Page 19 of Bound in Debt
How kind of you, you fucking bastard.
I’m trying to sort out my options. I’m not about to pay off a debt that I had no business in, and I definitely don’t intend to work for this asshole. Not my fault he kept throwing away money on a man that didn’t keep up with his payments.
Marco was set up.
Plenty of mobs work this way—it’s their bread and butter. The more debt the mark accrues, the more aggressive the mob gets about collecting. The stress makes the target desperate for a solution. Marco, like most victims, was drowning before he knew he was in over his head.
I have a trump card. I can go home, back to Italy. I don’t have to stay here. There’s no reason for me to get caught up in this mess.
Except it doesn’t sit well that Marissa’s planning on manipulating some poor girl to save herself and her worthless son.
If Marissa and Liam use Victoria, she’ll be forever linked to the mob, a liability I don’t think Liam will fight to protect.
“I hear Marco’s widow is working out a way to pay the debt herself,” Angelo muses. “Is that true?”
“She mentioned it.”
Angelo leans back in his chair with a soft creak, watching me expectantly. I don’t plan to share anything more. I don’t even know if Liam can pull the scheme off after how badly he’s fucked up with Victoria.
Good for her, but bad for my family.
And we’re using that term loosely.
“When can I expect her to conclude our business?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
Angelo’s jaw ticks but his voice is as smooth and relaxed as ever. “I’m asking you. This is your problem, too, now that you’re aware. I suggest you get more involved.” He lips quirk in the smallest smirk. “You’re the head of the family, after all.”
I wonder how much he knows about Victoria, whether he knows her name.
“Marissa has stated that her son will be marrying into some money,” I offer vaguely, reeling Angelo in to see if he slips up and gives me something I can use. “We aren’t close.”
“Consider yourself lucky then,” Angelo retorts. “That woman is a fucking nuisance.” He tilts his glass, examining the finger of liquid remaining before tossing it back in one gulp. “I would be willing to entertain another form of payment, something I believe would suit your…talents.”
“And what would that be?” I know he’s not talking about my ability to perform each of Paganini’s 24 caprices for solo violin.
“I’ve been looking for an enforcer…I heard you were quite good back in Italy.”
Yeah, hell no. “Where did you hear that from?”
Angelo sets his glass down with a hard clink, a murderous glint in his eyes. “You killed my brother.”
Well, isn’t this fun?
“Dante… Mors,” Angelo tacks on. “Isn’t that the name you earned?”
If I admit it, I may not walk out of this room. I need to hold him off, avoid lying outright without confessing, so I can get the fuck out of here.
“You really expect me to confess to murder? Here? I don’t know you or this building. You could be wearing a wire for all I know.”
Angelo smirks, amused. “I suppose not. You have, after all, served jail time. For a woman.” He pauses, offering me the chance to elaborate. He’ll be waiting a long time for that story. “You’re a passionate man.”
“Join my organization and work off your brother’s debt. Your family’s debt. I’m offering a place at my table. You do this for me, and you can consider all such liabilities void.”
“For how long?”
Angelo lifts his shoulders. “Eh, what’s six million divided by how hard you’ll work for me?” Too long. But when I don’t cower back in my chair, imagining the decades it would take, Angelo changes tactics. “Six years. One for each million I gave your brother.”
