Chapter 9 – THE DEBT COLLECTOR

The severed finger rested on the velvet cushion, the silver ring glinting violently under the dining room chandeliers.

My mother gasped and looked away, burying her face in my father’s shoulder. I felt the color drain from my face, the heavy, suffocating weight of fear crashing back down over the room just when we thought we were finally safe.

“Arthur,” Luca said, his voice devoid of warmth, returning instantly to the hardened boss of the Moretti family. “Who is Silas Thorne?”

My father stared at the ring, his hands trembling violently.

“He was the apex predator of the black site,” my father whispered, his voice hollow. “He wasn’t mafia. He ran an independent syndicate out of Chicago—smuggling, extortion, contract killing. Ten years ago, a rival crew in the prison tried to murder me because they thought I knew where Marcus Bellini’s stolen millions were hidden.”

My father swallowed hard. “Silas stepped in. He slaughtered three men in the yard to protect me.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked, gripping the edge of the table.

“Because he made me promise,” my father said, closing his eyes in shame. “He told me that if I ever got out, I owed him fifty percent of whatever Marcus Bellini had stolen. I agreed. I would have agreed to anything to stay alive long enough to see you again, Emma.”

Luca’s jaw clenched. “The twenty million dollars from the warehouse.”

“It blew up,” I said immediately. “Marcus Bellini blew it up when he triggered the C4. The money is gone.”

“Silas Thorne doesn’t care,” Marco said grimly from the doorway. “He’s sitting in a bulletproof Bentley at the front gates with three armored trucks backing him up. He wants ten million dollars by midnight, or he says he’s going to burn this estate to the ground and take it in blood.”

Luca didn’t hesitate. “Marco, arm the men. Secure the perimeter. No one breaches the gates.”

“Wait,” my father pleaded, standing up. “Luca, you can’t fight Silas. He’s a psychopath. He doesn’t play by Commission rules. He will slaughter everyone in this house, including Emma.”

“I’m not paying ten million dollars for a ghost,” Luca snarled. “Especially money that burned to ash!”

“I’ll go talk to him,” my father said quietly. “He wants me. Not you.”

“Dad, no!” I cried, rushing to his side. “You just got home! You can’t go out there!”

“He’s right, Arthur,” Luca said, pulling his weapon from his shoulder holster. “You’re under my roof. That makes you my responsibility.”

Luca turned to me. “Stay here with your parents. Lock the doors.”

Luca and Marco strode out of the dining room.

I couldn’t stay. I had already lost my father for twenty-four years; I wasn’t going to hide while a monster came to collect him.

“Mom, stay with him,” I said, kissing my mother’s cheek. I ignored her protests and ran out into the hallway, following Luca’s path toward the front foyer.

I reached the grand entrance just as Luca commanded the heavy wooden doors to be opened.

The rain had stopped, leaving a heavy, chilling fog rolling across the massive front lawn. At the wrought-iron gates, a sleek, armored Bentley idled like a shark in dark water.

The back door of the Bentley opened.

A man stepped out. He was tall, remarkably thin, wearing a perfectly tailored silver suit. He didn’t carry a weapon. He held a black umbrella, resting it casually on his shoulder.

He walked slowly through the gates, his footsteps crunching loudly on the gravel driveway, unbothered by the dozen laser sights aimed directly at his chest by Luca’s snipers.

Silas Thorne stopped twenty feet from the front steps.

His face was shockingly young—perhaps in his early forties—with sharp, aristocratic features and dead, soulless grey eyes.

“Luca Moretti,” Silas smiled, his voice smooth and cultured. “I must say, your landscaping is impeccable.”

“You’re trespassing, Silas,” Luca said, standing on the top step, his gun at his side. “Turn around and leave, or you die on my driveway.”

Silas laughed, a chilling, melodic sound. “If I die, the fifty men surrounding your property with incendiary launchers will reduce this beautiful home to a crater. And I would hate to ruin the reunion inside.”

He looked past Luca, his grey eyes locking directly onto me standing in the doorway.

“Ah,” Silas purred. “The famous Emma Lawson. The girl who outsmarted Marcus Bellini. You’re much prettier than your father described.”

A shiver of absolute terror ran through me.

“Your debt died in the prison riot,” Luca said firmly. “Arthur owes you nothing.”

“A debt to me never dies,” Silas corrected, examining his fingernails. “But I am a reasonable man. I heard the money at the docks burned. Tragic, really. So, I’ve come to offer an alternative.”

Silas reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He flicked it toward the steps.

Marco walked down, picked it up, and handed it to Luca.

I stepped outside, standing closely behind Luca, looking at the paper over his shoulder.

It was a deed.

A property deed to the central port of Chicago—the most lucrative shipping hub in the city, currently owned and operated by the Moretti family.

“You want my port?” Luca asked, his voice dangerous.

“It generates roughly ten million a year in clean revenue,” Silas smiled. “Sign it over to me, and the debt is settled. Arthur lives out his golden years in peace. You refuse, and I slaughter everyone inside that house.”

Luca slowly tore the deed in half and dropped the pieces onto the wet stone steps.

“The Moretti family does not pay extortion,” Luca said.

Silas didn’t look angry. He looked delighted.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Silas whispered.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the east wing of the estate. The ground shook violently, throwing me against the heavy wooden door frame. Glass shattered, and flames immediately burst from the second-story windows of the guest wing.

“They breached the east wall!” Marco yelled into his radio over the chaos.

“I gave you a choice, Luca,” Silas yelled over the roar of the fire, retreating toward his Bentley. “You have until midnight to change your mind, or the rest of the house burns!”

The Bentley sped away into the fog.

Luca turned to me, his face pale with fury. “Get to the bunker!”

As Luca and his men rushed toward the burning wing to repel the attackers, I ran back inside the house.

But as I sprinted through the smoke-filled hallway toward the dining room, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing in the center of the hallway was one of Luca’s own trusted guards.

He was holding a silenced pistol.

And he had it pointed directly at my father’s head.