Caught Between The Mafia

“Thank you, come back again soon!” I hollered, waving at the satisfied customers leaving the restaurant. I couldn’t help smiling as I slipped the crumpled dollar notes they tipped me into my pocket. Working at the seaside restaurant didn’t earn me much. The pay was next to nothing. But every now and then, someone generous walked in, and moments like that felt like a blessing. God knows I needed it. Lindsay, my co-waitress and friend, caught my excitement the second I returned to the station. “Good customers?” she asked, grinning widely. “Wonderful customers,” I replied in excitement, tapping the pocket stuffed with tips like I had just won the lottery. Her brows lifted. “Oh really? How much?” “I’m not sure yet. I haven’t counted it. But I’m praying it’s a lot.” My eyes landed on the trash bags waiting by the wall. “I’ll go take out the trash,” I told her with a playful wink. She smiled knowingly. “Go on.” Out behind the restaurant, I tossed the bags into the dumpster, then pulled the crumpled notes from my pocket. “Ten… twenty… thirty… fifty… eighty,” I counted slowly. Eighty dollars. My chest swelled. That could cover my electricity bill. I did a tiny, ridiculous happy dance, still riding the high of my good luck. I turned to go back to the restaurant, when my eyes narrowed on a black sedan parked across the road. Two men leaned against it, arms folded, staring at me like they’d been waiting. The moment our eyes met, they slid into the car and sped off. I shrugged it off. Probably just creepy perverts looking to get off. “Layla! Chef needs you!” Sarah, another waitress poked her head through the back door, her expression urgent. I picked up my pace and hurried back. As soon as I stepped in, I grabbed the next set of orders for the chef, just as the TV suddenly cut through the restaurant with a breaking news alert. “Blackfold Mafia head, Victor Rogan, was found lying dead in his car early this morning. A bullet hole was discovered in the driver’s side window. Police haven’t released any detailed information yet, but updates will be provided as the case progresses.” I stopped dead in my tracks. Victor Rogan was my father. My father… was dead? My heart hammered, and my head spun as I pressed a hand to the edge of the counter, leaning heavily against it to keep myself upright. I had despised him for as long as I could remember. I left home at nineteen after he cheated on my mother with my college teacher. That, along with the constant abuse made her take her own life, and he didn’t even care. He still went on to marry the b***h. Whatever forgiveness I once had, died with my mother. But none of that erased the shock gripping me now. Who would dare kill a Mafia boss? I was still trying to make sense of it when something cold and hard pressed into my back. A gun. “Don’t move an inch,” a deep, raspy voice whispered into my ear. “Or I won’t hesitate to shoot your friends.” My whole body trembled. He had caught me off guard. I couldn’t even see his face. I darted a quick glance around the restaurant, praying someone would notice, someone would sense that something was wrong. But everyone kept talking, eating, laughing. No one saw me. No one saw him. “W-Who are you?” I whispered in desperation, my voice barely audible. He placed his free hand on my shoulder and nudged me forward. “Move.” We started walking, heading toward the exit. Behind us, Lindsay called out, her voice sharp with suspicion. “Layla? Is everything alright?” He jabbed the gun deeper into my back, a silent warning to keep my mouth shut. “Yeah… yeah, everything’s fine,” I forced out, plastering a stiff smile on my face. “He’s just an old friend. We’re gonna talk outside.” “Okay…” she said slowly, not entirely convinced. Once we stepped outside, the man guided me across the road. My body shook violently as I feared the worst. “Please… please don’t do this,” I begged. “Whatever is happening, I swear, I’m not the one you’re looking for.” He stayed silent, ignoring every word. “Is it money you want?” I pleaded, slipping my hand into my pocket and pulling out the eighty dollars I had counted earlier. “Take it… take it all. It’s everything I have. Just please don’t kill me.” He still didn’t respond. He just kept pushing me forward. As we walked, the same black sedan I’d seen earlier came into view, parked in the exact same spot. In front of it sat a limousine of the same colour, polished and intimidating, with two stone-faced men standing guard beside it. The man steered me towards the limo, and as soon as we reached, he snapped a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. I made a final, hopeless attempt to beg. “Please… you don’t have to do this.” He yanked open the back door and pushed me inside. Sitting on the gold, luxurious plush seat was a man. At first, I couldn’t place him. He wore a sharp black tuxedo, his posture relaxed in a way only someone confident and wealthy could manage. His features were clean, handsome, defined… almost too familiar. Then it hit me. I knew this man. Dean Luther. South End Mafia King, and my father’s associate “Hello, Layla,” he said, his voice still as smooth as I remembered. “It’s been such a long time. You’re all grown now.” His eyes moved over me in a way that made my skin crawl. He still looked exactly the same, sharp jaw, calm confidence, the man I used to have a stupid crush on when I was younger. The thought made my stomach twist now. “Dean?” My voice shook. “What are you doing here? What is this?” I tugged at the handcuffs, the metal clinking sharply. “Relax.” His tone was annoyingly calm as he pressed a button on the arm of his seat. A hidden tray slid out, with a chilled bottle of champagne and two flute-shaped glasses. He uncorked it with ease and poured, bubbles rising in the glass as he watched me. “I would have offered you a drink,” he said, smirking, “but you’re all tied up.” I glared at him, heat rising in my chest. “This isn’t funny. Uncuff me. Now.” He chuckled softly. “I’d love to. But I can’t have you running away. Not until you hear what I want.” I threw my head back, letting out a low groan of frustration. “Okay… so what do you want?” He popped open the center console and pulled out a box, placing it right in front of me. The moment I saw it; small, velvet. I froze. It was a ring box. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” he said, his voice calm and sure, “and you’re going to give me a child.”