The Don's Tortured Obsession

CHAPTER 1 The Delivery That Wasn’t Safe (LILA'S POV) They say lightning never strikes twice. Gunfire does. And the second time, it was aiming for me The van smelled of sweat, and faint traces of an expired pine freshener. From whoever had driven in it before. I kept my eyes fixed on the cracked windshield, watching the road pass under the weak streetlights that looked like a count down. We drove deeper into a part of the city people like me weren’t supposed to survive in. The driver was humming a goddamn old song. Like this was normal. Like people didn’t die doing “normal” things in our world. I held firm on the delivery list in my hand. Two sealed crates. No questions. No delays. No mistakes. And at the bottom, written in that red nasty ink they loved. *Late delivery doubles debt.* Mine had already doubled three times. Eighty-seven thousand dollars. That was Mom’s life, measured in mafia maths. Debt didn’t just increase in their world. It swallowed you alive, slowly, until there was nothing left of you. “Relax,” the driver said, noticing how quiet I was. “It’s a clean route.” I almost laughed. Clean? Nothing about this life was ever clean. “Stop the van,” I said suddenly. He glanced at me. “What?” “Stop the f*****g van” I repeated. The explosion cut me off. It didn’t come like ones I saw in movies. The front tire blew first with a loud bang. Then the sound of metal came screeching on the road. Glass shattered and the van swerved violently. My head slammed into the seat. My vision blurred for seconds. “s**t!” the driver shouted, grabbing the steering wheel. Then the gunshot came next. It was sharp. The sound of it hooked into me and I went numb. Everything went quiet after that. I turned. only to find out that blood was already spreading across his chest like ink in water. The smell of it hit seconds later. “No…” My voice cracked. “No, no, no—” Another shot hit the roof. That was when I understood why nobody ever quit this job alive. We weren’t being stopped. Someone was trying to erase us. I never had time to think. I pushed the door open and stumbled into the dirty road, my heartbeat was so loud that I couldn’t hear every sound. Behind me, the footsteps got too close. I didn’t look back. If I looked back, I’d die there. I ran to the back of the van and yanked open the cargo door. My eyes shifted to the crates. If I left them behind, the Marchettis who owned my debt would kill me. If I stayed here, I’d die now. Another bullet hit the metal beside my head. That made the decision. I grabbed one crate then the second. But they were too heavy. Something slipped from my grip. A thin sealed black envelope falling into the dirt. I hesitated, then picked it up and slipped it into my coat. Then i ran. *** By the time I reached the drop point, I was shaking so hard that I could barely stand. The men waiting didn’t smile. They didn’t ask questions. They just opened the crates. And a heavy silence followed. Then one of them tilted his head, looked up and shouted. “You’re short.” My mouth went dry. “No… I brought both crates.” “Count them again,” he said. I did. Of course I did. But their faces didn’t change. “That’s not everything.” My stomach turned. Something was missing. Something I didn’t even know had fallen. That night, I learned what debt really meant. It wasn’t just money, not punishment. But b*****e. And they were very good at reminding you who owned you. The amount doubled before I knew it. And when I told them the driver was dead. They just laughed and brushed it off. Like death was just an inconvenience. *** Weeks later, my mother stopped breathing in a hospital bed. I held her cold hands. Until the monitor stopped blinking and the line went flat. There was no money. No miracle. No second chance. Just the silence. She was gone and it hurts more than anything else. It felt like the world came crashing down on me. Again. But the debt still remained. *** Three weeks, that was how long it took for grief to settle in. I work nights in Saint Aurelius hotel. A hotel that doesn’t ask questions as long as you showed up and keep your head down. I clean rooms. Dress. Just to pay what I was owed. Some nights, I deliver packages I never want to touch. I should have left that life. That's what i keep telling myself. For every single delay. The debt doubles twice. Like they’re waiting for me to break. Maybe that was the whole point. *** I should have walked away. But I didn’t. Because people like me don’t get “should have.” We get instructions and we just have to obey them if we wanted to survive. The road went silent as I drove into the warehouse. Even the air was different. Like it was trying to mock my entire existence. Gunfire erupted. And everything exploded at once. I screamed before I even realized it. It happened again. The van jerked. And I was pulled out by rough hands. “Found the courier,” someone said. “She’s not the target,” another voice replied. Silence stretched, a colder voice: “She saw too much.” That was when I saw him. Lucien Moretti. Standing under a broken streetlight like the night belonged to him. He didn’t move like the others. They rushed. They shouted. Lucien just looked at me. Like I was something already decided. Dark suit. Black Gloves. His eyes were focused on me intently, My legs felt weak. I knew his name. Everybody did. He was the kind of man people feared before they even saw him. My chest tightened as he stepped closer. He walked as if he had all the time in the world. Then he stopped right in front of me. He was too close that I could smell his cologne and gun oil. I forced myself to breathe. “I didn’t steal anything,” I said quickly. “I was just delivering.” A gun clicked behind me. And my words died instantly. I knew that was the end for me. And nothing could undo this. But he raised his hand. And I heard the gun click back. He measured me from under his lashes. “Search her,” he said. “No… wait” Hands searched through my bag. My coat. My pockets. one of them frowned. “There’s something else.” My breath hitched. He pulled out a sealed packet. I had never seen it before. But Lucien’s expression changed. Enough to make the air heavier. “What is that?” he asked. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I swear… I don’t.” “You’re coming home with me, Lila. We’re going to figure out why my brother’s letter was in your coat.”