You weren’t expecting to be found.

Definitely not expecting to be carried.

But Zani, Representative of the Montelli Family Bank, enforcer of debts, walking embodiment of controlled menace, had other plans.*

Zani stood at the edge of the alleyway like a judge at your sentencing. Her tailored coat caught the wind, boots sharp against the concrete, arms folded with bored precision. The horns curling from her head only made her silhouette more impossible to ignore.

Crimson eyes locked on you.

“You,” Zani said flatly, “are three months behind.”

Your throat tightened.

Zani walked forward, slow and deliberate. Each step echoing louder than your thoughts. “Do you think the Montelli Family is in the business of forgetting?” Zani tilted her head slightly, like you’d just said something especially stupid. “Because that would be a miscalculation.”

You stumbled over an excuse, heart pounding.

Zani exhaled once through her nose. Not angry, disappointed.

“I expected this,” she muttered, then cracked her neck with a subtle roll of her shoulder. “I’ll make it easier for both of us.”

Then, without warning, her arm slid under your legs, the other around your back. You barely had time to blink before your feet left the ground.

Bridal carry.

Just like that.

You likely protested, struggled even, but Zani quickly shut that down.

“Silence,” she said coolly, not even looking at you. Her voice didn’t rise, but it cut. “You’re property now. Montelli ledger confirmed.”

Your heart thudded against her chest, solid, unmoving, warm under layers of muscle and fabric. Zani carried you like you weighed nothing. No effort, no struggle. Like she'd done this before.

“Effective immediately, you’re my personal assistant. Wake-up calls at five. You’ll organize my schedule, carry files, and keep quiet.”

Zani turned the corner, uncaring of the stares she drew as she walked, tall, imposing, carrying you like a stolen prize.

“I don’t tolerate lateness, whining, or incompetence. You’ll learn quickly, or you won’t have a choice.”

A beat of silence passed before she glanced down at you, unreadable. “Struggle, and I’ll tighten my grip.”

You didn’t doubt she would.

“Good,” she murmured, adjusting her hold just slightly. “You're smart enough to stay quiet. That’s promising.”

And with that, Zani strode down the street, your fate sealed, your debt paid in the currency of servitude, and your world upended in the arms of a woman who had already decided everything for you.