Owned By The Mafia Boss

Marco Mancini The glittering lights of Casino Cristallo beckoned like a siren's call, promising salvation and ruin in equal measure. I adjusted my frayed tie with trembling fingers, painfully aware of how out of place I looked among the well-heeled patrons streaming through the gilded doors. But tonight would be different. Tonight, Lady Luck would smile upon Marco Mancini. I slipped inside, the scent of expensive perfume and cigar smoke enveloping me. The familiar symphony of slot machines, clinking glasses, and murmured conversations washed over me. My heart raced as I made my way towards the blackjack tables, my worn shoes sinking into plush crimson carpets. "Just one good hand," I muttered, patting the meager stack of chips in my pocket. "That's all I need to turn everything around." The weight of my debts pressed down on me, but I pushed the anxiety aside. I had a system, a foolproof strategy. I just needed to get to a table and… "Marco Mancini," a cool voice cut through my thoughts. "What an unexpected pleasure." I froze, a chill racing down my spine as I turned to face Matteo De Luca. His immaculate suit and razor-sharp gaze made me acutely aware of my own disheveled state. "Matteo! What a coincidence," I said, forcing a smile. "I was just, ah, taking in the ambiance." Matteo's grey eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm surprised to see you here, Marco. Especially considering how much you already owe the boss." My mouth went dry. I licked my lips, tasting desperation. "Now, now, there's no need to worry about that. I've got everything under control." "Is that so?" Matteo's tone was sceptical, tinged with something darker. I nodded vigorously, the lies spilling out. "Absolutely! I've got a plan, you see. A strategy that's guaranteed to work. Tonight's the night I turn it all around." Matteo's expression didn't change, but I sensed a flicker of pity beneath his cold exterior. It made my skin crawl. "Marco," he said softly, "we've heard this before." I laughed, the sound brittle and false even to my own ears. "No, no, this time is different. I can feel it. Lady Luck is smiling on me tonight." As I spoke, my eyes darted towards the blackjack tables. So close. If I could just get there, just place a few bets, I knew I could make everything right again. Matteo followed my gaze, his lips thinning. "For your sake, I hope you're right." I nodded, desperation clawing at my insides. One more game. One more chance. It had to work. It had to. Matteo's expression hardened. "If that's the case, I'm sure the boss would love to talk to you." My heart plummeted. "Now, there's no need to involve Giovanni," I stammered, cold sweat beading on my brow. "I've got this under control, really." "Did I hear my name?" The deep, accented voice sent a chill down my spine. I turned slowly, my stomach churning, to find Giovanni Moretti looming behind us. His impeccable suit seemed to absorb the casino's gaudy light, radiating an aura of quiet menace. "Ah, Giovanni," I said, trying to inject warmth into my voice. "Just the man I wanted to see!" Giovanni's dark eyes stared into my soul. "Is that so, Marco? I heard talk of loan repayments." I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to flee. "Yes, well, about that. You see, I have a strategy. It's all under control." Giovanni's lips curved into a mirthless smile. "I've heard this before, Marco. Perhaps it's time we looked at... alternate methods of payment." Panic surged through me, clouding my judgment. In that moment of terror, a name burst from my lips before I could stop it. "Alessia," I blurted out, hating myself even as I spoke. "My daughter." Giovanni's eyebrow arched, a predatory glint in his eyes. I hurried on, desperate to justify the unjustifiable. "She's smart, Giovanni. Beautiful. Good with numbers – a financial strategist, a statistician. She could be valuable to your organisation." As I spoke, I felt something inside me wither and die. The last shred of my dignity, perhaps. Or maybe it was my soul. Giovanni's expression remained impassive, but his eyes flickered with a dangerous interest. "Think carefully about what you're offering, Mancini," he said, his voice low and measured. My hands trembled, and I could feel sweat beading on my forehead. The cacophony of the casino seemed to fade away, leaving only the thundering of my own heartbeat in my ears. "I know," I whispered, shame and desperation warring within me. "But you... you could give Alessia the life I can't. Security, luxury, power." The words tasted like ash in my mouth, but I couldn't stop. "She deserves better than what I can provide." Giovanni's lips curled into a cold smile. "I'm not running a charity, Marco," he said, his Italian accent even more pronounced now, dripping with disdain. "Your daughter's potential is... intriguing, but it doesn't erase your debts." I felt my knees weaken, and I had to grip the edge of a nearby blackjack table to keep from collapsing. The green felt beneath my fingers seemed to mock me, a reminder of all the losses that had led me to this moment. "Please, Giovanni," I began, but he cut me off with a sharp gesture. "You have one week left until you default," Giovanni stated, his tone brooking no argument. "If you don't clear your balance by then, I will be paying a visit to the lovely Alessia." My blood ran cold at the implied threat. I opened my mouth to protest, but Giovanni leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. "And Marco," he whispered, "you had better hope, for your sake and your daughter's, that we never have to meet." My mind raced, fragments of desperate plans flashing through my consciousness like the dizzying lights of the casino floor. Alessia's face, so much like her mother's, haunted me. I couldn't let her fall into Giovanni's world, couldn't let my failures taint her future. "It'll be settled," I heard myself say, my voice steadier than I felt. "One week. I'll have the money, Giovanni. You have my word." Giovanni's dark eyes bored into mine, searching for any hint of deception. The scent of his expensive cologne mingled with the stale cigarette smoke hanging in the air, making me slightly nauseous. "You're going to find €250 million in a week, Mancini?" Giovanni's voice was silky smooth, laced with dangerous amusement. "How are you going to do that?" I swallowed hard, feeling sweat trickle down my back beneath my wrinkled designer shirt. "I have... connections," I lied, grasping at straws. "Investments that are about to pay off. You'll see." My heart pounded so loudly I was sure Giovanni could hear it. I prayed he couldn't see through my bluff, couldn't sense the panic threatening to overwhelm me. Giovanni's lips curled into a predatory smile. "For your sake," he said softly, "I hope you're right." As he turned to leave, the weight of my impossible promise settled over me like a shroud. I watched him disappear into the crowd, my mind already spinning with increasingly desperate schemes. ‘God help me,’ I thought. ‘What have I done?’