BOUND TO THE DON

CHAPTER 3: THE DEBT TRAP

I stepped out of the SUV in front of my casino. The building came alive with light, illusion, and noise. It stood tall, made of glass and polished stones, with “BELLINI’S” boldly written at the top in bright white light. Powerful enough to remind anyone who owned that part of the city.

I adjusted my cufflinks as I made my way upstairs to my private office, my steps controlled.

Everyone noticed without staring, staff straightened without being told, and men nodded respectfully as I passed. My expression remained calm and unreadable. My presence was enough.

Lorenzo was waiting for me inside.

“Start talking,” I said as I pushed the door of my private office open and walked in. I strolled over to the indoor bar, poured myself a drink, grabbed a bottle, then walked to my chair and sat down.

Lorenzo opened a file on the table, sliding it toward me. “We ran her name through some of Bellini’s private records and old financial records, and that's when we came across this new information.”

I flipped through the file silently, noting photographs, work records, addresses, routine schedules, and family details.

“So what you're trying to tell me is Ross is her father?”

"Yes," Lorenzo confirmed.

The room seemed to go quiet for a moment.

I picked up my drink and gulped it in one go, then poured myself another. “What did you find on Daniel Ross?”

"He was your father’s financial strategist and secret accountant. He handled off-book accounts, international transfers, secured assets, and anything that officially never existed.

He worked closely with him for many years, then disappeared from the records fifteen years ago. He died shortly after. According to hospital records, it was suicide.”

“Suicide?”

“Yes, he was found outside his apartment. The police believed he jumped out of his window. The glass was indeed shattered, although strange markings and deep cuts could be seen all over his body... But no further investigation was done.

My expression did not change. "Show me."

Lorenzo handed me a photograph of a man in his late 30s, glasses shattered around him, and deep cuts, which looked deliberate, on his body, lying in a pool of his own blood.

I studied it for a moment, then placed it on the table.

Picking up a photo of Elena. ”What else did you find on Elena Miller?”

“She dropped out of college in her third year of accounting at the age of nineteen when her father’s debt got worse. Since then, she’s been working full-time as a waitress at the restaurant where you met her.”

“There was also a hidden file of psychiatric visits she went to when she was just two years old, and these visits lasted for three years.”

“Why?”

"Have no idea. What's strange is that there are records of payments made by the Bellinis' group to this psychiatrist over the last three years, which matches the exact time Elena had been seeing him. I looked up his name… and it doesn't exist."

“Hmm. This is getting… interesting.”

Lorenzo simply nods, “We're still digging; soon we’ll get something on the psychiatrist.”

Any friends?”

“Just two. Jane and John”

“Relationships?”

“She was, he proposed. She refused."

I looked up slightly. “Why?”

“She said she wasn't ready for one and that for now her father was her sole responsibility. He had been laid off from work for over a year, and she had been the one caring for him. He only got a little money from managing a small farm in their backyard. A tiny dairy farm he owns.”

“And Miller?”

Lorenzo handed me another photograph. “Victor Miller is not her biological father,” he began, “and there were no official adoption papers, nothing that formally ties her to him in any way, but he raised her since she was a child."

“No records at all?” my eyes narrowing

“None,” Lorenzo confirmed. “Nothing exists. I ran her name through several adoption records here in the U.S. and other bordering countries, including official archives and registries, but nothing came up.”

“Any relationship between Miller and Ross? Anything that links them both together?”

“None was documented,” Lorenzo replied

“There’s more,” Lorenzo added.

“Victor Miller also has a gambling problem and multiple small loans, but he is a great father to Elena. She loves him deeply, and … he spends most of his time at one of our casinos.”

That caught my attention.

“How much does he owe?” I asked.

“Right now, not enough to ruin us," Lorenzo said.

“Does she know that he isn’t her biological father?”

“No, she doesn’t. She only knows Victor Miller as her father.”

I stood up and walked to the large window, gazing out over the city. A thought came to mind.

“When does he visit the casinos?”

Lorenzo checked the tablet. “Based on current intel... today is one of those days.”

My gaze shifted downward.

A smile curled my lips as I spotted Victor Miller stroll into the casino. “Jackpot.”

"Upgrade him to VIP treatment,” I said, without turning back, "free drinks, a private table, and tell him he just hit the lottery.”

“You want him to be rich?” Lorenzo said as he raised an eyebrow

“No, I want him to feel lucky.”

Men like Victor were predictable. Give them little hope, and they would destroy themselves with it. I learned that lesson from his father many years ago.

1 hour later…

The casino floor was louder now. Brighter and fuller. Victor Miller sat at a private table. A drink in his hands

“He’s already lost fifty thousand tonight,” the casino manager said carefully, standing beside Alessandro in the private viewing area.

I remained calm as I watched Victor play another round and lose, cuss, and then reach out for more chips. "Let him win the next three rounds.”

The manager looked surprised but nodded anyway.

“They watched as Victor began to win, first a small win, then a bigger one, then another.

Victor laughed louder, ordered more drinks, and called for higher stakes. As his confidence expanded, he called for more chips.

“He thinks it’s his night,” the manager said

“slipping my hands into my pockets. “Give him more credit.”

“Sir, if he loses all that—”

“He will,” I replied calmly, "and when he does, make sure he signs every debt paper,” and with that, he strolled to his seat.

Victor kept playing, and, like all gamblers, the more he won, the more he believed he could win more. But then, he started losing and losing and losing.

His movement became more desperate and more reckless. He started staking higher odds just to win…but instead, he ended up losing. By the end, he began playing not to win, but rather to avoid drowning.

"Total debt?"

The manager checked the numbers, swallowing hard before responding, "20 million dollars, sir."

"Good," I said as I grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Tomorrow, I will go and collect."

“Sir, that's a lot of debt; I doubt he can pay,” the manager added.

“That's the point,”