SIENNA POV
The numbers wouldn't change no matter how many times I looked at them.
I sat on my apartment floor at 1:47 AM, surrounded by bank statements, credit card bills, loan documents, and every piece of financial paper I owned. My laptop glowed in the darkness, spreadsheet open, calculator running.
Total assets: fifty-three thousand, two hundred and fourteen dollars.
Total debt owed: three million dollars.
Deficit: everything.
My hands shook as I typed the numbers again. Maybe I'd made a mistake. Maybe there was an account I'd forgotten. Maybe something would appear that hadn't existed five minutes ago.
Nothing changed.
I had fifty-three thousand dollars. I needed three million.
The math was brutal and simple. I was drowning and the surface was miles above me.
My phone sat beside me on the floor. Forty-six hours and thirteen minutes remaining. I'd been counting down since Matteo Carbone walked out of my office.
I picked up the phone and opened a search browser. My fingers hesitated over the keyboard before I typed: "emergency loans three million dollars."
The results were useless. Business loans required collateral. Personal loans maxed out at a hundred thousand and needed perfect credit. No bank would give me this kind of money. I didn't own property. I didn't have investments. I had nothing to offer as security.
By 2 AM, I'd researched every legal option. Every single one ended the same way. No.
I stood and paced my tiny living room. Six steps to the window. Six steps back. My mind kept spinning through possibilities that didn't exist.
Could I borrow from friends? I didn't have friends with millions of dollars. Elena worked at the same accounting firm making the same salary I did.
Could I take out multiple smaller loans? Even if I got approved for ten different fifty-thousand-dollar loans, which I wouldn't, that was only five hundred thousand. I'd still be two and a half million short.
Could I sell everything I owned? My car, my furniture, my clothes, everything. Maybe I'd get sixty thousand total. That left me two million, nine hundred and forty thousand dollars short.
The math kept destroying me.
At 3 AM, I searched something different: "how to disappear and start over."
Pages of results appeared. Advice on changing your identity. Instructions for moving to countries without extradition treaties. Stories of people who'd vanished and rebuilt their lives somewhere else.
My father had done exactly this. He'd run when the debt became too heavy. He'd abandoned me to face the consequences alone.
I could do the same thing.
I could pack a bag right now. Drive to Canada. Cross the border. Change my name. Find work under the table. Build a new life where no one knew who Sienna Moretti was or what she owed.
My cursor hovered over a link titled "Countries Where You Can Live Off Grid."
I clicked it.
The article talked about places in South America where you could live cheaply and anonymously. Places where a person could disappear completely if they were careful.
I read the whole thing twice.
Then I closed my laptop.
I'd spent three years building my life here. Three years working my way up from a junior accountant who made copies and filed papers to a senior accountant who handled major clients. Three years proving I was more than my father's daughter. Three years creating a version of myself that made sense.
Running would destroy all of that.
I'd become exactly what I was trying to escape. A coward. A person who left others to clean up their mess.
I wouldn't do that. I couldn't.
At 4 AM, I made coffee and sat at my kitchen table. The city was still dark outside my window. A few cars passed on the street below. Normal people going to early shifts or coming home from late ones.
People with normal problems. Normal debts. Normal lives.
I'd never be normal again.
I pulled my laptop back open and created a new document. At the top I typed: "Skills and Assets."
If I couldn't pay the debt with money, maybe I could pay it another way.
I started listing everything I was good at. Everything that might have value to someone like Matteo Carbone.
Accounting and financial analysis. I could find patterns in numbers that other people missed. I could spot fraud, identify inefficiencies, restructure budgets.
Languages. I spoke Italian and Spanish fluently. My mother had insisted I learn both as a child. I'd added Portuguese in college because it helped with business opportunities.
Negotiation. I was good at reading people. At understanding what they wanted and finding solutions that worked for everyone.
Organization. I could manage complex systems and keep multiple projects running smoothly.
Discretion. I'd spent three years being invisible. I knew how to keep secrets.
I stared at the list. Would any of this matter to a man who collected debts with violence?
Maybe. Maybe not. But it was all I had to offer.
At 5 AM, the sun started rising. Pink and orange light spread across my apartment walls. A new day. Thirty-seven hours remaining.
I made my decision.
I was going to walk into Matteo Carbone's office and offer him something he couldn't get with violence or threats. I was going to offer him my intelligence. My skills. My complete cooperation and loyalty.
I was going to negotiate for my life.
The idea was insane. He could laugh at me. He could hurt me. He could take what I offered and still destroy everything I owned.
But doing nothing guaranteed destruction. At least this way, I had a chance.
I showered and dressed in my best navy suit. Professional. Capable. The kind of outfit that said I was someone worth taking seriously.
I practiced my pitch in the bathroom mirror. My voice shook the first three times. By the tenth attempt, it sounded stronger.
"I don't have the money, but I have something more valuable. I'm intelligent, organized, and calm under pressure. I speak three languages. I understand numbers and negotiations. You could be making money instead of just taking it."
The words sounded ridiculous out loud. Who was I to tell Matteo Carbone how to run his business?
But I'd come too far to stop now.
I spent the day refining my approach. I pulled up everything I could find about the Ricci family's business operations. Restaurant protection. Import-export businesses. Real estate holdings. They had legitimate fronts covering criminal activities.
I could help with that. I could make their operations more efficient. More profitable. More invisible to federal investigators.
I just had to convince him I was worth keeping alive.
By midnight, I was ready. Tomorrow morning, I'd walk into his office without an invitation. I'd present my case. I'd negotiate like my life depended on it.
Because it did.
I lay in bed and tried to sleep. My mind wouldn't stop spinning. Adrenaline and fear kept me awake.
At 12:43 AM, my phone buzzed.
I grabbed it off my nightstand. Unknown number.
A photo loaded slowly. My apartment building. Taken from street level. The angle showed my bedroom window. The light was on because I was still awake.
Below the photo, a message:
Just checking on you. Time's running out.
My blood turned to ice.
They were watching me right now. Someone was standing on my street looking up at my window while I lay in bed.
I jumped up and ran to the window. My hands shook as I pulled the curtain aside.
The street below was empty. No cars. No people. Nothing.
But someone had been there. Someone had taken that photo within the last few minutes.
My phone buzzed again. Another message from the same number.
Sleep well, Sienna. Tomorrow is going to be a very important day.
I backed away from the window. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break through my chest.
They weren't just following me. They were playing with me. Letting me know they could reach me anytime they wanted.
I grabbed my laptop and searched for the address on the business card Matteo had given me. The Ricci family office was in Manhattan. Twenty-three blocks from my office.
I could be there by 8 AM.
I had to be there by 8 AM.