Debt to the Mafia Boss

Karina

“WOULD YOU PREFER TO BE BENT OVER MY DESK?”

For what seems like an eternity, I am silent.

“W... what...?” I choke out.

Raoul takes a look away from his computer to study me behind the lens of his glasses. His blue eyes are arctic with distaste as they take in the high neckline of the dress I have on.

“Or would you prefer to fuck while standing?” He says coldly, his handsome face blank. I wonder if he's being serious or if he’s trying to scare me off.

I hold on to the lapels of my coat, blood rushing to my face. I tell to think of how lucky I was a week ago when I had been blissfully unaware that my dad had screwed us all over.

(One week earlier)

I watch the coffin being lowered into the ground, willing myself not to break down. Mum is already a sobbing wreck and that’s not doing us any good. I look around. There’s a very small crowd of people who came to mourn my dad. Me, Mum, and Raine have made a pointed effort not to speak to me today.

Dad had died as dramatically as he had lived. Accidentally shot himself while trying to rob a jewelry store.

I watch as soil covers the expensive coffin, wondering if we have splurged a bit too much on the funeral. We aren’t rich or even comfortable. Dad lost his job at a factory when his debtors kept on showing up. Mum has never worked a day in her life but somehow, has developed a taste for silk and cashmere. I work at a printing press and barely earn enough to keep my apartment. We’re running behind on our mortgage and Raine is a high schooler.

Mum had ordered a burial plot in the nice cemetery in town and had ordered a suit with a designer label for Dad. I oblige her because I know she loved Dad every bit as much as he loved her. They were both terrible parents, but great spouses. Dad would let Raine and I starve before telling Mum he couldn’t afford the Dior perfume she loved. Mum would leave us both unsupervised or under the care of some sleazy neighbors so she could get a manicure for her anniversary date with Dad.

I wonder how many times Raine had had to go hungry or miss school trips because Mum and Dad were so caught up in themselves. I know she hates me for moving out after high school and leaving her to their care. I hate me too. I should have been there to care for her and keep her away from them.

The weather forecast said it would rain today. It’s already a bit cloudy. I secretly hoped it would rain. I love to sit underneath the rain or just stand under it when I feel hopeless. I’ve never needed to stand underneath the rain as much as I do right now. The smell of rain hitting the soul always made me feel better.

A tear rolls down her eyes and I try to take her hand but she snatches it away from me, scowling. She rubs her hand along the side of her black dress, a look of disgust on her face. I struggle to keep myself from feeling bad. I deserve her hate.

Mum says they look like twins. The brown hair and forest green eyes, heart-shaped face, and petite body. Dad’s genes never stood a chance. They are both stunning. I am a bit taller than they both are, with Dad’s dishwasher blonde hair and blue eyes.

Mum’s green eyes are flaring now as she turns on a visitor. “How could you come here?! It’s your fault that he died, you monster!”

I get to her before she can sink her manicured fingers into his stoic face, holding her back. We have already incurred so much debt from the funeral and I will not let her add an assault and battery charge to it.

The man she is trying to get us screwed over because of is wearing a tailored suit. So well made I wonder if we were ripped off by the store where we got the suit Dad is wearing. He has his hair shaved close to his head and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark glasses. He is built like a tank. I can’t place my finger on it, but he has a hard and ominous look. Almost like dealing with a guy like this would end up with you dying or going to jail for a felony. Is he from the insurance company? One of Dad’s gambling debtors? An old friend? His face is turned to my mother so I assume he is looking at her.

“Chain her up if you must.” He says coldly. He has a slight accent and his beard is trimmed and grey.

I feel my ire rising. “Who are you?” I ask.

“An enforcer of some sort. Is there a place where we can sit and discuss?” he asked. “This is hardly the appropriate place for what I have to say.”

Mum lunges for him again with more vigor, tears streaming down her face. “I’ll see you dead first.”

“Let’s go into the funeral home,” I say calmly to him.

“One million dollars...” I whisper, unable to wrap my head around that. “Dad... borrowed a million dollars from you?”

I don't know which part of this I find funnier. The fact that anyone would lend a million dollars to my dad, or that at one point, he had a million dollars and Raine doesn’t have a college fund, our mortgage payment is long overdue and he died robbing a store.

“One point two, plus interest.” He corrects. “Not from me.” He says. “I’m a mere debt collector.”

“Like in the Bible?” I ask, unable to help myself.

His lips twitch. “I believe those are tax collectors. My boss is affiliated to a casino that your father—frequented.”

“You mean he...gambled it all?” I whisper.

“No. I believe he invested in a few pieces of jewelry for Mrs. Hardings.”

I turn to look at Mum. For the first time since the discussion began, her pitiful sobs have ceased. She is hugging her cashmere scarf to herself and sniffing softly.

“You knew about this?” I say through gritted teeth. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the child.

“Your father liked to treat me to nice things.” She said, her chin in the air. “Something you should learn.”

He seems almost apologetic as he hands me a black complementary card with gold scribbling in cursive on it.

L’esattore.

I turn it over and find nothing. No phone number.

He stands, indicating that our discussion is done. “I regret that I could not have coffee, Miss Hardings.” He says politely.

“Don’t worry. It’s terrible.” I say. He chuckles in response.

“I like you, Miss Hardings. So I will be nicer to you than I am to the others. You have a week to pay up. In cash.”

“Cash.” I mouth.

“If not...” he clucks his tongue regretfully. “L’esattore... let's just say, he has a way of making people vanish.”