Blood Debt: The Making of a Mafia Queen

Sofia's POV

The twenty-dollar bill slipped through my fingers and landed on the floor.

"No, no, no!" I dropped to my knees, scrambling under the counter to grab it. My heart pounded as I snatched the crumpled money. Twenty dollars might not seem like much to most people, but for me, it meant the difference between eating dinner tonight or going to bed hungry.

I sat back on my heels and counted the day's earnings again. Forty-three dollars and sixty-two cents. That was it. That was all my little bookstore made today.

My stomach twisted into knots. Rent was due in five days, and I needed two hundred dollars. I'd been behind on payments for three months already. Mrs. Chen, my landlord, had been nice about it so far, but even the kindest people had limits.

I pulled out my calculator and started adding numbers, hoping somehow the math would work out differently this time. It didn't. No matter how I arranged the numbers, I was still broke.

"Think, Sofia," I whispered to myself. "There has to be something you can do."

Maybe I could sell some of my own books. The classics on my bedroom shelf might be worth something. Or I could ask for extra hours at the coffee shop where I worked part-time. But Mrs. Rodriguez had already cut everyone's hours because business was slow.

The bell above my door chimed, making me jump. I quickly stood up, smoothing down my hair and putting on my best customer service smile.

"Welcome to Between the Lines!" I called out cheerfully. "Can I help you find anything?"

The man who walked in wasn't like my usual customers. Most people who came to my store were college students looking for cheap textbooks or elderly folks searching for romance novels. This guy was different. Scary different.

He was tall and broad, wearing a dark jacket despite the warm weather. His eyes moved around my store like he was looking for something specific, but not books. His gaze lingered on the back door, the windows, and the security camera I couldn't afford to replace when it broke last year.

"You Sofia Martinez?" His voice was rough, like he smoked too many cigarettes.

My mouth went dry. "Um, yes. That's me. Are you looking for a particular book?"

He stepped closer to my counter, and I noticed a scar running from his ear to his jaw. "I'm looking for information about your father."

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. "My father? He's... he's dead. He died six months ago."

"I know." The man's smile wasn't friendly. "Vincent Martinez. Small-time crook who thought he was smarter than he actually was."

"Excuse me?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "My father wasn't a crook. He worked construction."

The man laughed, and the sound made my skin crawl. "Construction. Right. Is that what he told you?"

"What do you want?" I tried to sound brave, but my voice shook.

"Vincent took something that didn't belong to him before he died. Something valuable. We want it back."

"I don't know what you're talking about." My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the counter. "My father didn't steal anything."

"Oh, little girl, your daddy stole a lot of things. But this particular item is worth more than this whole neighborhood." His eyes glittered dangerously. "And since Vincent can't give it back, the debt falls to you."

"That's crazy! I don't have anything that belonged to... to whoever you work for. I can barely afford to keep this store open!"

The man looked around at my small bookstore with obvious disgust. "Yeah, I can see that. This place is pathetic."

His words stung, but they also made me angry. "If you're not here to buy a book, then please leave."

"I'll leave," he said, heading toward the door. "But I'll be back. And next time, I won't be alone."

After he left, I locked the door and flipped the sign to "CLOSED" even though it was only four o'clock. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I pulled out my phone and called the only person I could trust – Sarah, my best friend since high school.

"Hey, what's up?" Sarah's cheerful voice made me want to cry with relief.

"Sarah, something weird just happened. This scary guy came into my store asking about my dad. He said Dad stole something valuable, and now they want it from me."

"Slow down. What kind of guy? What did he look like?"

I described the man, including the scar and his threatening attitude. Sarah was quiet for a long moment.

"Sofia, I think you should call the police."

"And tell them what? A customer asked me questions about my dead father? They'll think I'm crazy."

"This doesn't sound like a normal customer complaint. Promise me you'll be careful, okay? Maybe stay at my place tonight."

"I can't leave the store. What if he comes back and breaks in?"

"Then let him! Books aren't worth your safety."

After we hung up, I sat in my store as the sun began to set. The scary man's words kept echoing in my head. Vincent took something that didn't belong to him. What could my father have possibly stolen that was so valuable?

Dad had always been secretive about his work. He'd leave early in the morning and come home late at night, usually with dirty clothes and tired eyes. When I asked about his day, he'd just say "construction stuff" and change the subject.

But now that I thought about it, there had been strange things. Like the time I found a stack of cash hidden in his closet – way more money than a construction worker should have. When I asked about it, he said he'd been saving for years. Or the way he always paid for everything in cash, never using credit cards or checks.

Maybe the scary man was telling the truth. Maybe Dad had been involved in something illegal.

But even if that were true, I didn't have whatever he'd stolen. When Dad died, I'd gone through all his belongings. There was nothing valuable except his old watch, which I'd kept because it reminded me of him.

The streetlights flickered on outside, casting long shadows across my store. I should go home, but something made me stay. Maybe it was stubbornness, or maybe I was hoping the man would come back so I could demand real answers.

That's when I saw them.

Four black cars pulled up outside my store, moving slowly like sharks circling their prey. They parked in a perfect line, blocking both directions of the street.

My heart stopped beating for a moment, then started racing so fast I felt dizzy.

The car doors opened at exactly the same time, like they'd practiced it. Men in dark suits stepped out of each vehicle. Even in the dim light, I could see they were all tall, muscular, and dangerous-looking.

They weren't here to buy books.

One of them, a man with dark hair and cold eyes looked directly at my store window. Even though I was standing in the shadows, I knew he could see me.

He smiled, and it was the most terrifying smile I'd ever seen.

Then he started walking toward my front door.