"Pick him up."
The voice ordered. It was calm. Dangerous in a way that made the whole room feel colder.
The two men straightened immediately, their grip on Celia tightening, not from anger, but from fear. They knew that voice.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
He was tall, six-two, maybe more. Towering even before he stepped into the half-light. His suit was sharp, Italian, the kind that cost more than Celia made in a year. Black leather gloves covered his hands, except for the left wrist where a silver watch caught the dim light.
A cigarette burned between his gloved fingers. He brought it to his lips slowly, sucking the life out of it, holding the smoke before releasing it in a lazy curl.
Celia's eyes locked onto him. Something about the man before him made his stomach tighten, but it took him a second to figure out what.
His hair.
It swept back from his face in thick, disheveled waves, the kind that begged for fingers to run through them. But it was the color that held Celia's attention. Deep black melting into striking crimson at the ends, like ink giving way to blood. Or maybe the other way around.
Either way, it suited him.
The man's eyes met Celia's, dark brown and almost black, devoid of any readable emotion. His olive-toned face was flawless, save for a few faint scars—one near his jaw and another barely visible beneath his collar.
He stood there, smoke curling around him, looking down at Celia like he was something small.
"You."
He smiled. One could mistake it for a nice smile, if they didn't know better.
"Look at you." He tilted his head, studying Celia like something interesting he'd found on the ground. "All that fire. All that fight." He took another slow drag, letting the smoke leak out with his words. "And for what?"
A pause. Then: "To end up on the floor, punched like a bag?"
He chuckled softly. "What's your name, kid?" Celia didn't answer right away. He stared head-on at the stranger before him.
His jaw was killing him. The blows he'd taken from the two men at his sides still throbbed through his body, making everything feel raw and loud. He could taste his own blood—copper on his tongue, thick at the back of his throat. His ribs screamed every time he breathed.
He flicked his eyes lazily to his grandma.
She was shaking. Terrified. Her eyes wet, her lips pressed tight like she was holding back a sob.
His grandpa's swollen gaze met his. Begging. Without words, Celia heard it loud and clear:
Don't provoke him.
Celia sucked in a painful breath. Then he looked back at the man.
"Celia." He answered.
The man chuckled softly, leaving his men surprised. He grabbed Celia's jaw and lifted his face slightly to get a better look at the young man in front of him.
"Celia?" he asked calmly, his voice curious. Then he questioned, "Why do you have a woman's name?"
Celia didn't flinch or blink. He answered evenly, "Does it bother you?"
The stranger remained silent, only staring at Celia longer and harder than before. He had expected nerves, embarrassment, or a flustered excuse, but Celia didn't show any of that.
Instead, he felt Celia's jaw tightening beneath his grip, not out of fear but something else. He liked that.
He released Celia's jaw and stood straight. "Bring him in." He ordered, lazily smoking his cigarette.
Just then, the area which had been dark moments ago lit up. Someone had switched on the light.
Celia and his grandparents blinked, taking time to adjust. The darkness had been one thing, but now, under the harsh light, everything felt exposed.
And there he was.
His cousin. Celia's cousin brother. Standing, no, barely standing. He was already a mess, bruised, bloodied. Held up by two men on either side.
Celia's stomach dropped. He could tell, without anyone saying a word, that the man before him was the reason his cousin looked like this.
But then another question clawed at him: What does he have to do with any of this?
Celia stared at his cousin. Then at the man. Then back at his grandparents. Nothing was making sense.
Just then one of the stranger men, dragged the chair he'd been sitting on, in the dark before. He placed it right in front of Celia.
The stranger sat down slowly. Never breaking eye contact.
Then he brought his hands out, resting them on his knees. One of the men stepped forward, the gun already cocked and placed it in his palm.
He held it loosely. Like it was nothing, just another part of his hand. Celia's eyes stayed on that gun. His heart pounded, but his face didn't move.
The stranger smiled, but it didn't reach his teeth.
"Now, Celia." He rested the gun on his thigh. "Let's talk about your cousin."
He lost interest in Celia and turned to Celia's grandparents, pointing the gun at them.
Celia froze. For a second, it felt like time had stopped.
"This isn't the first time I warned you both, right?" The man asked.
They both nodded slowly, scared to death.
"This grandson of yours has been causing chaos. He still owes me one billion Euro. Not only that, he stole something that belongs to me and gave it to our enemy." He paused, closing his eyes like he was thinking. "We asked him to sell both his kidneys."
He opened his eyes.
"But even those won't be enough for the damage and the money he owes." He tilted his head. "He has a sister. Young. I think I'll take both of their kidneys instead."
He let the words hang.
"Right now, my men are at the hospital. About to." He paused, letting it sink in. "I'll give them the go-ahead when I'm done with you all."
Celia's blood turned cold.
Lora.
She was still in the hospital. They'd been paying her hospital bill, hoping she'd get better. Hoping she'd survive, after the surgery.
And now these men were already on their way to her.
"No." The word slipped out before Celia could stop it. He shook his head, pulling against the men holding him. "No, she's just a kid. She has nothing to do with this."
The stranger raised an eyebrow. Said nothing.
Celia turned to his cousin, the mess of a man standing bruised and bloodied between two thugs. "What is he talking about?" His voice cracked. "One billion Euro? Stealing from him? What did you do?"
His cousin wouldn't meet his eyes.
Celia looked at his grandparents. His Grandma was crying silently while his Grandpa's swollen face was pale.
"Tell me no one owes him anything." Celia's voice rose. "Tell me this is a mistake. Grandma. Grandpa."
Silence.
His grandma opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Grandpa just shook his head slowly.
Celia's stomach dropped again. "You knew?"
Still nothing.
"You knew he was into something like this and you didn't tell me?" His voice was breaking now. "You let me walk in here blind?"
Grandpa finally spoke, his wrecked voice barely a whisper. "We didn't know it was this bad, boy. We thought... we thought he'd stopped."
Celia wanted to scream, he wanted to punch something.
Instead, he turned back to the stranger. "Let my grandparents go. Let my cousin's sister go. She's innocent. Whatever he owes, I'll find a way to pay it."
The stranger smiled. That same not-nice smile.
"Kid," he chuckled softly, "you can barely pay for your dinner. How exactly do you plan to pay me a billion euros?"