The Mafia Boss' Tamer

Isabella's Point of View The sound of a slap echoed through our tiny apartment. “YOU USELESS OLD MAN!” I froze at the doorway, my fingers tightening around the plastic bag of groceries I had bought with my last few hundred pesos. There he was. My father, sitting on the floor with a swollen cheek, while three unfamiliar men stood before him. One was chewing gum, another was inspecting our shabby living room, and the third was holding my father’s collar as if he were nothing more than a piece of trash. “Where’s our money, huh?” the man demanded. “You promised to pay us tonight!” My father lowered his head. “Please, just give me another week. I’ll find a way to pay you.” I closed my eyes. Again? Seriously, Papa? Another week. Those were the same words he had said last month. And the month before that. And every other time he lost money gambling and came home with another debt. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him why he couldn’t just be a normal father. But instead, I took a deep breath and stepped inside. “Papa?” All three men turned toward me. The one holding my father’s collar slowly released him, his eyes traveling over my face before settling on the waitress uniform I was still wearing. “Who’s this?” he asked. “My daughter,” Papa answered quickly. “She’s not involved in this. Please, leave her alone.” I almost laughed. Oh, now you remember that I’m your daughter? I had spent years working double shifts, skipping meals, and wearing shoes with holes in the soles just to keep a roof over our heads. Meanwhile, my father had been throwing away every peso I gave him on cards, dice, and whatever other gambling game promised him easy money. Yet somehow, I was always the one left to clean up his mess. “How much does he owe you?” I asked. Papa’s head snapped toward me. “Isabella, don’t.” “How much?” I repeated, looking directly at the man. He smiled. “Three million pesos.” For a moment, I thought I had misheard him. “Three million?” I repeated. “Your father is a very unlucky man,” he replied casually. “Or perhaps he’s just stupid.” My stomach twisted. Three million pesos? I earned barely enough to pay our rent, electricity, and food. Even if I worked every single day for the rest of my life, I would never be able to pay that amount. “Please,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Give us more time. I’ll find a way to pay you.” The man laughed. “You? You’re a waitress, sweetheart. What exactly do you think you can do with that kind of salary?” I swallowed my humiliation. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll find a way.” He stared at me for a few seconds before pulling a small card from his pocket. He tossed it onto our table. “Three days. That’s all your father has left.” He turned toward the door but stopped before leaving. “And if he can’t pay, we’ll collect in another way.” The door slammed shut. Silence filled the apartment. I stood motionless, staring at the card on the table. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or anger. Then I turned toward my father. “Are you insane?” He wouldn’t look at me. “I’m sorry, Mia.” “Sorry?” I let out a bitter laugh. “You owe three million pesos to dangerous men, Papa! THREE MILLION! Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?” “I thought I could win it back.” “You always think that!” My voice cracked. For years, I had convinced myself that things would eventually get better. That one day, my father would stop gambling. That we could finally live a peaceful life without creditors knocking on our door. But I was beginning to realize that I had been holding on to a dream that only I believed in. “I work twelve hours a day,” I whispered. “I come home with aching feet and an empty stomach because I’m trying to make sure we have something to eat. And you still find a way to throw everything away.” Papa covered his face with both hands. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “But it did!” Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I was tired of crying. I was tired of being disappointed. Most of all, I was tired of being the parent in a family where I was supposed to be the child. I grabbed the groceries and walked toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry,” I said quietly. “I’ll figure something out.” Because that was what I always did. I figured things out. Even when I had no idea how. Even when the world gave me every reason to give up. I always found a way to survive. *** I couldn’t remember the last time my father had come home with good news. When I was a little girl, he used to carry me on his shoulders and buy me ice cream whenever he received his salary. He wasn’t rich, but back then, I never felt poor. We had a small home, simple meals, and a father who would kiss my forehead before going to work. I used to believe he was the strongest man in the world. Then gambling entered his life. At first, it was just a game with his friends. A few pesos here and there. He would come home smiling whenever he won, promising that he would buy me new shoes or take me somewhere nice. I didn’t mind. I was young, and I thought it was harmless. But little by little, the money he brought home became smaller. Then he started coming home late. Then he started borrowing money. And eventually, he began selling things around the house. My mother’s jewelry was the first to disappear. She had been gone for years, and those pieces were the only things I had left to remember her by. When I found out what he had done, I cried for an entire night. Papa promised he would never gamble again. I believed him. That was my biggest mistake. Years passed, and his promises became nothing more than empty words. He would stop for a few weeks, sometimes even months, and I would allow myself to hope that he had finally changed. Then one bad day would come, and everything would start all over again. Now, I was twenty-three, working as a waitress in an expensive restaurant while my father continued to gamble away the little money we had. I didn’t have the luxury of dreaming about a better life. My dreams had been replaced with bills, groceries, rent, and debts I hadn’t even made. And now, three million pesos stood between us and whatever little peace we had left. That night, after preparing dinner, I placed a plate in front of my father. He stared at the food without touching it. “Isabella," he murmured. I continued washing the dishes. “Thank you.” I stopped for a moment. It was such a simple thing to say, yet hearing those words from him made something inside my chest ache. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t need his thanks. I needed him to stop gambling. I needed him to act like a father instead of another burden I had to carry. But I was too exhausted to fight. “Eat before it gets cold,” I replied. He remained silent. I returned to the kitchen, gripping the edge of the sink as tears finally slipped down my cheeks. I hated my situation. I hated the fear that followed me everywhere. And most of all, I hated that despite everything, I still loved the man who had put me through all of this. Because he was my father. And somehow, that was enough to keep me from walking away. I wiped my tears and looked at my reflection in the dark kitchen window. Tomorrow, I would wake up early, put on my waitress uniform, and serve wealthy customers who would never understand what it meant to count every peso. I would smile even when my heart was breaking. I would work even when my body begged me to rest. And I would find a way to pay the debt, even if it took everything I had. Because I had no one else to rely on. I was just Isabella Salvador, an ordinary waitress with an irresponsible father and a future that suddenly looked more frightening than ever. I had no powerful connections, no wealthy relatives, and no one waiting to rescue me. I'm so tired of living.