Chapter 5 The Proposal

"Mercy, I think I'm going to die," Sophia whispered, gripping her friend's arm as they stood behind the bar during a brief lull in customers. "Actually die. Not metaphorically, not dramatically… literally die."

Mercy stopped polishing the glass in her hands and turned to face her fully. "What happened? Did you find the shirt?"

"I found out how much it costs." Sophia's voice came out strangled. "Six thousand dollars, Mercy. Six. Thousand. Dollars. For a shirt."

"Jesus Christ." Mercy set down the glass with shaking hands. "Six thousand? Are you sure?"

"Custom made. Hand tailored. Probably sewn by angels using thread made from unicorn hair." Sophia let out a hysterical laugh. "I don't have six thousand dollars. I don't have six hundred dollars. Hell, I barely have sixty dollars to my name right now."

"Okay, so what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Sophia felt tears burning behind her eyes. "Thompson said I have until tonight, or I'll be 'dealt with.' Whatever that means."

"It means you need to talk to him directly," Mercy said firmly. "To Ethan Rossi."

Sophia stared at her friend like she'd suggested jumping off a cliff. "Are you insane? I can't just walk up to a mafia prince and ask for a payment plan."

"Why not?" Mercy grabbed a rag and started wiping the already clean bar top, a nervous habit. "Look, I know he's supposed to be ruthless and all that, but he's still human. Maybe if you explain the situation, tell him it was an accident, he'll give you more time."

"Or he'll have me killed immediately instead of waiting."

"Sophie." Mercy caught her hands, stilling their nervous trembling. "You said it yourself… you're going to die anyway if you don't do something. What's the worst that could happen if you try to talk to him?"

Before Sophia could answer, Mercy continued. "Besides, he's here tonight. In the VIP lounge. If you're going to do this, now's your chance."

Sophia's stomach dropped to her shoes. "He's here? Now?"

"Came in about an hour ago with some of his guys. Ordered a bottle of their most expensive whiskey and told everyone to stay away unless summoned." Mercy's expression softened. "Look, I know it's scary. But maybe he'll surprise you. Maybe under all that dangerous reputation, there's actually a heart."

Sophia wanted to laugh at her friend's optimism, but the sound stuck in her throat. Ethan Rossi didn't get his reputation by being soft-hearted. Men like him didn't show mercy to people who crossed them.

But what choice did she have?

"If I don't come back in thirty minutes, call the police," she said, only half-joking.

"You'll be fine," Mercy said, though her worried expression suggested otherwise. "Just be honest. Tell him the truth."

The walk to the VIP lounge felt like a death march. Sophia's legs felt like lead, and her heart hammered so hard she was sure everyone in the bar could hear it. The VIP section was separated from the main bar by frosted glass doors and two enormous men in expensive suits who looked like they could bench press small cars.

"I need to speak with Mr. Rossi," she told one of the bodyguards, surprised when her voice came out steady.

The man looked her up and down with obvious suspicion. "He's not taking visitors."

"Tell him it's about his shirt."

Something flickered in the guard's eyes… recognition, maybe, or amusement. He spoke quietly into a small device clipped to his collar, then listened to the response.

"Go in," he said, stepping aside. "But keep your hands where we can see them."

The VIP lounge was dimly lit, all dark leather and polished wood. It looked like the kind of place where million-dollar deals were made and people's fates were decided over expensive alcohol. And there, sitting in a plush chair in the far corner, was Ethan Rossi.

Sophia froze in the doorway.

He was exactly as she remembered from the alley… tall, blonde-haired, devastatingly handsome in a dangerous way. But what made her freeze wasn't his appearance. It was what he was doing.

A woman with long blonde hair was kneeling between his legs, her head moving in a rhythm that left no doubt about her activities. Ethan's head was tilted back, his eyes closed, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He looked completely relaxed, completely in control.

