Chapter Two - The Debt Sienna's POV

The night I told myself to stay calm was the same night everything inside me shattered. I had whispered the mantra in my head over and over stay calm, act normal, pretend but there was no pretending after what I had just seen. No ragged breath or trembling smile could erase the horror now etched into my memory.

My hands shook as I wiped the counter, but the rag only smeared the wet rings left by glasses into vague, cloudy shapes. I scrubbed harder, like if I just pressed enough, I could rub out the image burned into my skull. But nothing could wash it away. The man’s body collapsing in slow, sickening motion. The crimson spreading like wildfire across his shirt. The deafening crack of the gunshot that seemed to echo inside my bones long after the sound had faded.

The jukebox carried on like nothing had happened, cycling through another sad, scratchy rock ballad. The neon lights buzzed. The air still reeked of cigarettes, stale beer, and grease from the fryer. And the drunks at the bar? They hunched over their glasses, muttering to themselves as if death hadn’t just walked in and sat down among us. No one screamed. No one ran. No one even reached for a phone to call the cops.

Because in this city, everyone knew better. And now, with my heart racing and stomach twisting, I finally understood why.

The back door slammed, sharp as a whip crack, the sound swallowed quickly by the din of the jukebox. Luca’s men were gone, their heavy boots and the weight of their presence disappearing along with the body. The silence they left behind felt louder than the music, heavier than the smoke-laden air. I told myself this was my chance. That Luca would follow them, leave me behind, and I could close up shop. Go home. Crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. Pretend tonight never happened. Pretend I hadn’t just watched a man’s life end inches from where I poured cheap whiskey.

But when I glanced up, Luca was still there.

Sitting in the booth like nothing at all had changed. The gun was gone, but the shadow of it lingered. His broad frame relaxed against cracked leather, one arm draped along the backrest, the other cradling a half empty whiskey glass. And his eyes dark, unyielding were locked on me. Watching. Waiting. My pulse hammered so loudly I was sure the sound was filling the whole room.

Finally, he rose. Every movement was deliberate, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. Like I was already caught in his orbit, and he knew I wouldn’t escape. His footsteps echoed against the sticky floor as he crossed the room, each one pounding against my chest like a warning bell. When he reached the bar, he set the empty glass down with a soft, deceptively gentle clink.

“Another,” he said.

His voice was calm. Almost casual. But the weight behind it pinned me in place. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, held me like shackles. My fingers trembled as I reached for the bottle. The liquid splashed too fast, sloshing against the rim of the glass. I prayed he hadn’t noticed, but I knew he had. Sliding it across the bar, I willed myself not to drop it. He didn’t drink. He just leaned closer, his forearms braced against the counter, muscles shifting under the fabric of his shirt. Up close, his presence was suffocating, thick and inescapable.

“You saw,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t a question. It was a verdict. I swallowed hard, throat burning. “I didn’t... I mean, I wasn’t…”

“Don’t lie to me.” The words were soft, but they carried the kind of weight that could crush a person flat. I dropped my gaze, unable to withstand the intensity in his. My nails dug into the wood of the counter, anchoring me. “I won’t say anything,” I whispered.

A humorless chuckle escaped him, low and sharp. “You think that’s how this works? You think you can just walk home, sleep it off, and forget you saw me put a bullet in a man’s chest?”

The bluntness of it made me flinch. I bit my lip, but he was already leaning closer, closing the small distance until his voice was a whisper only for me. “That’s not how my world works, sweetheart.”

The word sweetheart rolled off his tongue like poison wrapped in honey. It sent a chill straight down my spine.

“I didn’t even know who you are,” I whispered, desperate, clinging to some shred of innocence.

“You do now.”

And in that moment, with the dim bar lights flickering and the stink of whiskey between us, the truth hit me like a fist to the ribs. This wasn’t just some man with a gun and a cruel smile. This was Luca Romano. The son of the man who ruled this city from the shadows. The name whispered in every back alley and smoky card room. The heir to the kind of power people crossed the street to avoid.

Which meant I wasn’t just unlucky tonight. I was doomed.

“I’ll keep quiet,” I tried again, desperation clawing at my throat. “I don’t want trouble.”

“You already have it.” His eyes roamed my face with the slow intensity of a man dissecting a puzzle he had every intention of solving. “The only question is how much.”

The silence stretched, suffocating. My chest felt tight, my lungs refusing to pull in enough air. Then, slowly, that dangerous smile curved across his mouth. The kind that promised nothing good. The kind that said he enjoyed watching me squirm.

“What’s your name?” he asked, casual on the surface, sharp underneath.

The question startled me. “Sienna.”

“Sienna,” he repeated, savoring the syllables like he was tasting them. “Pretty name.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My mind was sprinting in every direction, searching for escape routes, bargaining with the universe, praying for anything that might get me out alive. He straightened, finally lifting his glass and draining it in a single swallow. Then he leaned closer once more, his mouth brushing dangerously near my ear. His breath smelled of whiskey and smoke.

“You belong to me now,” he murmured.

Ice filled my veins. My breath stuttered. “What?”

“You saw what you shouldn’t have. That makes you mine. Until I decide otherwise.”

My knees nearly buckled. I stumbled back a step, shaking my head. “No... no, I didn’t ask for this…”

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was steel now, the warmth gone, replaced with something hard and final. “You’ve got two choices, Sienna. Do as I say... or end up like the man you just watched die.”

The rag slipped from my hand, landing soundlessly on the stained floor. My throat closed, words strangled before they could form. He straightened, tapping the bar lightly with his fingers as though this was any other night, any other conversation.

“I’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, his silhouette retreating through the haze of neon light. He left behind the smell of whiskey and the phantom trace of gunpowder, and me frozen, shaking, caught between disbelief and terror. My legs finally gave out, and I sank against the counter, trembling so violently I could barely hold myself up.

Because deep down, in the place where truth cannot be denied, I knew one thing with terrifying certainty. Luca Romano wasn’t bluffing.

And my life the small, steady, predictable life I had built one quiet day at a time was no longer mine.

It was his.