Aria's world begins with quiet.
The night outside her window was the kind of stillness that pressed against her skin—thick, almost suffocating. Her town never stayed awake past ten. Streetlights glowed weakly on the cracked pavement, and even the stray cats had vanished from the alley. It should have been comforting, a soft blanket of silence wrapping her up as she studied in the cramped living room.
But tonight, the silence felt wrong.
Her scholarship essay draft blinked back at her from the old laptop, the cursor pulsing like a heartbeat. She rubbed her eyes, forcing herself to reread the line about wanting to "change the world through architecture," though her brain felt numb. She needed this scholarship. Needed it more than anything. Tuition loomed over her like a shadow, and she was tired of juggling three part-time jobs just to keep the lights on.
That was when the knock came.
Sharp. Single. Final.
Aria froze, fingers hovering above the keys. No one ever came to the house at this hour. She glanced at the clock on the wall—11:07 p.m. The mailman had been by hours ago. Delivery drivers didn't show up past dinner.
Her heart stuttered.
The knock hadn't come from the front door, either. It was softer, closer, like someone had dropped something against the windowsill.
She stood slowly, her chair scraping against the old linoleum, and crept toward the door. There, lying just inside the threshold, was an envelope. Thick cream paper, sealed shut with a heavy red wax crest pressed into its flap.
Aria frowned, crouching down. She'd only ever seen envelopes like that in movies about kings and knights.
Her stomach flipped.
Hands trembling, she picked it up. The wax seal was warm, as though it had just been stamped.
For a second, excitement bloomed in her chest. Maybe it was from the university. Some kind of old-fashioned acceptance letter? The timing fit—scholarship results were supposed to come this week. Her pulse quickened as she carried it back to the desk, sliding her laptop aside to make space.
She broke the seal carefully, heart pounding.
The letter unfolded in her hands like something alive, its heavy parchment whispering. The ink was black, stark, written in swooping script that looked both elegant and menacing at once.
Her eyes scanned the top line, hopeful.
Miss Aria Moretti,
Her breath caught. They knew her name. They knew her.
She read faster.
As the only surviving child of Matteo Moretti, you are hereby informed that his outstanding debt remains unpaid in full. Your father's choices were his own, but blood carries the balance. By decree of the De Luca family, restitution must now be made.
Her fingers clenched the letter tighter.
Her father? Her father had been gone for years. Aria barely remembered the sound of his voice. He'd disappeared when she was twelve, leaving her and her mother with nothing but bills, unpaid rent, and whispers that he'd been "in business with the wrong people." Her mother never spoke of it, just scrubbed floors and washed dishes until her hands bled to keep them afloat.
Aria swallowed hard and kept reading.
You are the repayment.
The words bled into her vision, cold and final.
No numbers. No dollar signs. No negotiation. Just a decree.
Her stomach twisted violently.
This wasn't about money.
She shoved back from the desk, the chair screeching across the floor. It had to be a joke. A scam. Maybe someone from school thought it would be funny to fake a mafia-style letter, knowing her family's history. But the paper was too fine, the ink too real, the wax seal too exact.
Her hands shook as she lifted the letter again, desperate for some loophole.
Expect collection shortly.
Her blood ran cold.
Collection.
Like she wasn't a person at all. Like she was just another bill being picked up, a piece of property owed.
The edges of her vision blurred, panic rising sharp and bitter. She stumbled toward the window, clutching the letter against her chest as though hiding it could make it vanish. The street outside remained still, empty except for the halo of one flickering streetlamp.
But the silence pressed harder now, suffocating.
Her father's sins. Her life. Her payment.
"No," Aria whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the wall. "No. This isn't real. This isn't happening."
But even as the words left her mouth, she knew the truth. She'd grown up with those whispers, seen the fear in her mother's eyes when loan sharks called. She remembered being dragged into the principal's office at fourteen because a man in a black car had been parked outside the school, watching her for hours.
They hadn't forgotten.
And now, they were here.
The sudden sweep of headlights cut across the thin curtains, flooding the living room with white glare.
Aria's breath hitched.
Tires crunched against gravel, slow and deliberate. Doors slammed shut outside—more than one. Heavy footsteps echoed down the street.
Her knees nearly buckled.
The letter slipped from her hands, fluttering silently to the floor.
You are the repayment.
The words carved themselves into her mind as she stared at the thin fabric of the curtains, shadows shifting behind them.
They had come for her.