The Mafia Don's Claim

Aria I got back to the staff quarters just as the sky was beginning to darken. The lights were already on in the kitchen, and the familiar smell of onions and pepper reached me before I even pushed the door open. My mother was at the counter, sleeves rolled up, chopping carrots with the ease of someone who had done it for most of her life. She looked up when she heard me. “There you are,” she said with a smile. “Welcome home. How was school?” “Fine,” I replied, dropping my bag by the door and walking over to her. I hugged her briefly, then reached for a slice of carrot and tossed it into my mouth. “Aria,” she said, tapping my hand lightly with the flat side of the knife. “That’s for dinner.” I grinned. “I know.” She shook her head, still smiling, then turned back to the stove. I watched her for a moment, then frowned. “You’re home early today.” “Yes,” she said, stirring the pot. “The Morettis are having an event at the old family estate tonight. Most of the work was done earlier, so there wasn’t much to stay for.” I nodded. That made sense. Events like that usually meant late nights and tight schedules, but sometimes the staff was split between locations. “Is Dad back?” Her hand slowed. “No, he was supposed to be off duty today. I thought he’d be home by now.” The smile on her face faded slightly. I noticed it, but I acted like I didn't. “I’m sure he’s fine,” I said, though the words didn’t convince me. “I hope so,” she replied. “Go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” When I came back out, she had already set the plates on the small table by the window. The food steamed gently, and for a moment everything felt normal, almost peaceful. Then the phone rang. My mother wiped her hands on a towel and picked it up. “Hello?” I sat down, watching her face. At first, she looked confused, listening politely. Then the color drained from her skin. “Yes,” she said, her voice tightening. “I’m his wife.” My stomach clenched. “What do you mean, taken?” she asked. I stood, my chair scraping softly against the floor. she swallowed hard. “How much?” There was a pause. Whatever she heard made her close her eyes. “One hundred thousand dollars?” she whispered. “That’s not possible.” Her shoulders sagged as the voice on the other end continued. I didn’t need to hear it to know who this was about. Dad was gambling again. “He said he would win it back?” she asked, disbelief thick in her tone. “At a casino?” Anger flared hot and sudden in my chest. “Please,” she said suddenly. “At least let me speak to him. Just for a moment.” She listened, then shook her head weakly. “Two days,” she murmured. The call ended. She stood there for a second, phone still pressed to her ear, before her hand dropped and she sank into a chair. Then she broke down in tears. “Mama?” I rushed to her side, wrapping my arms around her. “What happened?” She shook her head, “Your father,” she said. “His gambling… it’s finally put us in trouble.” My heart hammered. “What do you mean?” “He owes money,” she said brokenly. “They’ve taken him. If we don’t pay one hundred thousand dollars in two days, they’ll kill him.” The word made my breath seize. “How could he do this to us? Again?” I muttered, unable to stop myself. “I have some money,” I said suddenly. “My savings. About six thousand dollars. I can give it all.” Her head snapped up. “No,” she said immediately. “That money is for your hostel. For college. That’s your dream. You’ve been saving for years.” “I know,” I replied. “But his life is more important.” She shook her head, tears filling her eyes again. “You shouldn’t have to choose like this,” she whispered. “And even if you gave everything you have, it’s too small. Six thousand dollars won’t help us, Aria." The truth hit hard. I dropped into the chair opposite her, defeated. “Mama, we don’t have that kind of money. Not even close.” She nodded, wiping at her face. “I know.” “So what do we do now?” I asked. She wiped her face and straightened. “I’ll go to the Don,” I stared at her. “What?” “I’ll ask him to help us.” My heart skipped painfully. “Mama,” I said slowly, trying to be sure I’d heard her right. “The Don? As in Romano Moretti?” “Yes.” “Mama,” I whispered. “You don’t just go to him. People don’t even look at him unless they’re spoken to.” “I’ve served this family for over twenty-five years,” she said. “I’ve raised their children, cleaned their blood off the floors, kept their secrets. He will listen to me. He should." Fear crept into my chest. I thought of Romano Moretti as I’d always seen him from a distance, he was tall, cold, unreadable, and dangerous. A man who ruled without ever raising his voice. The idea of my mother standing in front of him, asking for mercy, made my stomach twist. “Mama,” I whispered, fear creeping into my voice. “Men like him don’t help without taking something in return.” She reached out and squeezed my hand gently. “I know,” she said. “But I don’t see another choice.” Neither did I. But deep inside, beneath the fear and dread, a terrifying thought took root. Once you asked someone like Romano Moretti for help, you never truly walked away again.