Chapter 8 Renato
I'm in my study reviewing investment portfolios, planning how to reinvest the six million euros that should be hitting my accounts within the hour. The Rossi money will fund three new shipping operations and a real estate acquisition in Monaco. Clean, profitable, professional.
"Renato Vitiello,” I answer.
"Mr. Vitiello, this is Alessandro Rossi."
"About fucking time. Where’s the money your son owes me?”
"We need to discuss terms."
Terms.
Not confirmation, not transfer details.
I lean back in my leather chair, every instinct suddenly alert. "Terms were already discussed. Six million euros by noon today."
"That amount is unreasonable for the circumstances. We're prepared to transfer two million—the original debt—plus interest. Call it 2.5 million total."
His fucking audacity almost makes me laugh. "2.5 million for a 6 million debt? You’ve had months to pay this debt."
"For damaged merchandise, yes." His voice carries the casual cruelty of old money. "Lorenzo's bride has been compromised by this situation. The original marriage arrangement is void. We're being generous by offering anything at all."
Damaged merchandise.
I think about Camilla this morning, composed, intelligent, unbroken despite the terror I put her through.
"Generous?" I let the word hang between us. "You think I'm running a charity, Alessandro?"
"You’re a businessman who understands market value. The girl's worth has diminished significantly. Take the 2.5 million and we'll call this matter settled. It’s a simple business deal."
"The matter will be settled when I receive six million euros. Not a euro less."
"That's not going to happen, Vitiello. As far as we’re concerned, she’s damaged goods now. Find another solution. Find another buyer.”
The line goes dead.
I sit perfectly still, staring at the phone.
They're not paying. After everything—the cathedral, the deadline, the very real threat to their reputation—they're choosing to abandon her rather than meet my price.
Find another buyer.
They know exactly what that means. They know what happens to women in Camilla's situation when their families refuse to pay. And they're willing to let it happen rather than part with their precious money.
I lean back in my chair, mind working furiously.
The Rossis think they can lowball me. The Colombos think they can hide behind bankruptcy. Both families are gambling that I'll accept their insulting offer rather than follow through on my threats.
Time to prove them wrong.
I reach for my secure phone and scroll through my contacts. Viktor Kozlov in Moscow - oligarch with expensive tastes and unlimited resources. Ahmed Al-Rashid in Riyadh - traditional values but pays premium prices. Franco Torretti in Rome - professional broker with clients across three continents.
All men who acquire rare merchandise when it becomes available.
All men who will scare the absolute shit out of two Italian families when they realize I'm serious.
The plan forms quickly.
I'll arrange a private auction at the villa. Exclusive viewing. Premium buyers flying in from across Europe and beyond. Let word spread through both families about exactly who's interested in their discarded daughter.
The threat alone should be enough.
Alessandro Rossi won't let his family name be associated with a woman being sold to Russian oligarchs. Colombo won't let his daughter actually end up in a trafficking situation, not when he can scrape together the money to prevent it.
They just need the right motivation.
And nothing motivates like real fear.
Six million was my opening price for ransom. But if I mention auction potential? If I let slip that Kozlov alone has paid ten million for premium acquisitions? That Al-Rashid values Italian bloodline and education?
The families will find the money. They always do when the alternative is public humiliation and a massive scandal.
I'm not a fucking trafficker.
Never have been. I collect debts.
This is just pressure.
Sophisticated, terrifying pressure. But pressure nonetheless.
I dial Matteo first. "Boss?"
"I need you to reach out to a few contacts. Kozlov in Moscow, Al-Rashid in Riyadh, Torretti in Rome. Tell them I might have premium merchandise available for private auction within the next few weeks."
"What the fuck are you talking about? We don’t get involved in this shit!"
"I know. Keep it vague. I want to generate interest without committing to anything." I lean back in my chair, thinking through the strategy. "Tell them Italian bloodline, educated, untouched. Enough detail to get them interested, not enough to make firm commitments."
"And if they want specifics? Timelines?"
"Tell them I'm still assessing the situation. That proper preparation takes time." I pour a scotch. "The goal is to create enough buzz that word gets back to the families. When they hear who's interested, they'll find the money fast."
"This is only for leverage? Not an actual sale?"
