Caring For The Mafia Son

"Marry me... or your family pays."

Those were the last words I expected to hear today.

I stood in my father's cramped office, heart hammering, as my gaze met the tall, imposing man in front of me.

Dressed in realise his dark eyes seemed to pierce straight through me. His hair was perfectly combed, and his presence—strong, intimidating—made me freeze in place. Two men flanked him, silent and dangerous.

"Rachel, baby, I can explain," my father said, stepping toward me, panic in his voice.

"What...?" I muttered, confusion and disbelief twisting in my chest.

"Your father owes me money—a lot of it," the man said smoothly. "And I don't joke about my money."

Before I could react, he pulled a gun from his pocket. I flinched, my breath catching. My father froze, too.

"So here's the deal," he continued, taking a slow step forward. "You marry me. Your father lives. Refuse... and I won't be responsible for what happens to him."

I gaped, anger and fear flashing through me. My hand darted for my phone. "I'm calling the police! You can't threaten my family, you lunatic!"

The man's face darkened. He moved closer, and I stumbled backwards until my back hit the wall. One of his men pressed a gun to my father's temple. My blood ran cold.

"I'm Damien Montrel," he said, his voice low, smooth, and deadly. "And this is not a request."

My eyes widened. Damien?

The name I had only ever heard in whispered warnings, the man whose name alone made even hardened criminals shiver... he was here. In my father's office. My phone slipped from my trembling hands.

I glanced at my father. His face was drained of colour, shame and fear immediately replacing the faint confidence he usually carried. He had dragged me into this.

"Dad... what did you do?!" My voice shook.

Damien's frown deepened. "You don't listen, do you? You will address me. I'm being generous. Usually, I would just take your father's organs, but I'm offering a bargain."

I frowned, scared but angry. "I am not an object to be bought!"

"Oh, but you are," Damien spat. "The moment your father decided to borrow millions from me... for years... this is the consequence."

I sank to the floor, tears burning in my eyes. Confusion, fear, and anger swirled inside me. I had just come back from a late night of studying with my friends... and now this.

Damien's gaze didn't waver. "You have until tomorrow morning to give me your answer," he said, his voice calm but dangerous. "Think carefully. If you tell anyone I was here... your father, your brother, everyone you love... they will all pay."

I froze. My brother... he was in another city, always working. If he knew... if he came...The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through my chest.**

He stepped back, giving me space but never breaking eye contact. "Don't waste my generosity by refusing outright," he warned. "Tomorrow, you make your choice. And remember... I can find out everything. Even your thoughts are not safe."

With that, Damien turned and walked out, his two men following silently. The door clicked shut. The office felt suddenly suffocating.

My father stumbled toward me, falling to his knees. His hands trembled as they gripped my arms. "Tomorrow morning..." I whispered. "How am I supposed to choose?"

"Rachel, I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't know he'd drag you into this."

I looked at him, my chest aching too much for anger. "Why were you borrowing money from someone like him?"

He looked away, shame clouding his face. "That doesn't matter now. Rachel, listen—call Marcus. Tell him to book you a flight out of the country."

"Dad, it's Damien!" I cried, frustrated, tears spilling down my cheeks. "He'll find me! There's nowhere I can run!"

"I can offer him myself," my father said weakly, his voice breaking. "I'll give him what he wants—my organs, my life—just not you. Please, Rachel, don't let him have you."

My heart twisted painfully. "But you'll die. I can't lose you," I whispered.

He smiled faintly, heartbreak written all over his face. "Yes... but you still have Marcus."

A shaky laugh escaped me. "Marcus barely picks up my calls, Dad," I tried to joke, but my voice cracked. "I just... I just want you alive."

He placed a trembling hand on my cheek. "You're the only thing I ever did right, Rachel."

The words broke me.

I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder, trembling as the weight of everything crashed down.

Because tomorrow morning, I had to choose between my father's life and my own freedom.

——

The first rays of sunlight barely touched the city when I heard a sharp knock on the door. My heart lurched. I knew that sound.

I had barely slept, haunted by the nightmare of last night. Damien Montrel was back. And so early.

Before I could react, the door burst open. The dark, imposing figure filled the doorway, his suit pristine, eyes cold and sharp. Two men followed silently behind him; their presence alone made the air feel heavy and dangerous.

"Time's up," Damien said, his voice smooth, low, and deadly. "What's your choice?"

I stood immediately, tense, my pulse racing as I met his gaze. His face was hard—serious, dangerous—but I sensed something else too: anticipation. The faint tightening of his jaw told me he was waiting for my answer, and for a brief second, it almost looked like he cared.

Before I could speak, my father stormed into the living room, his voice sharp and trembling.

"She's not marrying you," he said firmly, standing between us despite the fear in his shaking hands.

Damien's frown deepened. "I didn't hear those words from her."

"You don't need to," my father snapped. "As you can see, she's standing still. Her silence means no."

Damien's jaw tightened. His gaze darkened, disappointment flickering across his features before he turned cold again. Without a word, he gestured to his men. "Take him, then."

I froze. The men stepped forward, their boots thudding heavily against the floor. My father stumbled back, still glaring at Damien with defiance burning in his eyes.

"Rachel..." he called, voice breaking. "Call your brother—and move in with him."

My chest constricted. The men grabbed him roughly, dragging him toward the door. Damien stood still, watching the scene unfold with calm precision, like a judge passing sentence.

"Dad!" I screamed, rushing forward, but one of Damien's men raised his gun instantly, stopping me mid-step.

"Stay back," Damien said quietly, his tone so steady it chilled me.

My father's knees buckled as they pulled him. He tried to fight, but they were stronger and crueler. His face turned pale, sweat glistening on his forehead. Tears blurred my vision as I watched him being dragged away—helpless, humiliated, and terrified.

I could feel Damien's gaze on me, observing, analyzing my reaction. His arms were folded calmly, his expression unreadable. He was studying me—measuring how far he could push before I broke.

I tried to stay still. Dad was right—it wasn't fair for me to be involved. But I couldn't bear it anymore. Every cry, every thud of my father's shoes against the floor, tore through my chest like glass.

"Stop!" I cried.

Tears streamed down my face as I stumbled forward. "I... I'll do it," I whispered, voice cracking. "I'll marry you."

For a second, silence filled the room. Even the men paused.

Damien's eyes flicked up, scanning me with a cold, calculating stare. For just a heartbeat, I thought I saw something—approval? Satisfaction?—before his expression hardened again.

"Wise choice," he said, stepping aside.

The men released my father, and he dropped to the floor with a groan.

"Rachel... no," he rasped, reaching for me, pain etched across his face.

I shook my head, tears spilling freely. "I have to," I whispered. "I have to keep you alive."

Damien turned to his men, his voice calm again. "Get everything ready. She's mine now."

My father's voice broke behind me, but I couldn't look at him. The world blurred as Damien walked past, his cologne sharp and suffocating, his presence swallowing every ounce of light left in the room.

At that moment, I knew my life was no longer my own.