He's at the door now, one hand on the knob. He pauses but doesn't turn around.
"Mr. Morelli may leave," Dante says, his voice smooth and measured. "Miss Mancini stays."
The room tilts.
"What?" I try to pull free, but the guard's grip is iron. "No, are you crazy? No, I'm leaving with him. Adrian, tell them?—"
Adrian opens the door.
"Adrian!"
He looks back then, finally, and the expression on his face guts me. Guilt. Shame. But beneath it, something worse.
Relief.
The bastard'srelieved.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
Then he's gone.
The door clicks shut, and the sound echoes through my chest like a gunshot.
"What the hell is happening?" I round on Dante, yanking against the guard's hold. "You can't just keep me here. I don't know what kind of twisted game this is, but?—"
"It's not a game." Dante takes a step closer, and suddenly the room feels too small. "Your boyfriend owed me eighty-seven thousand dollars. He couldn't pay. So, he offered you instead."
The words don't land. They ricochet around my skull without meaning, like my brain refuses to process them.
"That's insane. You can't—people aren't collateral. This isn't the sixteen hundreds."
"And yet." He gestures to the papers Adrian signed, now sitting on the table between us. "Here we are."
I lunge for them, but the guard holds me back. Dante picks them up instead, flipping through the pages with infuriating calm.
"Medical Payment Responsibility Agreement," he reads aloud. "Dante Vitale agrees to assume all costs related to Elena Mancini's ongoing cancer treatment at St. Catherine's Medical Center. In exchange, Bianca Mancini agrees to comply with employment terms as specified by Mr. Vitale until Adrian Morelli's debt of eighty-seven thousand dollars is satisfied. Non-compliance results in immediate termination of payments."
My vision blurs at the edges.
"You can't—people can't just?—"
"I can." He sets the papers down and looks at me. Really looks at me, his gaze moving from my face to my throat where my fingers are clutching the gold cross so hard the edges dig into my palm. "And I have."
My mind is racing, tripping over itself trying to find an exit. "I'll go to the police."
"And tell them what? That you signed a contract you don't like?" Dante's mouth curves into something that might be a smile if smiles weren't supposed to have warmth. "They'll tell you it's a civil matter. Take it up with a lawyer."
"Then I'll get a lawyer."
"With what money?" He tilts his head. "From what I understand, you're barely keeping your head above water as it is. Schoolteacher salary. Sick mother. Medical bills piling up. How much do you think a lawyer costs, Miss Mancini?"
The mention of my mother hits like a fist to the stomach.
"Don't," I say, my voice dropping to something sharp and dangerous. "Don't you dare bring her into this."
"She's already in it." He pulls another document from inside his jacket, unfolds it, and holds it out. "St. Catherine's Medical Center. Your mother's treatment plan. Very expensive treatment plan, I might add."
My blood turns to ice.
