Rescued by Darkness

The Debt

Lorenzo D'Angelo had never felt fear—not in the conventional sense, at least. A man of his stature and power, with hazel eyes that could cut through the toughest of men, had no reason to fear anything. His presence alone, towering at 6'6", was enough to make others tremble. But as he stood outside a decrepit house on the outskirts of Naples, something gnawed at him. 

Something darker than usual.

Rocco, his ever-loyal second-in-command, glanced at him. "Boss, you sure about this? Small-time scum like them... it's not worth your time."

Lorenzo's jaw clenched. The couple inside had owed him for too long, and something about today felt... off. "I'll handle it. Wait here."

Rocco nodded, though his gaze lingered in concern as Lorenzo moved toward the door. The house was a wreck, a reflection of the lives within—cracked windows, peeling paint, a stench that wafted through the cracks. Lorenzo's knuckles rapped sharply on the door, and within seconds, a frail woman appeared. Her eyes widened in terror the moment she saw him.

"Mr. D'Angelo," she whispered, her voice shaking as if the words themselves hurt her throat. "Please... just a little more time."

"You've had enough time," Lorenzo said, his voice cold. He pushed past her with ease, stepping into the squalor of the house. The man, her partner, stood in the corner, shaking, avoiding eye contact. "Where's my money?"

The man stammered, "We don't have it. I swear, we just need a little more—"

Lorenzo wasn't listening. His eyes had already shifted to a closet in the corner of the room, its door slightly ajar. From within, he could hear it—something faint. A small, trembling whimper. He moved toward the closet, ignoring the couple's frantic protests. The woman grabbed his arm, desperate to stop him, but Lorenzo shoved her away with such force that she stumbled backward.

"Please, don't!" the man cried out, but it was too late. Lorenzo yanked the closet door open, revealing a sight that made even him pause.

Inside the cramped, filthy space, crammed into a small cardboard box, was a baby girl. She was tiny, no more than four months old, with matted light brown hair and piercing green eyes that were clouded with fear and pain. Her body was unnaturally still, her breathing shallow. Bruises, cuts, and dirt marred her fragile skin, and her cries were weak, as if she had learned long ago that crying wouldn't help.

Lorenzo's chest tightened. He wasn't a man given to softness, but what he saw in front of him was no longer just a debt. It was cruelty beyond comprehension. He knelt down, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he lifted the tiny girl from the box. She flinched at his touch, her body trembling violently as if expecting more pain.

The woman behind him sobbed, "We... we didn't mean to... we just found her. We couldn't afford to feed her."

Lorenzo's hazel eyes darkened. "Found her?"

The man was shaking, backing away, his cowardice clear. "We... we stole her. She was—she was just left alone, and we thought—"

Lorenzo's grip tightened on the baby, holding her closer to his chest, as a red-hot fury boiled inside him. Stolen. Abused. Forgotten. This wasn't a mistake or an accident. This was deliberate cruelty.

He stood, the baby cradled protectively against his chest. She was light—too light—her small frame so fragile it felt like she could break at any moment. Her green eyes looked up at him, wide with fear, but she was too weak to even cry.

"You'll pay for this," Lorenzo said, his voice deadly calm. He turned to Rocco, who had just stepped inside. "Take her to the car. Gently."

Rocco's eyes widened at the sight of the baby, but he knew better than to question Lorenzo in the moment. He carefully took the tiny bundle from Lorenzo, wrapping her in the boss's expensive jacket to shield her from the cold. Her fear was palpable—her small body trembled as she was transferred to Rocco's arms, and her whimpers grew more frantic.

Lorenzo turned his back on the baby and walked toward the couple, who were now cowering in the corner. "You stole her. You let her rot." His voice was low, seething with fury. "You don't deserve mercy."

Without hesitation, he pulled his gun from his coat, aiming it squarely at the man's head. "This is for her," he said coldly, and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot reverberated through the small house. The woman let out a strangled scream as the man crumpled to the floor, lifeless. Lorenzo didn't flinch, his expression cold and unyielding. He turned his gaze to the woman, who was now sobbing uncontrollably.

Rocco reappeared in the doorway, the baby still bundled in his arms. "Boss?"

"Finish it," Lorenzo said without looking back.

Rocco didn't hesitate. A second gunshot rang out, and the house fell into silence. Lorenzo holstered his gun and walked toward the door. There was no satisfaction in killing these scum—only a grim necessity. As far as he was concerned, their lives had ended the moment they stole that child and left her to suffer.

In the car, Lorenzo slid into the back seat beside Luciana. She was still shaking, her green eyes wide with fear, staring at him as though expecting him to be the next monster in her life.

"Let's get out of here," Lorenzo ordered Rocco, his voice low as the car pulled away from the house of horrors.

The ride to the airport was quiet, save for the occasional whimper from the baby. Lorenzo's thoughts were racing, but every time his eyes met hers, something strange stirred in his chest. He couldn't name it, but he knew one thing: this child needed more than just protection. She needed care—something Lorenzo hadn't given to anyone outside his family in years.

When they arrived at the private airport, Lorenzo carried the baby with him to his jet. The flight attendant's eyes widened in surprise, but she wisely said nothing, offering only a soft blanket and a bottle.

Once they were in the air, Lorenzo unwrapped the baby from his jacket and laid her carefully on the seat beside him. Her tiny body was stiff, and she recoiled when he reached for her. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable—she didn't trust him. Didn't trust anyone.

"Shhh," Lorenzo murmured, his voice softer than it had been in years. He ran a hand gently through her hair, but even that made her flinch. His jaw tightened, and his gaze darkened with fury—not at her, but at what had been done to her.

She needed a bath. He could see the dirt and blood smeared across her skin. Lorenzo carried her to the small bathroom at the back of the jet, filling the sink with warm water. Her eyes darted around the space, her small hands trembling as he gently removed her filthy clothes. She cried out, her tiny voice hoarse, when he lowered her into the water, as if expecting the bath to be another form of punishment.

He saw then the extent of her injuries—cuts, bruises, and scars that no child should have. Lorenzo's hands clenched into fists as he washed her gently, his fury boiling beneath the surface. Every bruise he found, every small whimper she made, only added to the fire burning in his chest.

"They'll never hurt you again," he vowed quietly, his voice laced with deadly promise.

After the bath, he wrapped her in a soft towel, holding her close to his chest as she trembled against him. She was hungry, her small lips searching for sustenance. The flight attendant had prepared a bottle, and Lorenzo held it to her mouth, watching as she drank in desperate gulps.

Her green eyes never left his, wide with fear and uncertainty, but there was something else—something like hope—buried deep within them. Lorenzo had never felt this kind of responsibility before, this fierce need to protect.

As the plane soared through the night sky, Lorenzo sat with Luciana in his arms, her small body slowly relaxing against his chest. His fury hadn't subsided. If anything, it had grown. But now, it was tempered with a singular focus: to ensure that no one ever laid a hand on her again.

Luciana was his now. And anyone who dared threaten her would face the wrath of a man who had built an empire on fear.