Mafia: My Father Offer Me to Clear His Debt

Winslow’s POV

I couldn't sleep that night. Dad's strange behavior kept replaying in my mind—his trembling hands, the forced smile, the unexpected 'I love you.' Something was definitely wrong.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed the next morning, Dad was already gone. No note, no indication of where he'd disappeared to. The whiskey bottle from last night sat empty on the coffee table, surrounded by crumpled papers he'd hastily shoved into the trash. Curiosity got the better of me, and I fished one out, smoothing the wrinkles with my palm.

It was a list of numbers—large numbers—with names and dates scribbled beside them. The bottom line was circled several times: $75,000. My stomach dropped. I knew Dad gambled, but I had no idea he was in this deep.

I checked the time. If I hurried, I could still make it to my morning class. Whatever hole Dad had dug himself into, I couldn't afford to miss lectures—not when I was barely holding onto my scholarship as it was.

---

"Win! Wait up!"

I turned to see Chloe Chen rushing toward me across the quad, her bright yellow backpack bouncing against her shoulder. My best friend since freshman orientation, Chloe was everything I wasn't—outgoing, carefree, from a wealthy family that paid her tuition without a second thought.

"Hey," I smiled, genuinely happy to see her familiar face after the unsettling morning.

"You got flowers again!" she exclaimed, falling into step beside me. "I saw them in your locker when I was dropping off those study notes."

I felt my cheeks warm. "Yeah. Still no note, though."

"It's so romantic," Chloe sighed dreamily. "A secret admirer who knows your favorite flower. Any ideas who it might be?"

I shrugged, clutching my textbooks tighter. "Not really. It could be anyone."

"What about Christian Scott? He's always watching you in Econ."

"Christian?" I laughed, though the idea wasn't unpleasant. "We're just friends. Besides, he's way too direct to do the anonymous thing."

"Maybe he's shy around you," Chloe suggested with a knowing smile. "Anyway, we're still on for study group tonight, right? My place at seven?"

I nodded, though a nagging feeling told me I should check on Dad first. "I'll be there."

---

In a luxurious penthouse downtown, Ryan Harris examined the photographs of me spread across his desk. Leo stood at attention nearby, awaiting instructions.

"She's exquisite," Ryan murmured, tracing a finger over my face in one of the images. "Those eyes... there's fire there."

"Want me to grab her from campus?" Leo asked.

Ryan shook his head. "No. We'll take her from home. Less witnesses, less complications." He checked his watch. "Have the guest house prepared. New clothes, security systems activated, windows reinforced."

"Yes, sir." Leo hesitated. "And her father?"

A cold smile curved Ryan's lips. "Give him enough cash for a bus ticket out of town. If he's stupid enough to stay, that's his problem."

---

I trudged up the stairs to our apartment at 6:30 PM, exhausted from a day of classes and a quick shift at the diner. I'd have just enough time to check on Dad before heading to Chloe's for our study session.

The door was unlocked—not unusual given Dad's carelessness. What was unusual was the silence that greeted me. No TV blaring sports commentary, no clinking of ice in a whiskey glass.

"Dad?" I called, dropping my bag by the door.

No answer.

I rounded the corner into our small living room and froze.

Three men in expensive suits sat on our threadbare couch as if they owned it. The tallest one, clearly the leader, rose smoothly to his feet. He was strikingly handsome in a dangerous way—sharp cheekbones, dark hair, and eyes that seemed to look straight through me.

"Winslow Grey," he said, my name rolling off his tongue like he'd practiced it. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Who are you? Where's my father?"

"Your father," he said, moving toward me with predatory grace, "has made a business arrangement with me. My name is Ryan Harris."

The name hit me like a physical blow. Everyone in this city knew who Ryan Harris was—the untouchable crime lord who controlled everything from city officials to street corners.

"What kind of arrangement?" I asked, my voice barely audible as I took an instinctive step backward.

Ryan's smile never reached his eyes as he closed the distance between us.

"You, Winslow," he said softly. "He sold me you."

"That's impossible," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the thundering of my heart. "My father wouldn't—"

My mind refused to process their meaning even as my body instinctively retreated until my back pressed against the wall.

"Wouldn't he?" Ryan Harris moved closer, his cologne—expensive and suffocating—filling my nostrils. "Seventy-five thousand dollars is quite a debt. You were his only asset worth that much."

I shook my head, desperate to deny the horrific truth settling like ice in my veins. "Where is he?"

"Gone," the man beside Ryan—introduced as Leo—answered flatly. "Smart move, considering."

Ryan's eyes never left mine as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from my face. I flinched violently, and something darkened in his expression.

"Now, let's verify what I've paid for," he said, his tone deceptively casual. "Take off your clothes."