The Price Of Desperation

Chapter One : The Price Of Desperation

Lena's Pov

The inky night air hung thick and heavy upon me as I headed toward that dimly lit building, the crumpled address fisted in my hand. Every step felt like a jump into something far darker than I'd ever known, but this was my last hope.

Damian Russo. His name could freeze blood in this city just from a mention in alleys and bars, served up with nothing more than a whispered warning. I had nothing but one hope-a desperate, foolish hope-and that was that he would help me, despite the stories, about what happened when one fell into his debt. But my mother was fading fast, her medical bills piling up, and this was the last door on which to knock.

My legs trembled as I made my way down the corridor. Men of rough countenance watched from the shadows, their eyes cold and steady. One of them muttered something, and there was a ripple of laughter. I hurried my pace, hastening to drown my fear in thoughts of why I was here. But that did little good for my heart hammering as I came to the big wooden door.

I raised my hand to knock, and without so much as my knuckles making contact with the wood, the door groaned open. A tall man with a face hidden from the bright light behind me stood in a doorway, eyeing me as if he was already bored. He jerked his head inside. No welcome. No words whatsoever. I stepped inside, fighting instincts to turn and flee.

Inside, Damian Russo sat behind a huge, dark desk, the dim light of the room casting shadows across his features. He didn't look up initially, taking his time finishing some paperwork. My stomach was churning as I took him in; he was younger than I had thought, his sharp features set with cold, calculated precision. But then again, there was something about him that completely commanded attention-and fear.

Finally, he looked up, his piercing gaze cutting into me. "Speak."

 

Te simpler the command was, it really sounded like a challenge. I swallowed, forcing myself to hold his stare. "I need. a loan," I said, my voice shaking, yet determined. "I have no other options. My mother is sick, and the hospital bills are—"

 

"Why should I care?" he interrupted, his tone harsh, dismissive.

I stopped and was taken aback by the coldness in his voice. "Because I'll pay it back," I hastened to reply. "I can work, I can find the money, and return it to you, with interest.

A smirk twisted the corner of his mouth; his eyes narrowed as he leaned back, regarding me like a game piece he would shortly move. "You think you could find that kind of money on your own? Even if you worked every waking hour, you wouldn't make a dent."

My face flushed with embarrassment, but he wasn't wrong. The amount that I needed was staggering.

"But." he said slowly, drawing the word out as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "There is one way I might consider it."

My heart racing, I said, "I'll do it," the words slipping out before I could think.

A snarl of a chuckle low in his throat escaped his lips. "So eager." He shook his head, his gaze honing sharper, crueler. "You will serve me for seven years. That is the deal. You'll work under me, follow every order without question. You will be mine to command in every way." After that, in the silence his words hung heavy.

Seven years? My throat tightened on the thought. "But… isn't there-"

"There's no negotiation, Lena," he cut me off finally, unforgiving. "This is the only way you leave with what you came here for."

The weight of his words pressed down on me. This wasn't a loan, but a sentence. Seven years shackled to a man whose life had been a storm of violence and crime, the only man in the city whom nobody wished to make an enemy of. Yet, my mother came into my head-first thing-with her helpless body lying on a white hospital bed; really, there was nothing else I could do.

"I'll do it," I whispered, the hollow ache which had settled in my chest too great for me to even think about saying anything otherwise.

Damian's eyes shone with satisfaction. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Sign," he said, sliding it across the desk along with a pen.

I took the pen between quivering fingers, while my very heart screamed for me not to do this. Still, I watched myself write my name, seal my life away. The pen clicked as I set it down, and Damian leaned against his seat. His face was an impossible mask.

"Congratulations" he said, low but in a manner that rose every hair on my arms. "From this moment on, you belong to me."

I locked gazes with him, my chest constricting as it hit me what I'd just done. There was no going back now.