The Mafia Debt

CASSIAN The whiskey burns my throat, but it's not enough to dull the rage. Three million. The number flashes through my mind like a neon sign as I stare out at Chicago's skyline from my office. Lucas clears his throat behind me. "I’ve found who has been stealing from you. You're not going to like this, boss." "When do I ever?" The ice clinks against my glass. "Just tell me who's been bleeding my accounts dry." "Silas Herrera The glass freezes halfway to my mouth. "What did you just say?" "Your accountant. The one you trusted the most with everything." Lucas drops a folder on my desk. "He's been siphoning money for months. Three mill, at least." The whiskey glass shatters against the wall. "How long have you known?" My voice comes out eerily calm, even as my pulse pounds in my ears. "Got confirmation today. But here's where it gets interesting." Lucas slides a photograph across my desk, licking his lips in a suggestive manner. "He's got a daughter. Nineteen. Very pretty. Pre-med student at Northwestern." I pick up the photo. Dark hair. Bright blue eyes. "Been watching her for a week," Lucas continues, something predatory creeping into his voice. "Daddy's little princess. She could be our leverage boss. She means the world to Silas. Works at some restaurant downtown. Beautiful piece of—" "Enough." Lucas shuts up. Smart man. I study the photo again. Aria Herrera. An innocent caught in her father's web of lies. But in my world, debts must be paid. One way or another. "Bring her in. You have two days." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "I want it quiet and clean. No witnesses. Got it?" "What about Silas?" "Let him sweat." I turn back to the window, "He'll come crawling back to me when he realizes what he's lost." Lucas's footsteps fade. The door clicks shut. Alone, I pull out my phone and dial a number I haven't called in months. "Brother." Viktor's voice is rough with sleep. "It's three in the morning." "I need everything you can find on Silas Herrera's daughter. School records, medical history, social media—everything." A pause. "You sure about this, Cassian? Using an innocent girl as leverage..." "When has innocence ever mattered in our world?" I hang up before he can answer, my eyes drawn back to the photo. To those bright, unknowing eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper to the empty room. But in the end, her father made this choice for her. And now she'll pay the price. ARIA My phone buzzes for the hundredth time today. Dad's name flashes across the screen again, and I slide it back into my bag, trying to focus on Professor Walker's lecture about cellular biology. "Someone's popular today. A new admirer?" Mark whispers from beside me, nudging my arm with his elbow. "Just my dad being... well, my dad." I tap my pen against my notebook. "He's been calling non-stop since morning." "Maybe he finally found out about that tattoo you got last month?" "God, I hope not." I touch the small star behind my ear—my only one act of rebellion in my nineteen years of age. "He'd probably show up at my apartment with a laser removal machine." "Speaking of showing up, you're still coming to Jamie's party tonight, right?" Before I can answer, my phone vibrates again. This time, it's a text: Aria, pick up your damn phone. It's important. I switch it off completely. Whatever drama Dad's cooking up can wait until after my shift at Bella's. The rest of the lecture passes in a blur of diagrams and chemical equations. As we pack up, Mark catches my arm. "Hey, you okay? You seem... off today." "Just tired. Between classes, work, and Dad's helicopter parenting, I barely have time to breathe." "At least let me walk you to work? It's getting dark early these days." "Can't. I need to stop by the library first. Rain check?" He hesitates, then nods. "Text me when you get home?" "Yes, Mom," I tease, but his concern warms something in my chest. It's nice having someone watch out for me, even if I'd never admit it. The library stop is a lie—I just need some time alone. I know Mark likes him. But I really don’t feel the same way so I try as much as I can to subtly avoid being alone with him. The autumn air hits my face as I cross the campus, leaves crunching under my boots. The weird feeling that's been following me all day intensifies. Like someone's watching. I glance behind me. Nothing but students hurrying to their evening classes. You're being paranoid, Aria. My shift at Bella's is the usual chaos of orders and demanding customers. By closing time, my feet ache and my uniform smells like garlic bread. But the envelope of tips in my pocket makes it worth it—one step closer to my own restaurant someday. It’s my dream ever since I was a kid even though I am a pre-med student. That is my dad’s doing, I either abide or he withdraws support. When the time comes I’m going to rebel and fight my way. "Need a ride, honey?" Bertha, our sixty-year-old hostess, asks as I clock out. "Bus stop's right there. I'm good." "Be careful. There was something on the news about—" "I will!" I call back, already pushing through the door. The night air feels good after hours in the hot kitchen. My pace quickens, the bus arrives in two minutes. The bus stop is only two blocks away. One block. Half a block. Something cold presses against my back. I glance back to glimpse at the masked man with hands concealed beneath his jacket, holding what I assume to be a gun. "Don't make a sound." Survival instincts kick in and adrenaline surges through my veins. Dad's voice echoes in my head: If someone ever grabs you, fight dirty. I slam my elbow back, feeling it connect with his groin. The man grunts and his grip loosens. I run. My boots pound against the pavement. Wind whips through my hair. Almost to the— Pain explodes in my skull. The world tilts. The last thing I see is a black mask hovering over me, and then nothing.