Bound in Debt (Bound #1)

1. Dante

1

DANTE

Saturday, August 31

I force air into my lungs, trying to ground myself before I enter my new classroom and begin preparing for a room full of fresh-faced college students. I’m supposed to teach them how to produce real music from their string instruments. The violin is my specialty, but I’ve had enough success as a composer and musician to have earned the respect of the entire music department at Thronewood University. But I doubt any of my students has what it takes to pursue a career in the arts. They’re probably just a bunch of spoiled-ass rich kids here on daddy’s dime.

I don’t want to be here, playing at being a professor in some ritzy New England suburb.

However, there isn’t a place for me back home in Italy anymore. The memories that filled every inch of Portofino are ruined for me and I got tired of the sour taste in my mouth every time I walked the streets.

So, I left.

My brother Marco had enough connections to get me the interview at Thronewood. My talent and experience easily turned that first interview into a visiting faculty position.

No matter how useless the job is now.

Marco welcomed me to the States with open arms, put me up in his exorbitant guest house, and did his best to convince me I could build the life of my dreams here. But I knew all this was temporary— is temporary.

He was killed just two months after I arrived in Connecticut.

Now, I’m stuck with his wife, the same woman who threw a fit because I wouldn’t fuck her on her and my brother’s wedding day more than two decades ago. The bitch holds a grudge like nothing else. And, apparently, she’s still a classy piece of shit. One my brother inexplicably allowed to run the show when it came to their life and home.

I warned him plenty of times about social climbers and how quickly their feelings can change once money gets involved, but he was so utterly blinded by love that he ignored all reason.

I count love at the top of the list of useless emotions.

I know, I’m one to talk. I used to be that same love-struck fool until I found myself in a shitload of trouble and prison time. At least my brother’s wife, Marissa, has never been smart enough to pull off the level of manipulation I had to deal with.

Except now he’s dead and I’m unattached. Which means, in Marissa’s eyes, I’m fair game. That’s probably going to lead to a whole host of shit for me to deal with.

So, I make excuses to stick around Thronewood’s campus as much as possible. I won’t say I like dealing with trust fund kids who don’t know the first thing about making it in the real world.

Good thing I’m not here to teach any hard life lessons. No one’s counting on me to throw them a lifeline when they get hit in the face by the karma-filled clusterfuck of reality.

No one thinks of someone who plays the violin and writes music when they think about who they should turn to when they get in trouble. And that suits me just fine, since the thought of simply teaching sounds more and more like torture with each passing second.

As I enter the darkened hallway toward my office and classroom, I’m stopped by the sound of soft music coming from inside. The rich and complex notes drawn by a bow across strings reverberate off the walls, a soothing pulse that I haven’t indulged in for months. My heart pounds in excitement as I step forward.

Music was my entire existence.

My first love.

The only loyal, unselfish love I’ve known in my adult life.

The reason why I stayed in Portofino while my brother flew to the States, looking for a bigger and brighter adventure when we were both too young to be smart. Over the years, I’d fly in for the occasional visit, even making the trip when Marco’s son, Liam, was born. I never planned on leaving Italy for more than a short trip.

That is, until I received my own dose of betrayal—a broken heart from a woman who exhaled lies as easily as she drew breath.

Not only did she waste a year of my life, but she handed me two more behind bars.

Then her husband began systematically destroying my reputation and career, taking away the only thing I had to live for.

My steps slow as I process what I actually hear through the closed door, the notes dancing together in a familiar melody.

Her song.

My chest tightens with an unadulterated rage. That fucking song, I can’t get away from it. It’s been two and a half years and it’s found a way across the damn ocean to haunt me again.

Furious beyond belief, I grip the door and fling it open, determined to find the source of the music. To force the musician to stop playing it, to erase the piece from existence so I never have to hear it again.

The room is empty, save for a lone girl sitting delicately in a chair facing a floor-to-ceiling window. I don’t register the view or anything else, just her .

The source of my pain, the person breathing life into the dark memories that only serve to torture me.

Long, dark hair falls down her shoulders in chaotic spirals of bouncing curls as her arm moves fluidly, drawing her bow back and forth over her instrument. Her chin is tucked to her chest and she doesn’t even look up as the door bangs into the wall, her focus entirely consumed by the music. The devotion she is giving to the piece only boils my blood.

How dare she not recognize the agony I’m in?

“ Stop .”

The girl jolts, scratching a string and creating a discordant screech, before she cranes her head to look backwards to me. My fingers itch to wrap around the neck of her violin and smash it to the hardwood floor. But the instrument shouldn’t have to suffer as much as I am for that performance.

I should’ve killed Gabriella—and her husband—when I had the chance. Maybe that would have soothed the monster in my chest. At least I wouldn’t have had to leave my beloved Italy.

