Chapter Three: The Debt
He wasn’t supposed to be alive.
My father—Michael Thompson—the man I hadn’t seen in over three years, the man I thought had vanished into the wind or worse, was standing ten feet away from me. Real. Breathing. Wearing a tailored black suit like he belonged here.
Like he wasn’t the man who’d left me alone in a two-bedroom apartment with nothing but unanswered questions and a stack of unpaid bills.
He didn’t move.
Neither did I.
The toast I’d dropped lay forgotten on the floor. Somewhere behind me, Jace muttered, “Well… this just got interesting.”
“Dad?” I repeated, softer this time. Like if I said it too loudly, he’d vanish again.
His eyes met mine. The same blue-grey I saw in the mirror every morning.
“You weren’t supposed to see me,” he said.
That snapped me out of it.
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the marble floor. “You’re alive,” I said, voice rising. “You’ve been alive this whole time?”
“I had my reasons—”
“Save it.”
Nik stood slowly, folding his napkin. “Michael, we had an agreement.”
My father turned to him. “I didn’t know she was here.”
“Then you’ve lost more control than we thought,” Kai said coldly from the corner.
I looked between them, feeling like my brain was short-circuiting.
“Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?”
Jace sipped his coffee like this was his favorite morning soap opera. Enzo was watching quietly, arms folded, but his eyes never left my face.
Nik stepped forward, calm and measured. “Rory, your father was involved in dealings with the four of us—our families, to be precise. Things that went against our codes, our money, and our trust.”
“And when he disappeared,” Enzo added, “he left his debts behind. Unpaid. Unanswered.”
Nik nodded. “Blood debts.”
I turned to my father. “You made a deal with them?”
He didn’t answer right away. That silence was louder than any confession.
“You sold me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No,” he said quickly, “I— I just… I didn’t know they’d come for you.”
“So what did you think would happen, huh?” I snapped. “You disappear, leave everything behind, and magically they’d just forget you existed? Forget I existed?”
“I thought I could fix it,” he said, stepping toward me.
I backed away.
Enzo made a low noise of amusement. “You thought wrong.”
Kai walked forward, sliding a file across the table. It landed in front of me. I recognized it—the same folder from my room, the one labeled with my name.
“Everything’s in there,” he said. “Every cent your father cost us. Every lie. Every betrayal.”
I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want any of this to be real.
Nik’s voice softened—barely. “Rory, we don’t care if you were involved. You’re here because the blood in your veins carries the weight of what he did.”
“That’s not how blood works,” I snapped.
“It is in our world,” Kai replied.
I laughed bitterly. “Oh, right, your world. The mafia soap opera where rules are written in bullets and blood and no one blinks twice when someone disappears.”
My dad flinched.
And just like that, my anger surged again.
“You know what the worst part is?” I said, turning to him. “It’s not that you left. It’s not even that you lied. It’s that you didn’t even warn me. You knew this was possible and you let me walk into it blind.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Nik’s tone turned to steel. “Michael, your presence is no longer required.”
“What? Wait—”
“Get him out of here,” Kai ordered.
Two men appeared seemingly out of nowhere, dressed in black, armed, and efficient. My father didn’t resist. He looked back at me once—just once—before they led him out of the room like he was nothing more than a ghost in a suit.
The door shut behind him.
And then it was just me and them.
Again.
Jace was the first to speak. “So. Now that Daddy’s gone, maybe we can get back to the fun part.”
“There is no fun part,” I said, turning to face him.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair, “we haven’t even started.”
Nik ignored him, his focus still on me. “Your father’s betrayal put lives at risk. He stole from us. He broke sacred agreements. And he ran.”
I didn’t look away. “And I’m what? The apology gift?”
“You’re the leverage,” Enzo said, no hint of shame in his voice.
“The debt isn’t just financial,” Kai added. “It’s personal. And that makes you valuable.”
I folded my arms. “So what’s the plan? Keep me locked in a bedroom until you feel better about it?”
“No,” Nik said. “We want you… involved.”
That caught me off guard. “Involved how?”
“You’ll live here. Be part of our world. Learn how things work. You’ll eat with us. Move under our protection. And in time… we’ll decide what comes next.”
“Wow. Sounds like an offer I totally can’t refuse.”
“You can,” Kai said. “But it won’t end well.”
I stared at them—these four men who acted like gods, like kings of some underworld empire I didn’t ask to be part of.
“I’m not your pet. Or your pawn.”
“You’re right,” Nik said calmly. “You’re our responsibility. For now.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.
So I did neither.
I turned and walked out of the room.
Back in my bedroom—my prison—I let the silence sink in.
I had so many questions and not enough oxygen to process them. Why had my dad really disappeared? What had he done to piss off four mafia families? Why me?
And—most haunting of all—what did Nik mean when he said they wanted me “involved”?
I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples, until a soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
The door creaked open.
It was Enzo.
Great.
“Can I come in?” he asked, already halfway inside.
“You’re already in.”
He smirked. “Right. Just being polite.”
“What do you want?”
He walked toward the desk in the corner and casually dropped a small box on it.
I looked at it but didn’t touch it.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A key.”
“To the house?”
He laughed. “No, darling. To the truth.”
I stared at him. “Could you not talk in riddles for once?”
His smile faded slightly. “Inside that box is something your father left behind before he ran. Something he told us not to give you unless things got… complicated.”
“Things are already complicated.”
“Then maybe you’re ready.”
I picked up the box. It was small, smooth, carved with strange markings I didn’t recognize.
“Why are you giving me this?” I asked.
“Because,” he said, walking toward the door, “if you’re going to survive this place, you need to understand it. And that means starting with the truth about your father.”
Before I could ask anything else, he stepped out, leaving me alone again.
I stared at the box in my hands.
My fingers hovered over the lid.
And finally, I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph—aged, creased, like it had been folded and hidden for years.
It was a picture of my father.
Standing next to Nikolai’s father.
And mine was holding a gun.
Not just holding it.
Firing it.
At a woman whose face had been violently scratched out.
My chest tightened.
There was a note behind the photo.
“Trust no one. Not even yourself.”
My fingers trembled.
Who was the woman in the photo?
Why had my father tried to erase her?
And more importantly—why did I feel like I’d seen her before?