Page 1 of Bound in Debt
1
DANTE
Saturday, August 31
I force air into my lungs, trying to ground myself before I enter my new classroom and begin preparing for a room full of fresh-faced college students. I’m supposed to teach them how to produce real music from their string instruments. The violin is my specialty, but I’ve had enough success as a composer and musician to have earned the respect of the entire music department at Thronewood University. But I doubt any of my students has what it takes to pursue a career in the arts. They’re probably just a bunch of spoiled-ass rich kids here on daddy’s dime.
I don’t want to be here, playing at being a professor in some ritzy New England suburb.
However, there isn’t a place for me back home in Italy anymore. The memories that filled every inch of Portofino are ruined for me and I got tired of the sour taste in my mouth every time I walked the streets.
So, I left.
My brother Marco had enough connections to get me the interview at Thronewood. My talent and experience easily turned that first interview into a visiting faculty position.
No matter how useless the job is now.
Marco welcomed me to the States with open arms, put me up in his exorbitant guest house, and did his best to convince me I could build the life of my dreams here. But I knew all this was temporary—is temporary.
He was killed just two months after I arrived in Connecticut.
Now, I’m stuck with his wife, the same woman who threw a fit because I wouldn’t fuck her on her and my brother’s wedding day more than two decades ago. The bitch holds a grudge like nothing else. And, apparently, she’s still a classy piece of shit. One my brother inexplicably allowed to run the show when it came to their life and home.
I warned him plenty of times about social climbers and how quickly their feelings can change once money gets involved, but he was so utterly blinded by love that he ignored all reason.
I count love at the top of the list of useless emotions.
I know, I’m one to talk. I used to be that same love-struck fool until I found myself in a shitload of trouble and prison time. At least my brother’s wife, Marissa, has never been smart enough to pull off the level of manipulation I had to deal with.
Except now he’s dead and I’m unattached. Which means, in Marissa’s eyes, I’m fair game. That’s probably going to lead to a whole host of shit for me to deal with.
So, I make excuses to stick around Thronewood’s campus as much as possible. I won’t say I like dealing with trust fund kids who don’t know the first thing about making it in the real world.
Good thing I’m not here to teach any hard life lessons. No one’s counting on me to throw them a lifeline when they get hit in the face by the karma-filled clusterfuck of reality.
No one thinks of someone who plays the violin and writes music when they think about who they should turn to when they get in trouble. And that suits me just fine, since the thought of simply teaching sounds more and more like torture with each passing second.
As I enter the darkened hallway toward my office and classroom, I’m stopped by the sound of soft music coming from inside. The rich and complex notes drawn by a bow across strings reverberate off the walls, a soothing pulse that I haven’t indulged in for months. My heart pounds in excitement as I step forward.
Music was my entire existence.
My first love.
The only loyal, unselfish love I’ve known in my adult life.
The reason why I stayed in Portofino while my brother flew to the States, looking for a bigger and brighter adventure when we were both too young to be smart. Over the years, I’d fly in for the occasional visit, even making the trip when Marco’s son, Liam, was born. I never planned on leaving Italy for more than a short trip.
That is, until I received my own dose of betrayal—a broken heart from a woman who exhaled lies as easily as she drew breath.
Not only did she waste a year of my life, but she handed me two more behind bars.
Then her husband began systematically destroying my reputation and career, taking away the only thing I had to live for.
My steps slow as I process what I actually hear through the closed door, the notes dancing together in a familiar melody.
Her song.
My chest tightens with an unadulterated rage. That fucking song, I can’t get away from it. It’s been two and a half years and it’s found a way across the damn ocean to haunt me again.