“I’m sorry,” the girl murmurs, rising to stand. “Did you have this room reserved?”

I stare at her as she closes the distance between us.

Lake blue eyes.

Plush lips.

Tanned, flawless skin that she has no problem showing off with the white cropped tee she’s wearing. Her gray sweatpants hug her curvy waist and I stop there.

She’s a fucking kid. And she has no business being in my classroom outside of class hours.

“You’re Professor Moretti,” she breathes, finally putting two and two together. Her eyes bulge from her face and she blinks rapidly, as if she can’t believe for a second that I’m real. “I’m a huge fan. I had to beg my advisor to get me into this class because they didn’t know if you’d only be here for fall semester or the full year and I?—”

“Shut up,” I blurt out, trying to fight back my rising temper. To focus on the fact that she’s here, without my permission, and playing that song. “What are you doing in my classroom?”

“Oh, I was just practicing.”

“Practicing my song? You thought you’d kiss my ass by playing my song?”

“No!” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t to—I love that song. It’s one of my?—”

“Don’t… ever …play it again,” I command through clenched teeth. “If I hear it, I’m kicking you out of my class.”

“But—”

“Just say ‘ yes ’ and don’t bother making excuses. Got it?”

She stares at me for a long second before nodding. “I understand.”

Fuck me.

I begin to turn around to find my damn bearings in this giant room bathed in the soft afternoon light pouring through the windows, but the audacious chit stops me from walking away.

“Do you have a syllabus for us? My advisor said?—”

“Read the room, princess,” I bite out, glaring down at her and praying she’ll take the hint and finally leave. “I’m not in the mood for small talk, and you clearly aren’t old enough to be in my class. Go to the mall or something.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t have intruded. It’s just, after two years here you’re the first visiting professor I’m excited by. I’m sorry.” I bow my head in acceptance of her babbled apology. Maybe I was harsh, but at least she stopped playing that cursed bit of music. However, I didn’t scare her enough to keep her from opening her damn mouth again. “I’m Victoria Waldorf.”

“Good for you.”

“I promise this won’t happen again. Next time I’ll ask if the space is available.”

“Perfect.”

“ Are you going to be here all year? I’d love to sign up for next semester?—”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I sigh, bringing my fingers up to my temples to make small circles in an attempt to rub out a rapidly forming headache. “If you’re this incapable of taking direction, of understanding that I wanted you out of here five minutes ago, one semester with you will be quite long enough for me. I don’t believe I could bear two.”

Victoria’s lips part in a shocked gasp before she turns on her heel, marching angrily toward her belongings.

I take note of the crown molding framing the walls and the high ceiling. The crystal chandeliers hanging overhead make this space feel so over the top it’s almost sickening. I’m surprised the chairs aren’t made of gold or that a butler isn’t waiting in the hall to let people in and out of the various rooms.

“Vee, baby, I’m home.”

My nostrils flare at the annoying voice intruding on my space. I’d recognize my nephew’s signature whine anywhere. It sounds just like his mother’s. Petulant, bored, and in need of a job involving hard labor. His hands are as pretty and soft as a model’s, a direct contrast to my scarred and callused ones. I swear to God, if I ever find out the kid gets manicures, I’ll go to my brother’s grave and bitch about his pansy-ass son for at least an hour.

“Uncle D,” Liam greets cheerily from the doorway. “How’s it going?”

I don’t respond, still staring at the rich décor until I feel him at my side. Glancing over, I can see he’s almost as tall as I am, but far scrawnier. Weaker.

Maybe I will go visit Marco regardless.

“Liam,” I greet flatly, ignoring his cocky little smile.

“You ready to start teaching? Act all middle-class and shit?”

I want to punch him in the throat and watch him gasp for air.

I’m unsure of what went wrong, because the brother I knew would never have raised his son to be a prick. Marco always preached that respect is the highest form of currency. That it can’t be bought, only earned.

“You really are an entitled little prick, aren’t you, Liam?”

My nephew doesn’t wipe the smirk off his face, acting as if he earned every dollar he spends. “Ma says I act like you. Always said you were a broody asshole with a chip on his shoulder.”

“And what chip are you carrying around?” I press back. “Did your black Amex max out?”

Liam’s lips turn down in a scowl. “She tell you that?”

“Tell me what?”

“That she won’t pay it. That we have no m?—”

“I’m ready,” Victoria beams, heaving her backpack over her shoulder and lifting her violin case in one hand. She looks at my nephew expectantly. “Can we stop by my room really quick so I can drop my stuff off?”

Liam’s light brown eyes flick over to her, but he doesn’t lose an ounce of his arrogance. “Yeah, whatever. I see you met my uncle.”

