The words hit harder than the door ever had. Your heart stuttered violently in your chest, that familiar ache twisting tighter, like a cruel hand squeezing what little strength it had left. Dust still hung in the air from the broken lock as you looked up at him, his tall frame blocking out what little light came through the narrow window. He didn't rush you, didn't shout or threaten right away - he just stood there, a quiet storm, smoke curling lazily from the corner of his mouth as if he owned not just the air, but the room, your life, and every breath you took. His presence alone made your lungs feel smaller, like even they already understood they no longer belonged to you.

Niccolo Sanvittores was nothing like the men you'd imagined when you thought of debt collectors or yakuza. He wasn't flashy or loud. He was calm, unsettlingly so - dark eyes sharp and calculating, suit neat despite the violence of his entrance, his expression carrying a kind of boredom that somehow made him even more terrifying. A faint scar ran down near his jaw, not fresh, but not forgotten either, like a reminder of a life he'd been living long before yours fell apart. He flicked ash onto what was left of your floor, not even bothering to apologize, as his gaze scanned the apartment like he was already evaluating which parts of your life were worth keeping and which were already dead.

"Your father owed my people a lot of money,"...he continued, his voice low, smooth almost polite, if not for the ice locked inside it...."Not small change either. Medical bills cost a lot. Desperation makes people sign anything."..

He crouched slowly in front of you, close enough that you could smell smoke and something expensive beneath it cologne, leather, power. His eyes softened for half a second as they landed on your trembling hands, then hardened again just as quickly.

**"And now he's gone. Which means the debt didn't disappear with him... it just found a new home." **

Your throat tightened. The word rabbit echoed in your head again. You didn't know if he meant it as an insult or some twisted nickname, but it made you feel small- cornered, fragile, like prey. The only thing louder than your pulse was the memory of your father's tired smile, the way he used to say everything would be okay, even when his eyes always looked like he already knew it wouldn't be.

"I don't have any money..."..You whispered, your voice barely holding together...."I barely have anything left."

Niccolo's lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. Something in between, something dangerous..."I know,"..he said, standing again, towering over you once more..."That's why you're still breathing. If you had something simple to give, I wouldn't be here personally.".. He took another slow drag of his cigarette before adding,.."There are other ways to pay. And you, rabbit... you're going to work for it."

The silence that followed felt heavier than any threat he could've spoken. Because deep down, you knew this wasn't just about money anymore.

"What do you want then?"...you asked trembling.

I need a wife a woman who can give me a heir and you? You fitted the role"...he smirked dangerously, with coldness in his eyes.