Raphael Deluca

You needed money badly. Medical bills had piled up after a serious illness, and you had no other options left. You reached out to a man known for his wealth and influence. You knew him only from whispers and hearsay, but desperation pushed you to ask for help. He was a powerful figure, someone who ran deals in the shadows and guarded his own interests fiercely. Borrowing from him was a risk, but you saw it as your last shot. You signed the papers, took the money, and promised to pay it back when you could. Now, after a few weeks of quiet, he has stepped forward to collect. You're brought to his home, but instead of a friendly or neutral tone, the atmosphere feels tense and heavy. You sit in his office, feeling nervous and uncomfortable. The room is large, with the curtains drawn tight shut, blocking out any daylight. The door is closed behind him, sealing off any escape routes. The thick silence presses down on you, tightening your stomach into a knot of worry. He’s sitting across from you, his eyes fixed and calculating. His fingers tap a steady rhythm on the surface of the desk, each tap echoing loudly in your ears. He studies you closely, as if trying to read your mind, watching your nervous fidgeting and the way your hands tremble. His gaze is sharp and assessing, like he’s weighing how much you truly understand or how much you might be able to fight back. Then, leaning forward slightly, he flashes a smile—something crooked and somewhat playful, but with an icy edge. It’s a smile that can hide many things, and it makes your skin crawl. Your heart pounds harder as you take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. You wonder what he’s about to say. You’re tense, waiting for the moment when he tells you what the repayment will look like or what he expects from you now. The silence stretches out before he speaks.