Victoria looks back at me. “You didn’t say Professor Moretti was your uncle. I’ve only been talking about him for weeks now.”

Christ.

“It was a surprise,” Liam claims, shoving his hands into his dark jeans. “Plus, we didn’t know if you were getting into his class.”

“Right,” she replies, her tone aggrieved. “Well, thank you, Professor, for letting me use the classroom.”

I finally look back over at her, taking the time to really get a look at what my nephew is probably banging.

And I can’t say I blame him.

She’s fucking beautiful. Scattered freckles form a bridge over her nose and highlight her cheekbones. Her sun-kissed skin is warm and inviting, and her lips are a sweet, perfect pink—perfect for wrapping around a cock.

Rich women and their needy little whims aren’t to my taste. And this one is too young for me to be fantasizing about anyway.

“I didn’t,” I repeat. “You waltzed in here like you own the place.”

“She sort of does,” Liam interjects smugly. “Her family practically funds half this school. They probably pay your salary, too.”

I snort. “Well, tell them I deserve a raise for having to chase kids who badly need lessons out of my classroom. I’m definitely going to be putting in overtime if half my students play at the same mediocre level as you, Miss Waldorf. Maybe I should save us all the misery and just cancel the class now.”

Her face falls at my cruel words. To be fair, I don’t actually know that she’s awful. Give her a song to play that I didn’t write and it would be a fair assessment, but, currently, I’m unimpressed and irritated as shit.

“Might be a sign, Vee,” Liam replies to Victoria. “Your mom hates that you want this degree. And you won’t need to play anyway once we’re married.”

She shoots him a loaded look and it’s the first glimpse I get that she may actually have something resembling a backbone. “I’m not going to give up my violin. Like I give a shit about what my mother wants me to do.”

Liam rolls his eyes dramatically. “C’mon, Vee. Next summer?—”

“ Stop .” She holds up a palm as if to block his next words and I see fury glimmering in the blue depths of her eyes. “I didn’t agree to anything. Not for next summer or the one after that.” She straightens her spine and breathes deeply, clearly reaching for an inner calm. “We should go.”

“We’ll talk more later.” My nephew is obviously disgruntled that she’s not jumping for joy at the prospect of marrying him. I can’t believe my nephew actually wants to get married. He’s only twenty-one and still has plenty of time to swing his dick around without much consequence before he needs to worry about settling down. “And we’re not going to argue about it.”

Victoria tsks and shifts her hold on her instrument case. “You can talk about it, Liam. I’m not having this conversation again, especially in front of your uncle.” She sends me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Professor. I hope to change your mind about my skillset.” A weak grin forms along her lips. “Welcome to Thronewood.”

Then she pivots to leave, abandoning my nephew. If only she had done me the favor of taking him with her. I might have been willing to give her a few brownie points for that one.

“Don’t you have a keg party to go to?” I pipe in, interrupting my nephew’s mumbled complaints about ungrateful bitches.

“Not until later.”

I point to the door. “Off you go then.”

“I need her to marry me.”

My brows pinch together. “Why?” I probe.

“My trust fund doesn’t kick in until I’m twenty-five,” Liam replies sourly. “And Vee’s family is loaded now.”

I scoff because of course Liam isn’t trying to marry for love. He’s more like Marissa than I could have ever dreamed. “What does her family’s money have to do with you?”

Liam averts his gaze and inhales a deep breath. “I’m in some…debt.”

“What kind of—” His head snaps over to me with a glower.

“None of your business,” he clips.

“Your father was an investment banker, and by all accounts he was very good at what he did. His portfolio should have been fat enough to keep you and your mother happy for years.” Something isn’t adding up here.

“It doesn’t matter. Ma’s good friends with Vee’s mom and they made a deal. I’ll marry Vee so I can get my debt paid and I won’t have to worry about money until my trust fund hits. Then I’m done.”

“Done?” I repeat. “You’re going to leave that girl brokenhearted because?—”

“Don’t act like you give a fuck about her,” my nephew sneers. “You were a total asshole to her. And it’s not like you haven’t used women before.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Gabriella DeM—” My fist flies into Liam’s jaw before I can even think about it.

Liam stumbles back a few steps, immediately nursing the side of his face, but I don’t regret clobbering him. Not even when I feel the familiar sting in my knuckles.

I only wish I would’ve done it sooner.

“Get the hell out of my classroom,” I seethe. “And don’t bring your problems to me. I don’t give a shit what you and your mother did with my brother’s money. If you spent it, you’re fucked.”

Liam’s nostrils flare. The entire left side of his face is red and angry, matching my own feelings about the tattered remnants of my brother’s legacy.

“ Now ,” I order, earning an arrogant scowl before Liam retreats from my classroom, giving me exactly what I’ve wanted this whole damn time.

To be left alone with my misery.