Blood Debts and Family Secrets

Isabella Hart POV

Vincent Romano doesn't just enter the room he owns it the moment he crosses the threshold. He examines me like I'm a painting he's considering purchasing, his pale eyes cataloging details that make my skin crawl. The way he tilts his head, the slight curve of his lips, the calculating gleam in his gaze.

"You have your father's eyes," he says, settling deeper into the chair like he plans to stay awhile. "And hopefully, his more useful talents."

My father's eyes. I've heard that before, from teachers and neighbors when I was little. But this man speaks like he knew my father personally, intimately. Like they shared secrets.

"I told you already," I say, gripping the window ledge behind me. "My father died when I was five."

Vincent's laugh is soft, almost paternal. "Oh, Isabella. Your father was Dr. Marcus Hart, my personal physician for over a decade. He saved my life more times than I can count, patched up my men after territorial disputes, and performed surgeries that no hospital would touch." He leans forward, eyes glittering. "He was also a thief and a traitor, but we'll get to that."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "That's impossible. My father died in a car accident. My mother told me"

"Your mother told you what I allowed her to tell you." Vincent's voice carries the weight of absolute authority. "She kept you safe by keeping you ignorant. A wise choice, considering what happened to Marcus when he forgot his place."

My legs feel unsteady. I sink into the chair by the window, needing something solid beneath me. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Vincent pulls out his phone, scrolling through what looks like old photos. He turns the screen toward me. "Perhaps this will refresh your memory."

The photograph shows a man in surgical scrubs standing next to a younger Vincent. The man has my eyes, my stubborn chin, my dark hair. He's smiling at the camera like he doesn't have a care in the world.

I know that face. Not from clear memories, but from dreams that feel too real to be imagination. From moments when I thought I glimpsed him in crowds or heard his voice in hospital corridors.

"Dr. Marcus Hart," Vincent says, watching my reaction with scientific interest. "Brilliant surgeon, gifted healer, and eventually, my greatest disappointment."

"What happened to him?" The words come out barely above a whisper.

Vincent slides the phone back into his jacket. "He got greedy. Started treating rival families behind my back, selling them medical supplies he'd stolen from my warehouses. Two million dollars worth of drugs, surgical equipment, and information about my men's weaknesses." His voice hardens. "But the worst betrayal wasn't the theft. It was when he tried to disappear with my most valuable asset."

"What asset?"

"You, my dear." Vincent's smile returns, cold and predatory. "You see, Marcus didn't just inherit surgical skills from whatever genetic anomaly created his family line. He had a gift, the ability to heal with touch, to sense illness before symptoms appeared, to influence pain levels with nothing but the power of his will."

My hands start shaking. The memory of the man in the ER floods back his pain flowing into me, something warm and electric flowing back out, his impossible recovery.

"I can see you're beginning to understand," Vincent continues. "The gift runs in bloodlines, Isabella. And when Marcus tried to run with his five-year-old daughter, I realized that little girl might be even more valuable than her father."

"So you killed him." The accusation tears from my throat.

"I eliminated a traitor." Vincent's tone suggests he's discussing the weather. "Marcus made his choice when he decided to betray the family that gave him everything. The car accident was swift, painless more mercy than he deserved."

Everything I thought I knew about my life crumbles around me. The father I barely remembered, the tragedy that shaped my childhood, the financial struggles that drove me to work myself to exhaustion—all of it orchestrated by the man sitting across from me.

"My mother"

"Your mother knew exactly what Marcus was and what you might become. She agreed to keep you hidden, to raise you as a normal child, in exchange for her life and your freedom." Vincent's eyes narrow. "Of course, freedom was always temporary. We've been monitoring you for years, waiting for your abilities to manifest."

The walls of the luxurious room feel like they're closing in. "Monitoring how?"

"Your acceptance to nursing school? Arranged. Your jobs at various hospitals? Carefully chosen to expose you to as much human suffering as possible, strengthening your gift through constant use." Vincent's smile widens. "Even your mother's cancer treatment being denied was orchestrated to force you into longer hours, more intense contact with pain and illness."

Ice forms in my veins. "You gave her cancer?"

"Goodness, no. But when she developed it naturally, I saw an opportunity. Desperation makes people pliable, Isabella. The more desperate you became to save her, the harder you pushed yourself, the stronger your abilities grew." He spreads his hands like he's describing a business investment. "Your mother will live or die based entirely on your cooperation. Isn't family loyalty a beautiful thing?"

I surge to my feet, rage overriding fear. "You bastard. She's dying because of you."

"She's dying because cancer is a terrible disease," Vincent says mildly. "But she could live if you choose to embrace your destiny instead of fighting it."

"What destiny?"

"You're going to become the family's personal physician, just like your father. You'll heal our wounded, help our captured enemies recover from interrogation so we can question them again, and use your gifts to ensure the Romano family remains strong." His voice takes on the cadence of someone explaining obvious facts. "You'll treat gunshot wounds that can't be reported to hospitals, neutralize poisons that rival families might use against us, and detect lies through the physiological changes they create."

The scope of what he's describing makes me sick. "I won't be part of your crimes."

"You already are, my dear. The moment your father's blood started running through your veins, you became Romano property." Vincent stands, smoothing down his expensive suit. "But I'm not unreasonable. You'll have choices to make, freedoms to earn. Starting with the most important decision of your life."

He walks to the door and snaps his fingers. The sound echoes in the suddenly silent room.

"I believe it's time you met your new family," he says, his voice carrying cold satisfaction.

Four men enter in succession, each more dangerous-looking than the last. They move with the predatory grace of apex predators, filling the room with an energy that makes my survival instincts scream warnings. The first pushes a wheelchair but carries himself like a general surveying a battlefield. The second has the kind of devastating good looks that probably hide a razor-sharp mind. The third moves silently, watching everything with protective intensity. The fourth practically vibrates with barely contained chaos.

Vincent's smile could freeze blood.

"Isabella Hart, meet your future husbands. One of them will father your children, ensuring the gift passes to the next generation." His pause feels calculated, designed for maximum impact. "The choice of which one is entirely up to you... for now."

The room falls silent except for my thundering heartbeat. Four pairs of eyes study me with varying degrees of interest, calculation, and something that might be hunger. Not just for my body, but for what I represent—power, legacy, the continuation of something dark and valuable.

I'm not just a prisoner or an asset. I'm breeding stock for a supernatural ability that will serve the Romano family for generations.

The man in the wheelchair speaks first, his voice carrying absolute authority despite his disability: "Hello, Isabella. I'm Marco Romano. And we're going to get to know each other very, very well."