The banging on the apartment door made Isabella Moretti jump. At 26, she wasn't easily startled, but something about that knock made her scared as her spoon clattered against the ceramic bowl, splashing tomato soup onto the worn tablecloth.
"Open up! Now!" A man's voice thundered from the door as Isabella's eyes met her mother's across the dinner table. Clara's face had gone pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Mama?" Isabella whispered. Before Clara could answer, her father, Giovanni pushed back his chair with a screech against the tile floor, his hands trembling as he wiped them on his napkin.
"Stay here," he mumbled, not meeting their eyes. Isabella gripped the edge of the table. "Papa, who is it?"
"It's nothing, sweetie. Just just stay with your mother." The pounding grew louder. "Rossi! I know you're in there!"
Giovanni shuffled to the door, shoulders hunched. Isabella had never seen her father look so small as he unlocked the door with shaking fingers.
The moment the lock clicked, the door burst open, pushing Giovanni backward as he stumbled, barely keeping his footing.
Three men stormed into the apartment. The one in front wore an expensive black suit that stretched tight across his broad shoulders. His eyes were cold, calculating.
"Good evening, Mr. Rossi." The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I believe we're overdue for a conversation about your debt."
"Please, Mr. Mancini," Giovanni said, his voice breaking. "I just need more time."
Aldo Mancini clicked his tongue. "Time is money, and you've wasted enough of both." He nodded to his men, who began moving through the apartment, opening drawers and cabinets.
Clara stood up, gripping Isabella's shoulder. "Giovanni, what's happening?"
Isabella's heart pounded against her ribs as the soup churned in her stomach.
"What are they looking for?" she whispered, but her mother's fingers only dug deeper into her shoulder.
Aldo turned his attention to them, his gaze lingering on Isabella. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
"Well, what do we have here?"
"Leave them out of this," Giovanni said, stepping between Aldo and his family. "This is between you and me."
"Actually," Aldo said, circling around the table, "everything you own is now between you and me. Including them."
One of Aldo's men emerged from the bedroom. "Nothing valuable, boss. Just junk."
Isabella's eyes darted to the door. It was still open, the hallway beyond dark and empty. If they ran now...
As if reading her thoughts, Aldo snapped his fingers as the third man closed the door with a heavy thud.
"I've been patient, Rossi," Aldo said, picking up a framed family photo from the shelf. "But Mr. Vincenzo is growing tired of your excuses."
Mr. Vincenzo?" Isabella's voice caught. "What… who is he?" Aldo raised an eyebrow. "Your father didn't tell you? He's the man who's been keeping this pathetic family afloat for the past year." He turned to Giovanni. "How much did you borrow? Fifty thousand euros, wasn't it? Plus interest, of course."
Clara gasped. "Giovanni!" Giovanni's face crumpled. "I needed the money for Isabella's medical treatments last year. The bank wouldn't help us. I had no choice."
"There's always a choice," Aldo said, setting down the photo. "And now it's time to face the consequences of yours."
Isabella felt the room spinning. The medical treatments for her unexplained blackouts and memory issues had stopped months ago. Her father had told her the insurance finally came through. It had been a lie.
"Please," Giovanni begged, dropping to his knees. "I'll get the money. I just need"
"More time? I don't think so." Aldo checked his watch. "You have two options. Pay now, or we take something of equal value."
"We have nothing," Clara said, her voice surprisingly steady as Aldo's gaze fell on Isabella again. "I wouldn't say that."
Isabella felt a chill run down her spine.
"No!" Giovanni shouted, grabbing Aldo's arm. "You can't take my daughter!"
One of the men slammed Giovanni against the wall, his hands squeezing his throat.
"Papa!" Isabella lunged forward, but Clara pulled her back.
"Please," Clara begged, tears streaming down her face. "Take me instead."
Aldo laughed. "A middle-aged housewife? Mr. Vincenzo has no use for you." He nodded to Isabella. "The girl, Perhaps can assist the estate for a while an arrangement in repayment of your debt
"What kind of work?" Isabella asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Aldo smiled. "Housekeeping,Mr. Vincenzo owns a vineyard and estate. You'll work as a maid. Nothing else.
Isabella didn't believe him for a second. But as she looked at her father, pinned against the wall, face turning red, she knew they had no way out.
"If I go with you," she said slowly, "will you leave my parents alone? Will the debt be cleared?"
"Isabella, no!" Clara sobbed.
Aldo considered her for a moment. "If you come willingly and work until the debt is paid, your parents will be left in peace."
"How long will that take?"
"That depends on how hard you work." Aldo's smile widened. "We'll start with six months and... reassess."
Isabella took a deep breath as Something stirred in the back of her mind, a memory just out of reach. She'd been in danger before, though she couldn't remember when or how.
"Deal," she said.
"No!" Giovanni choked out as the man eased the pressure on his throat. "You don't know what you're doing!"
"I know exactly what I'm doing," Isabella said, surprised by her own calmness. "I'm protecting my family." Aldo snapped his fingers. "Pack a bag. Clothes only. You leave now."
Clara clung to Isabella, sobbing. "Please don't go." Isabella hugged her mother tightly. "It's going to be okay, Mama. I'll be back before you know it."
As she packed a small bag in her bedroom, Isabella's hands trembled. The fear was overwhelming, but something else was rising within her, something that felt like an old, forgotten instinct.
When she emerged with her bag, Aldo grabbed her arm roughly. "Time to go, Principessa."
The word triggered a flash in Isabella's mind of a man's voice, desperate and loving, using the same endearment. Her real father? Before she could grasp the memory, it slipped away.
As Aldo dragged her toward the door, Isabella looked back at her parents one last time.
"I'll come back," she promised.
Aldo's grip tightened painfully on her arm as he leaned close to her ear.
"That's what they all say," he whispered, "but no one ever does."