Elena followed her brother into the sitting room, her heels echoing on the polished floor. The estate felt colder now, its gilded frames and marble statues less like art and more like reminders of a cage. She sat opposite Antonio, eyes flicking briefly to Marco who had made himself at home in their father's leather chair, legs spread in casual dominance, glass in hand like he owned the place.
"Tell me the truth, Antonio," she demanded. "What did you do?"
Antonio ran a hand through his dark hair, refusing to meet her gaze. "It's nothing you need to worry about."
"Don't lie to me. You're bruised, you're nervous, and he's here." She pointed sharply toward Marco. "That means it's bad."
Antonio's jaw tightened. "I… I borrowed money. To cover some losses."
Elena's stomach twisted. "Losses? From what?"
Before he could speak, Marco's smooth baritone filled the room.
"Gambling," he said, sipping his whiskey with infuriating calm. "Your brother has a taste for cards. A bad hand, a bad night, and suddenly he owes a quarter of a million."
Elena's breath caught. "A quarter of a—Antonio!"
Her brother's face burned with shame. "I can fix it—"
"You can't," Marco interrupted. He set his glass down with deliberate care, the sound of crystal on wood sharp in the silence. His eyes found Elena's, dark and unyielding. "But someone else can."
The air shifted. She felt it in her bones, that dangerous edge in his tone. "What are you suggesting?"
Marco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice dropping lower. "The debt is due. Your brother doesn't have the money. But you…" His gaze swept over her body, slow and merciless. "…you're worth more than gold in this city."
Elena's pulse thundered. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm very serious." His smirk was razor-sharp. "Your presence at my side—your loyalty, even if unwilling—would settle Antonio's debt. One year, Elena. Be mine. After that, your brother is free."
Her lips parted, fury and disbelief tangling inside her. "You want to own me like some trophy? To drag me into your filthy world?"
"Own?" Marco tilted his head. "No. Claim. There's a difference."
She wanted to scream. To claw his eyes out. To deny the way her body betrayed her with every pounding beat of her heart.
But when she looked at Antonio—her foolish, desperate brother—she knew the truth. If she refused, Marco would destroy him. And maybe her whole family with him.
Her fists clenched. "You bastard."
Marco's smile deepened, victory gleaming in his eyes. "So we have a deal?"
Elena's voice was ice. "Yes. But don't mistake this for surrender, DeLuca."
He rose from the chair, towering over her, his shadow swallowing hers. His hand brushed her cheek, the touch deceptively gentle, a spark of heat that made her shiver.
"Oh, Elena," he whispered, his lips near hers but not touching. "You have no idea what surrender feels like… yet."
Her knees weakened, though rage still burned in her chest. She hated him. She hated the fire he lit in her veins.
And as Marco DeLuca walked away, glass in hand, she knew she had just made a deal with the devil.