Sophia's face burned with embarrassment and shock. She took a step backward, intending to flee, but her shoe squeaked against the polished floor.

Ethan's eyes snapped open and locked onto hers immediately.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Sophia stood frozen like a deer in headlights while Ethan studied her with those dark, unreadable eyes. Then, without any change in expression, he tapped the blonde woman's shoulder.

"That's enough, Elena. Leave us."

The woman lifted her head, looking confused and slightly annoyed. "But Ethan…"

"Leave." His voice carried absolute authority, the kind that didn't allow for arguments.

Elena rose gracefully, smoothed down her dress, and shot Sophia a look of pure venom as she walked past. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Sophia alone with the most dangerous man she'd ever met.

Ethan calmly zipped his pants and straightened his shirt, then picked up his drink and took a sip. His movements were unhurried, casual, as if he hadn't just dismissed a woman performing oral sex on him like she was a servant bringing coffee.

"Stop lurking by the door and sit down," he said without looking at her.

Sophia's feet moved before her brain could object, carrying her to the chair across from his. She perched on the edge like she was ready to run at any second, which she was.

"Drink?" he offered, gesturing to the bottle of whiskey on the table between them.

"No, thank you." Her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

"Smart. You'll want to keep your wits about you for this conversation." He leaned back in his chair, studying her with the intensity of a predator sizing up prey. "Now, where's my shirt?"

"That's what I came to talk to you about." Sophia's hands twisted in her lap. "I went to the mall today, and I found out... I mean, I learned that..."

"That it costs more money than you've ever seen in your life," he finished for her.

"Yes." The word came out like a confession.

"Six thousand dollars, to be exact. Custom tailored by a man in Milan who has a six-month waiting list." Ethan's smile was sharp as a blade. "Did you really think you could replace it with something from the local department store?"

"I hoped," she admitted. "I didn't know it was custom made. I thought maybe..."

"You thought maybe I was the kind of man who shops off the rack." His tone was mildly amused, which somehow made it more terrifying. "Tell me, what exactly do you know about me?"

"I know you're Ethan Rossi. I know your family owns things. Important things. I know I'm in serious trouble."

"You're in serious trouble," he agreed. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Sophia took a shaky breath. "I came to ask for more time. I know I can't get six thousand dollars by tonight, but maybe if you give me a few weeks, I could work extra shifts, sell some things…"

"What things?" he interrupted. "What could you possibly own that's worth six thousand dollars?"

The question hung between them like a challenge. Sophia thought of her tiny apartment, her secondhand furniture, her mother's wedding ring… the only valuable thing she owned, and it was worth maybe three hundred dollars.

"Nothing," she whispered.

"Nothing," he repeated. "So you're asking me to wait weeks for money you can't possibly raise, to replace a shirt you had no business destroying in the first place."

"I know how it sounds, but…"

"It sounds like you're asking for charity." He leaned forward, and she caught a whiff of his expensive cologne mixed with whiskey. "Do I look like a charitable man to you?"

"No," she admitted.

"No," he agreed. "I'm not. I'm a businessman. I deal in trades, exchanges, mutual benefit. If you can't pay me in money, then you'll have to pay me in something else."

Sophia's blood ran cold. She'd heard stories about what happened to people who couldn't pay their debts to families like the Rossis. Usually, it involved violence or servitude or worse.

"What kind of something else?" she forced herself to ask.

Ethan was quiet for a long moment, swirling the whiskey in his glass. When he looked up at her again, there was something different in his expression. Something calculating.

"Are you married?" he asked suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that Sophia blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Married. Engaged. In a relationship. It's a simple question."

"No," she said slowly. "I'm not any of those things. Why?"

Ethan smiled, and for the first time since she'd known of his existence, it looked genuine. Almost... pleased.

"Because I have a proposition for you," he said, setting down his glass with a decisive clink. "A way to clear your debt and solve a problem of mine at the same time."

Sophia waited, her heart hammering.

"Marry me.”