Chapter one - The Debt

( Sienna's POV )

Sienna didn’t expect the world to end on a Thursday.

Thursdays were supposed to be nothing days and quiet, forgettable, the limp middle of the week. But as she stood outside Inferno, the Romano family’s infamous nightclub, staring up at tinted windows and guards who didn’t look human so much as sculpted threats, she felt the shape of her life begin to tilt.

Her father’s warnings echoed like ghosts.

He’s cruel. Calculated. Don’t go to him. Don’t—

She stepped forward anyway.

The cold night air bit at her exposed skin, slicing through the thin jacket she’d thrown on before leaving the hospital. She could still smell antiseptic on her sleeves, still hear her father’s breath hitching, still see the blood at the corner of his mouth that hadn’t been cleaned before the ambulance arrived.

Every breath felt like a countdown.

Two guards flanked the entrance with black suits, blank expressions, the kind of men who probably didn’t blink unless ordered to.

One stepped forward. “Name.”

“Sienna Vale.”

The man looked at her like she’d said Santa Claus. “Who are you here to see?”

She swallowed, lifting her chin. “Luca Romano.”

Silence.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Then turn around.”

Her heart hammered. “You don’t understand. He contacted me. He told me to come.”

The guard exchanged a look with the second man with some unspoken signal, and then tapped an earpiece. “Someone named Sienna Vale is here asking for Luca.”

A long moment passed. Wind pushed against her back as if encouraging her to leave and to run, but her feet didn’t move.

Finally, the guard nodded once. “He’ll see you.”

Sienna’s throat tightened.

The heavy door clicked open, swallowing her into a world of sound and color. Music thumped beneath the floorboards, the bass matching her pulse, while strobes painted the room in blood-red flashes. Dancers writhed in shifting lights, laughter and danger mingling in the air.

Inferno.

Of course that was the name.

The place wasn’t a nightclub, it was a promise of damnation.

“Upstairs,” the guard said, guiding her across the floor.

Men stared. Women assessed. People moved out of their path like she was something fragile walking toward a cliff.

At the base of the stairs stood a woman in a crimson dress, tablet in hand. She looked Sienna up and down, one brow arching with quiet judgment before giving a curt nod.

“Straight ahead,” she said. “He’s waiting.”

That word, waiting and hit like a touch.

The Devil’s heir was waiting for her.

Sienna ascended the stairs, gripping the railing when her knees wobbled. Each step felt like walking deeper into a shadow that had teeth. The hallway was silent, a stark contrast to the chaos below. Thick carpeting muffled her footsteps.

At the end, a glass-walled office.

And inside it, him.

Luca Romano stood with his back to her, silhouetted against the city skyline. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed him in moonlight, turning his broad shoulders and tailored suit into a statue carved from darkness.

He didn’t turn around.

He didn’t need to.

“I told you midnight tomorrow,” he said, his voice deep, steady. “Yet here you are.”

Sienna froze in the doorway. “My father—”

“He’s alive,” Luca cut in, finally turning toward her.

The movement was slow. Deliberate. Like the world moved for him, not the other way around.

The first thing she noticed was his eyes.

Cold, glacial, and too intelligent. Like he could see everything she’d done, everything she was, and everything she was afraid of being, before she took a single breath.

The second thing she noticed was the scar at his jawline. Thin. Clean. A mark from a fight he’d clearly won.

“And you,” he said softly, “must be the daughter.”

Daughter.

Not Sienna.

Not Miss Vale.

Just daughter.

Just debt.

Her spine stiffened. “I came to speak with you.”

“You did.” His gaze flicked over her, her hospital-wrinkled jacket, the smudge of exhaustion under her eyes, the protective tension in her shoulders. “Braver than most.”

“I’m not here to be brave,” she said quietly. “I’m here to settle what he owes.”

A slow smile curved his mouth.

Not kind.

Not cruel.

Curious.

“And how do you intend to do that?” Luca asked, stepping closer.

She didn’t step back.

“My father doesn’t have the money,” she said. “He can’t pay you.”

“I know.”

She blinked. “Then what—”

“I gave him options,” Luca continued, voice calm, “and he chose poorly. Repeatedly.”

Her stomach twisted. “He was desperate.”

“Desperation,” Luca murmured, closing the distance between them to a dangerously intimate few feet, “makes men reckless. But recklessness doesn’t erase debt.”

Sienna forced herself to meet his gaze. “So punish him. Not me.”

Luca’s expression didn’t change, but something dark flickered behind his eyes.

“Oh, Sienna,” he said quietly. “Punishment is the language of men who lack imagination.”

Her breath caught.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

Luca studied her like she was a riddle carved from fire and fear.

“You’re here,” he said, “which means you already know.”

Her pulse pounded. “I’m here to negotiate.”

His smile sharpened. “Good. I appreciate negotiation. But understand that your father’s debt is not small. He owes me six figures.”

She swallowed hard. “I can work—”

“No.”

The refusal was immediate.

“I won’t have you cleaning floors or fetching drinks,” Luca said, gaze hard. “That would be a waste.”

A waste.

The word hit like a hand on her jaw, forcing her chin up.

Luca stepped even closer. Too close. She could smell him, and expensive cologne, smoke, and something darker, warmer, uniquely him. His voice dropped to a dangerous murmur.

“I’m offering you protection.”

Her breath hitched. “Protection?”

“From me. From others. From the debt your father created. Call it whatever you want maybe shelter, ownership, a deal.”

Her chest tightened painfully.

“This isn’t protection,” she whispered. “This is coercion.”

Luca’s eyes didn’t soften. “Call it survival instead.”

He reached into his suit and pulled out a folder and thin, black, embossed with a silver sigil. The Romano crest.

He held it out, but didn’t let go when she touched it.

“One year,” he said quietly. “Under my protection. Under my rules. Your father’s debt cleared. His life untouched.”

Her voice wavered. “And if I say no?”

“You won’t.”

“But if I do?”

Luca leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek.

“Then I send men to collect what your father owes,” he murmured. “And they will take more than money.”

Her blood went cold.

Slowly, deliberately, she pulled the folder from his grasp.

The contract.

Her father’s life.

Her own future.

Already sealed.

Luca watched her every movement, every tremor of her fingers. Not predatory, just certain. Like he’d known the outcome long before she walked into the room.

She signed.

It was done.

The Devil had taken his due.

When she finally looked up, Luca’s gaze swept over her face and landed on her mouth.

“You don’t own me,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Luca stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Not yet,” he replied.

A shiver rolled down her spine.

When she turned to leave, the last thing she felt was his gaze on her back with heavy, claiming, inevitable.

The world outside the office was loud and bright and spinning, but inside her chest something quiet and final settled into place.

Her life was no longer her own.

And Luca Romano wasn’t just the Devil’s heir.

He was the man who would ruin her or save her—

and she wasn’t sure which terrified her more.