The Don's Dept

SOFIA'S POV It was three days after we'd buried Dad, and I was in the kitchen trying to figure out how to pay for a funeral I couldn't afford when the doorbell rang. Through the window, I could see them standing on the porch. Both wore dark suits. One was tall and lean, the other shorter with broad shoulders. They didn't look like bill collectors or lawyers. They looked like something worse. I opened the door but kept the chain lock on. "Can I help you?" "Sofia Romano?" the tall one asked. "Yes." "We need to talk to you about your father's debt." My stomach tightened. "What debt?" "The three hundred and forty thousand dollars he owed Mr. Valentino." I actually laughed. I couldn't help it. The sound came out high and sharp, almost hysterical. "That's impossible. My father didn't have that kind of money." "Exactly." The tall man pulled out a leather notebook from his jacket. "That's why he borrowed it. May we come in?" Every instinct told me to slam the door, lock it, pretend this wasn't happening. But I could see in their patient, almost polite expressions that running wouldn't help. These men would wait. They had time. I unhooked the chain and let them in. Elena was at school, thank God. She didn't need to see this. Didn't need to know that Dad had left us with more than grief. We sat in the living room, me on the couch, them in the chairs Mom had picked out ten years ago. The tall one did most of the talking while the other just watched me with flat, expressionless eyes. "Your father borrowed money from Mr. Valentino over the past two years." He opened the notebook, showing me pages covered in Dad's handwriting. Numbers, dates, signatures. "He kept saying he had a system. That he'd pay it back." I recognized Dad's handwriting. Recognized the desperation in how the numbers got bigger, the dates closer together. He'd been drowning and I hadn't seen it. Or maybe I had and just didn't want to believe it. "I don't have that money," I said. "We understand. That's why Mr. Valentino is giving you a week." "A week to find three hundred and forty thousand dollars?" My voice cracked. "That's insane." "A week to figure something out," the tall man corrected. "Come up with the money or come up with a solution. Mr. Valentino is a reasonable man when people show good faith." The other man finally spoke, his voice rough. "But only when they show good faith." I understood the threat underneath the words. After they left, I sat on the couch staring at the notebook they'd left behind. Page after page of my father's debt. His signature got sloppier as the amounts grew. The last entry was dated four days before he died. Ten thousand dollars. For what? What had he needed ten thousand dollars for? I called in sick to work at the library and started making phone calls. The first bank I tried laughed at me. Well, the loan officer was too polite to actually laugh, but I could hear it in his voice. "Miss Romano, without collateral or a cosigner, there's simply no way we can approve a loan of that size." The second bank said the same thing. So did the third. I tried calling relatives. Aunt Maria in Boston hung up when I mentioned money. Uncle Tony said he'd pray for me but couldn't help financially. Cousin Vincent offered me five hundred dollars and suggested bankruptcy. I couldn't declare bankruptcy. The men had made that clear. "Mr. Valentino doesn't work with bankruptcies," the tall one had said. "He takes that very personally." By the third day, I'd sold everything I could. Mom's jewelry brought in eight thousand. Dad's watch got another two. I posted furniture online, accepted the first offers I got, and didn't haggle. The couch, the dining table, Mom's china cabinet. All gone. Elena came home from school and stood in the doorway of the living room, staring at the empty spaces. "Sofia?" Her voice shook. "What's going on?" I hugged her, and felt how thin she'd gotten. We both had. Grief did that, hollowed you out from the inside. "We're just downsizing. We don't need all this space." "Where's Mom's cabinet?" "I sold it. We need the money." She pulled back to look at me. At seventeen, Elena was smarter than I'd been at her age. She could read me too well. "How much trouble are we in?" "I'm handling it." