Chapter 2 Three Million Reasons To

Nila’s POV

“Great,” I whisper under my breath, dropping my bag on the recliner in the living room. It’s been months since I’ve been here, but nothing has changed. The same pale curtains, beige furniture, and blank white walls. It’s like a hospital. Cold and lifeless. I’ve always hated it. The first real money I made, I rented my own place just to escape this boring space.

“I’m home!” I call out loudly.

The click of heels echoes from the kitchen, and my mom appears. Sandra Roberts looks as polished as ever, tall, blonde, with perfect makeup and a white silk dress that probably hasn’t seen a wrinkle in its life. I roll my eyes. Of course, it’s white.

“You’re three hours late,” she snaps, crossing her arms. Then her sharp gaze zeroes in on my face. “What on earth have you done to yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“That thing on your nose!” she exclaims.

“It’s called a piercing, Mom.”

She gasps. “People get sick from those! When your father sees you, he’s going to have a heart attack.”

“I’m twenty four, Mom. I can do whatever I want. Besides, I’ve had this for years. I just take it out when I visit so I don’t have to hear you complain. I forgot today.”

“And what’s with all the black? Did someone die?”  

“My patience,” I mutter. “I’m just going through a phase.”

Sandra sighs dramatically, clearly unimpressed. “Why do you have to be so odd all the time?”

“Guys like it. Strange girls are irresistible,” I say with a smile

She frowns. “I don’t think that’s true, dear.”

Of course, she doesn’t get the sarcasm.  

“When Dad called, he said it was urgent. Where is he?” I ask.

“In the study. He’s been acting strange lately. I think it’s about work, but he won’t tell me anything. He seems… scared.”

That catches my attention. My dad works in real estate, what could he possibly be afraid of? I head down the hall to his study, knocking on the door. I have no idea that by stepping inside, my whole life is about to flip upside down.  

Half an hour later, I’m slumped in a chair, staring at my father in disbelief. “This has to be a joke.”

“It’s not a joke,” he says quietly, running a hand through his greying hair.

“Let me get this straight. You borrowed money from some Russians, lost it, and now they’re demanding I marry their mob boss?”

“I didn’t steal it, Nila!” he snaps, standing and pacing the room. “I borrowed it for a deal. I didn’t know the guy I was working with was a scammer. He disappeared with all the money!”

“You borrowed millions of dollars from the mafia and can’t pay it back? Dad, what were you thinking?”  

“Watch your tone, young lady! I’m still your father,” he says, pointing a finger at me.

“You’re asking me to marry a criminal to save yourself. I think I’m allowed to talk to you however I want right now.”

“Nila…” His voice softens.

“Are they serious about this? They actually expect me to marry someone?”

“It’s temporary,” he says with a wave of his hand, like it’s no big deal.

“Why me? Don’t they have women in their own circle lining up for this? I mean, marrying a mafia boss must be some girls’ dream, right?”

“They didn’t explain. They just gave me orders. If we don’t follow them, we’re dead.”

I take a deep breath and rub my temples. “You really believe they’ll kill you?”

“Yes. I’m shocked they haven’t already.” He stops pacing and looks at me with pleading eyes. “If you don’t do this, Nila, I won’t survive.”

I bury my face in my hands, trying to think. There has to be another way out. “Alright, let’s figure this out. I have some savings, maybe fifty thousand. I’ve got an art exhibition next month. If I can finish all my pieces and sell them, I could make another twenty. How much is the house worth?”

“Maybe eighty, ninety thousand if we sell everything, including the furniture. I can sell the car for ten grand.”

“Okay, that gives us about one hundred seventy thousand. Is that enough? How much do you owe?”

He looks down at his hands. “Three million.”

I blink. “Three million?” My voice cracks. “Are you kidding me?”

He sighs. “It’s three million, Nila.”

I lean forward, resting my head on my knees. “Dear God, Dad.”  

I take a shaky breath, trying to stay calm. “There’s no way I’m worth three million. What’s the catch? How old is this guy, ninety?”

“I don’t know how old he is,” Dad admits. “But I doubt he’s ninety.”

“Eighty, then. Great. Just great,” I mumble, feeling sick to my stomach.