"This is whatever it needs to be to collect what I'm owed. But start with leverage. Make some calls, drop some hints, see who bites. Don't commit to anything yet."
"What if they don't pay? What if we actually end up with buyers here expecting to purchase her?"
The question I've been avoiding.
"Then we compensate them for their time and inconvenience, blame family interference, and move on. But it won't come to that. Someone will fucking pay."
"Understood. How much detail about the girl?"
"Enough to generate serious interest. Italian aristocrat, Colombo family bloodline, educated in Switzerland. But no specifics yet. I want them hungry for more information."
I hang up. This will work.
I dial Alessandro Rossi back.
"What do you want, Vitiello? I thought we concluded our business."
"We concluded nothing. But since you believe 2.5 million is adequate compensation for a six million debt, I've decided to explore alternative arrangements."
"What arrangements?"
"The kind that involve private collectors with very specific tastes." I let that sink in. "I'm planning an exclusive auction. Viktor Kozlov has already expressed interest."
The silence on the other end is satisfying. Alessandro knows exactly who Kozlov is.
"You wouldn't dare. He’s an animal. Camilla is from a good family."
"Wouldn't I? You called her damaged goods, Alessandro. Said she wasn't worth the agreed price. I'm finding buyers who appreciate quality acquisitions." I take another sip of scotch. "The auction will happen when I'm satisfied she's properly prepared for presentation."
"This is madness. She's not property—"
"She's collateral for your unpaid debt. Which makes her mine to dispose of as I see fit. Of course, if you'd prefer to settle accounts before the auction takes place."
"We don't have six million euros!"
"Then I suggest you find it. Sell something, borrow from someone who’s willing to loan you money.
Because once those buyers arrive, once they see what they're bidding on, the price only goes up.
Kozlov alone might offer fifteen million for the right woman.
" I pause for effect. "Think about what that says about your family's judgment.
You had the chance to reclaim her for six million.
You chose not to. Someone else will pay more than double that amount. "
"You son of a bitch!"
"You have one week. After that, the buyers start arriving. And once they're involved, the situation becomes much more complicated."
I hang up before he can respond and immediately call Camilla’s father, Colombo.
"Hello?" His voice is hoarse with exhaustion.
"Colombo, this is Renato Vitiello. I'm calling to inform you about your daughter's situation."
"Where is my daughter? What have you done to her?"
"Nothing yet. Since neither your family nor the Rossis can meet her market value, I'm arranging private sale to interested collectors." I keep my voice matter-of-fact. "Men who specialize in rare acquisitions."
"Please, you have to give us more time! She’s innocent."
"Time for what? To continue avoiding your obligations?" I pour another scotch. "No, Colombo. Your daughter's value will be determined by people who actually have money to spend."
"How long before..."
"Before the auction? That depends on how quickly you find six million euros." I let him absorb the implications. "Premium buyers have very specific expectations. Meeting those expectations takes time. But I assure you, someone will pay. The question is whether it's you or them."
"What kind of men are we talking about?"
"The kind you don't want your daughter sold to. The kind that will make sure she never embarrasses your family again because she'll never be seen again." I drain half the scotch. "But that's not my concern. I'm a businessman collecting a debt. How I collect it is up to you."
The line goes quiet except for ragged breathing. "This will destroy our family's reputation."
"Reputation? Are you fucking kidding me? Your family's reputation was destroyed the moment you couldn't pay your debts. Now it's just a question of how much worse it gets."
I end the call, satisfaction settling in my chest. Both families will spend the next week in agony, wondering exactly when the auction will happen, exactly who's coming to bid. The uncertainty will drive them to desperate measures.
They'll find the money.
All I need to do is keep applying the pressure every way I can.
Matteo appears in the doorway. "Initial calls made, boss. All three contacts want more details about timing and viewing arrangements."
"Tell them I'll provide specifics once I'm certain the merchandise meets their standards. Could be next week, could be longer." I finish my scotch. "Make sure they understand this is a rare opportunity. Italian aristocrats don't come to market often."
"And the families?"
"Will be making frantic calls within the hour." I stand, checking my watch. "Which gives us time to establish new ground rules with our guest."
"You want me to handle the briefing?"