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one I have right now." I smoothed her hair back, the way Mom used to do for both of us. "Just trust me, okay? Focus on school. Let me worry about everything else." But at night, alone in my room, I let myself fall apart. I cried into my pillow so Elena wouldn't hear. Cried for Dad who'd been so weak. For Mom who'd died before everything fell apart. For Elena who deserved better. For myself, because I was twenty-three and drowning. On the fourth day, I found a loan shark. His name was Tommy and he worked out of a bar downtown. He looked at me across a sticky table and actually laughed when I told him what I needed. "You want to borrow money to pay back Marco Valentino?" He laughed harder. "Sweetheart, do I look suicidal?" "Please. I'll pay whatever interest you want." "There's not enough interest in the world." He leaned forward. "Let me explain something. Marco Valentino runs this city. You don't borrow from him and then borrow from someone else to pay him back. That's not how it works." "Then what do I do?" "You pray he's in a generous mood." Tommy stood up. "And you stay away from people like me. We can't help you." I tried three more loan sharks that day. They all said versions of the same thing. No one would touch a debt owed to Marco Valentino. On the fifth day, I went to work because I needed to pretend everything was normal for a few hours. I shelved books, helped students find research articles, smiled at my supervisor when she asked if I was okay. At lunch, I sat in my car and called the number the men had given me. A woman answered, her voice cold and professional. "I need more time," I said. "Hold please." She put me on hold. I listened to silence for three minutes. When she came back, her voice was even colder. "Mr. Valentino doesn't extend deadlines. You have two days, Miss Romano." The line went dead. I put my head on the steering wheel and finally let myself break. Not quiet tears. Not the composed grief I'd shown at the funeral. But the kind of crying that shakes your whole body, that makes you gasp for air, that leaves you empty. When I was done, I fixed my makeup in the rearview mirror and went back to work. That night, Elena asked me what was wrong. We were eating pasta with cheap jarred sauce, sitting at our too-big kitchen table. "Nothing. I'm just tired." "You've been crying." She put down her fork. "Sofia, please. I know something's wrong." "I'm handling it." "Let me help. I can get a job. I can….." "No." I grabbed her hand across the table. "You're going to school. You're going to study. You're going to become a doctor like you've always wanted. That's what you're going to do." "But……" "Elena." I squeezed her fingers. "Please. Just trust me." After dinner, she went upstairs to study and I sat alone in the kitchen, staring at my phone. I had one day left. One day to find money I didn't have or a solution I couldn't imagine. ********†********* The next morning, Father Domenico knocked on my door. I almost didn't answer. I was done with visitors. Done with people coming to offer condolences or ask questions I couldn't answer. But through the window I saw his collar and some stupid, desperate part of me thought maybe he was bringing a miracle. I let him in. We sat at the kitchen table and he folded his hands, looking at me with something like pity. "I've spoken with Marco Valentino." My heart stopped. "Why?" "He's asked me to present you with an offer." Father Domenico paused. "He'll forgive the entire debt. All of it. He'll also pay for Elena's education, all the way through medical school if she wants." I couldn't breathe. "What does he want?" "He wants you to marry him." The words didn't make sense. I stared at Father Domenico, waiting for him to explain the joke. But his face stayed serious, sympathetic. "It would be a business arrangement," he continued gently. "You would live in his home, appear as his wife publicly, but maintain your own life otherwise. In exchange, the debt disappears and your sister's future is secured." "He wants to buy me." "He wants to propose an arrangement that helps you both." I stood up, walked to the sink, gripped the edge of the counter. Outside the window, I could see our neighbor's garden, normal and peaceful and completely separate from this nightmare. "He's a criminal," I said to the window. "Everyone knows what he is." "I know what he is, Sofia." Father Domenico's voice was quiet. "I also know what will happen if you can't pay. Marco keeps his word. If he says he'll forgive the debt and protect Elena, he will." "And what does he get?" "Legitimacy. Stability. Appearances matter in his world." I turned around. "So I'd be his show wife. His trophy." Father Domenico didn't deny it. We stared at each other across the kitchen, and I saw in his eyes that he knew how terrible this was. He also knew it was my only option. "He wants you to come tomorrow," Father Domenico said. "Hear the terms from him directly. Then decide." After he left, I sat at the table until dark. When Elena came downstairs and hugged me from behind, I nearly broke again. "Whatever it is," she whispered, "we'll get through it together." But this was something I had to face alone. The next morning, I put on my black funeral dress, called the number, and told the cold-voiced woman I wanted to meet with Mr. Valentino. "Two o'clock," she said, and gave me an address. I left Elena a note, got in my car, and drove to Marco Valentino's mansion to trade my freedom for $340,000 and my sister's future.