voice made her want to strike him.
“Marco—”
His eyes sharpened at the use of his name.
“Three minutes,” he said. “If Giovanni doesn’t confirm transfer in three minutes, Silvio moves anyway.”
Emily looked at Silvio.
He nodded once.
She started pacing.
At 11:13 p.m., Giovanni called.
“Paper transferred. Electronic assignment executed. Original note held at Andrangetta counsel until morning. Carlo wants it understood this clears Foster obligations only. No broader peace.”
Marco replied, “Understood.”
He hung up and looked at Silvio.
“Bring Lily here.”
Emily exhaled so hard her knees weakened.
Silvio was already leaving.
Marco caught her elbow before she fell.
His hand was warm, steady, and gone the moment she found her balance.
“You’re all right.”
“No,” she said. “I’m really not.”
“That makes two of us.”
She looked up at him.
For the first time, she saw fatigue beneath the control.
Then his phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
Lily, stepping out of the campus library.
A black sedan idling at the curb.
Emily’s stomach dropped.
Marco’s entire body changed.
Not panic.
Precision.
He tapped one number.
“Silvio.”
“I see it,” came the immediate response.
The line stayed open.
Emily heard doors slam, tires, a man shouting. Marco moved toward the windows as though looking down forty stories could somehow show him Greenwich Village.
“South team?”
“Moving.”
“Do not fire unless they do.”
The words chilled Emily more than an order to shoot might have.
There was a stretch of noise, then Lily’s distant voice.
“Who are you?”
Emily gripped Marco’s sleeve.
Silvio came back on.
“We have her. Andrangetta car backed off. No shots.”
Emily closed her eyes.
Her forehead dropped briefly against Marco’s shoulder before she realized what she had done.
She pulled away.
“Sorry.”
He did not comment.
Twenty-two minutes later the private elevator opened and Lily Foster stepped into the penthouse wearing jeans, a green university sweatshirt, and the outraged expression of a nineteen-year-old who had been put into a stranger’s armored SUV against her will.
“Emily?”
She stopped.
Her gaze took in Marco.
Then Emily’s borrowed clothes.
Then the security men.
“What the hell is going on?”
Emily crossed the room and wrapped both arms around her.
Lily stiffened in shock before hugging back.
“Em, you’re scaring me.”
“I know.”
“Who are these people?”
Marco answered from behind them.
“People who kept you from getting into the wrong car tonight.”
Lily pulled back.
“What wrong car?”
Emily saw the exact moment she realized nobody in the room was joking.
She had spent four years trying to keep their father’s financial disasters from becoming Lily’s inheritance. Robert Foster had loved both daughters in the careless, unreliable way some men loved—sincerely and insufficiently. He had hidden debts behind jokes, late notices behind magazines, and losses behind promises that next month would be different.
Emily had become the adult in the house before she was old enough to rent a car.
Lily had been allowed to remain younger.
Until now.
They sat at Marco’s dining table.
Emily told her almost everything.
Their father’s debt.
The photograph.
The threat.
The desperate job she had taken.
She omitted the lingerie performance until Lily’s eyes moved meaningfully toward the oversized silk shirt.
“Do I want to know why you’re dressed like that?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
That was mercy.
When Emily finished, Lily was white with anger.
“Dad did this?”
“He created the debt.”
“He’s dead.”
“I know.”
“So these people think they can collect from us?”
“They did.”
Lily looked at Marco.
“And you bought it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marco leaned back slightly.
“Because your sister agreed to help me with a business problem.”
Emily hated how transactional it sounded because that was exactly what it was.
Lily looked between them.
“What kind of business problem?”
Marco said, “I need a fiancée.”
Silence.
Lily blinked.
Then she laughed once because the alternative was probably screaming.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
Emily said, “Six months.”
Lily stared at her.
“You sold yourself into an engagement to pay Dad’s gambling debt?”
“No.” Emily’s voice sharpened. “I agreed to a public arrangement to keep you alive.”
“That is not better.”
“No. It’s just more accurate.”
Marco watched the exchange without interrupting.
Lily looked at him again.
“Do you hurt her, I call the police.”
Silvio made a small choking sound near the kitchen.
Marco did not smile.
“Fair.”
Lily frowned, apparently unsettled by not being dismissed.
Then Marco added, “But you should know the police already know who I am.”
“That was implied.”
Emily almost laughed.
For one strange second, fear loosened.
Then Marco’s tablet chimed.
A document had arrived.
Giovanni entered through the private elevator carrying a slim leather folder. He was younger than Emily expected, maybe thirty-five, with neat dark hair and the impersonal face of a very expensive attorney.
“Original assignment copy,” he said. “And something else.”
He placed the folder in front of Marco.
The first document showed Robert Foster’s debt transferred to a Ravalini holding company.
The second made Giovanni’s expression colder.
“What is it?” Marco asked.
“Velvet Touch’s booking log.”
Emily’s stomach tightened.
Giovanni turned the page.
“Your agency received a last-minute location change for the bachelor party at 8:42 tonight. Mr. Smith’s actual booking was Penthouse Four.”
Emily looked at Marco.
“I knew that.”
Giovanni continued.
“At 9:06, someone edited the access notes in the agency system.”
Marco’s eyes narrowed.
“To what?”
Giovanni slid the paper across.
PH1. WALK IN. SURPRISE PACKAGE. NO KNOCK.
Emily felt every hair on her arms rise.
“That wasn’t on my phone,” she whispered.
“No,” Giovanni said. “The agency sent you PH1 deliberately.”
Marco looked toward the windows, then at Silvio.
“Who made the edit?”
Giovanni’s next words changed the room.
“The login belonged to Dario Ravalini.”
Emily did not know the name.
Lily did not either.
Silvio did.
His face went hard.
Marco looked at the entry for a long time.
Then Emily asked, “Who is Dario?”
Marco answered without looking up.
“My cousin.”
A beat.
“And the chief financial officer of the Westside development.”
May you like
The fake engagement had not even begun.
Someone inside Marco’s own family had already arranged for Emily to walk through his door.
