The Price of Freedom

Maya's POV

The envelope in Dante's hands looked thick and official, like something that could destroy my life with just a signature. I stayed by the windows, keeping as much distance between us as possible.

"I asked you a question," Dante said, his voice deceptively calm. "How much do you think you're worth?"

"I'm not for sale."

The charming one - I still didn't know his name - laughed from his spot near the door. "Everything's for sale, princess. The only question is price."

"My name is Maya, not princess."

"I'll call you whatever I want," he said, that cruel smile spreading wider. "You belong to us now."

"I don't belong to anyone!"

"Actually," Dante interrupted, opening the envelope and pulling out a stack of papers, "legally speaking, you do."

He spread the documents across the glass coffee table like he was dealing cards. Even from across the room, I could see official seals and signatures.

"What is that?"

"Your father's contract with our organization. Very thorough. Very binding." Dante's fingers drummed against the table. "He put up everything he owned as collateral for the loan - his house, his car, his business, and..." He looked up at me with those cold gray eyes. "His daughter."

"That's impossible. You can't use people as collateral. This is America, not some third-world country where they still have slavery!"

The big scary one spoke up from his corner. "Rich people have been buying and selling other people's lives for centuries. They just use fancier paperwork now."

"Show me," I demanded, moving closer despite every instinct screaming at me to run. "Show me where it says that."

Dante gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit down, and I'll explain everything."

I remained standing. "I can read from here."

"Suit yourself." He picked up the top document. "This is a promissory note for two million dollars, signed by your father six months ago. Interest rate of fifteen percent per month, compounded daily."

"Fifteen percent? That's insane!"

"That's what happens when you borrow from loan sharks instead of banks," the silent one said from his position by the door. His voice was quiet but somehow more menacing than if he'd been shouting.

Dante continued reading. "In the event of default or the borrower's death, all collateral becomes property of the lending organization, to be disposed of as seen fit."

"But I'm not property!"

"According to this document, you are." He held up another paper. "Your father signed a separate agreement naming you as his primary asset. Worth quote, 'more than all his other possessions combined,' unquote."

The room started spinning. I grabbed the back of the nearest chair to keep from falling over. "He wouldn't do that. My dad loved me."

"Love and desperation make people do terrible things," the charming one said, sounding almost sympathetic. Almost.

"But even if he did sign that," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "it wouldn't be legal. You can't own people."

"You're right," Dante agreed, and for a moment hope fluttered in my chest. "We can't technically own you. But we can own your debt, your future earnings, your freedom of movement, and your personal choices until the debt is satisfied."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," the silent one said, stepping closer, "you work for us until you've paid back two million dollars plus interest. Which, at your current earning potential, would take approximately..." He paused, like he was doing math in his head. "Forever."

I sank into the chair, my legs finally giving out. "This can't be happening."

"Oh, but it is." Dante gathered up the papers and slid them back into the envelope. "The good news is, we're not unreasonable people. We're prepared to offer you several options for paying off the debt."

"What options?"

"Option one," he said, counting on his fingers, "you work in one of our restaurants as a waitress. Minimum wage, minus room and board, minus security fees, minus administrative costs. You'd be debt-free in roughly eighty years."

"Eighty years? I'd be dead!"

"Which brings us to option two." His smile turned predatory. "You work in one of our other establishments. Much better pay. You could be free in just five to ten years, depending on how popular you become with the clients."

The way he said 'clients' made my skin crawl. "What kind of establishment?"

"The entertaining kind," the charming one said with a wink.

"You mean prostitution." The word tasted like poison in my mouth.

"We prefer 'hospitality services,'" Dante said. "Much more professional sounding."

I shot to my feet, rage burning through my fear. "I would rather die than let you sell my body!"

"That can be arranged," the silent one said matter-of-factly. "Though it wouldn't help with the debt situation. Dead girls don't generate revenue."

"You're all monsters."

"We're businessmen," the big scary one said, sounding almost apologetic. "Nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" I laughed, but it came out high and hysterical. "You kidnapped me, you're talking about forcing me into prostitution, and you say it's nothing personal?"

"Your father created this situation," Dante said, his patience clearly wearing thin. "We're simply making the best of it."

I looked around the luxurious apartment - at the expensive furniture, the original artwork, the view that probably cost more per month than I'd ever made in a year. These men lived like kings while destroying people's lives.

"There has to be another way," I said desperately. "Some other option."

Dante and the charming one exchanged a look I didn't like.

"Actually," Dante said slowly, "there might be a third option. But you're not going to like it any better than the other two."

"Tell me."

"You marry me."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"

"A business arrangement," he explained, like he was discussing the weather. "You become my wife, and your father's debt gets transferred to my personal accounts. Essentially forgiven."

"In exchange for what?"

"Your complete cooperation. You do what I say, when I say it, no questions asked. You attend social events as my wife, you maintain the proper appearance, and you never, ever try to leave."

"That's not marriage, that's ownership with a ceremony."

"Marriage has always been a business transaction among people like us," the charming one said. "Love is for poor people who can't afford better arrangements."

I stared at Dante, trying to see some hint of humanity in those cold gray eyes. "Why? Why would you want to marry someone who hates you?"

"Hate can be useful," he said. "It's passionate. It's intense. And with time and proper training, it can be transformed into other emotions."

"You mean Stockholm Syndrome."

"I mean adaptation. Survival. Making the best of your circumstances."

The room fell silent except for the sound of rain hitting the windows. Far below, the city lights twinkled like stars, beautiful and completely out of reach.

I thought about my options: slavery in a restaurant, prostitution, or marriage to a criminal. None of them were really choices - they were just different flavors of prison.

But maybe, if I played this smart, I could find a fourth option they hadn't considered.

"I need time to think," I said finally.

"You have until morning," Dante replied. "Choose wisely, Maya. This is the only time I'll be generous with options."

The silent one opened the door, and all four men filed out, leaving me alone in the beautiful cage they'd built for me.

I waited until I heard the lock click, then ran to the door and tried the handle. Locked, of course. The windows didn't open, there was no balcony, and no phone I could see.

But I wasn't giving up. Not yet.

Mom had fought cancer for three years before it finally won. She'd taught me that sometimes the only choice you have is how you fight, not whether you win or lose.

If these men thought they'd broken me, they were about to learn they'd picked the wrong girl to cage.

I just had to figure out how to use their own game against them.