Chapter 3—Deciding my fate

LENA

I WATCHED my father’s hands tremble as he picked his set of cards. Sweat trailed down his back. There was no emotion on his face, nothing indicating what his cards were.

Then he suddenly spoke, barely above a whisper. “Raise. All in!” Rumbling rang through the room.

“Are you sure?” The opposer asked, his words dry and tired. He didn’t seem excited about this match. I watched his eyes trail to me.

My father squinted his eyes. “I said, ‘All in!”

The opposer stared at me with pity, painting his eyes.

Viktor pushed his chips forward; the same with the opposers.

“Call.”

The turned card was the Queen of Diamonds, and the river was the card Ace of Spades. Then my father slowly flipped his cards. Two pair. A king and a queen.

I let out a relaxed sigh. What could beat the pair? I wondered. The only way he could possibly beat my father would be with another royal flush or with an ace.

‘I won’t be sold. I won’t be sold!!’ I chanted in my heart. My chest was full, as I felt a wave of relief wash over me. But it was short-lived. I could barely enjoy my peace before I heard a dry chuckle.

I slowly lifted my head to the dealer, who wasn’t staring at me but at the table with a bright smile. One that looked like he had conquered the world with it.

I immediately whipped my head back to the game.

Straight!! A straight seven through Jack!!!

The man chuckled darkly. “You are awful at this, dear Viktor. And now, you have dragged your daughter into your mess and—”

“Impossible. Impossible!!!” My father yelled, thrashing the table to the side.

He marched forward, grabbing him by the collar. “You cheated!! You cheated. Again!! I want a do-over!! Again!!”

The opposer clapped his hands off and punched him in the neck. He immediately doubled down and began choking badly.

“With what? Or would you like to trade your balls instead? I mean, you have given up your daughter. I guess you want your nuts cut off and traded?” He asked, clearly taunting him as he stepped on my father’s dick.

Meanwhile, I sat frozen. Not like I could do anything. I was cuffed to my chair.

“I have nothing to do with this.” I mumbled. My voice started off timid and began increasing in volume.

“I have nothing to do with this!! I have no connection; leave me out of it!!”

Then a maniacal laugh interrupted my pleas. Taping the gun on my chest. “Hardly have I seen a father sell off his own daughter.”

I looked at him with hate. It was only this dealer that found everything funny. It was only he that was amused by it all.

Walking to my back, he pulled my chin down, morphing and tugging at it, turning my face into various weird expressions. He continued to joke about it.

“Honestly, what a deadbeat-father you have. Quite idiotic, don’t you think?” He asked me, his face pressed against my chin.

Eyes never leaving mine, he pointed the gun at my father.

“I know what you are feeling. I sincerely understand your pain. And I know what is running through your head.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked with disgust laced in my voice.

He placed his gun on my lap. “One. Just one. And it will end his pathetic, insignificant life.”

‘What?’

“Just do it. I know you are angry. Fed up. With the way he readily sold you off and hit you up without a second thought, surely it is not your first rodeo.”

No lies.

He wasn’t exactly lying. This wasn’t the first time my father would hit me, nor was it the second, third, or fourth. In fact, if I had one euro for every time my father had hit me. I would make enough to leave this shitty country and run to another for safety.

But he also wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t the first time I had thought of killing my father. But they were all mere thoughts; they never did more than that.

It was tempting. Why was he the only one able to freely make choices for me? It was my life, but because of him, I learned how to forge paintings and was turned into a stripper to entertain and entice his guests and prospective dealers.

Tempting.

Very tempting.

I looked up at my father, only to see him being dragged by the hair by the dealer.

“So… what do you say, Mi Carina?” The dealer provoked.

He seemed to have a knack for riling people up.

And it worked.

Oh, it worked really well.

Shifting my arm, it was then I realized. I was no longer cuffed to the chair. Flexing my shoulder joints meekly. My fingers trailed over the metallic object.

“You useless child. After all I have done for you and your pathetic mother, you think you can kill me!!”

‘Pathetic… Mother?’

“Without me, you wouldn’t have gone to school, have food to eat, or even have clothes on your back. In fact, it is because of me you are even breathing and that your sick, pathetic mother because of —she we went off and—”

Completely blinded by rage, I didn’t know when I slapped him in the head with the gun.

Immediately, his skin broke, and blood seeped out from it, quickly trailing down his temple to his jawline.

Angry, I did it two more times, breaking more of his skin.

Yes, this vile, disgusting, perishable man was my birth father.

“How sickening.” I muttered.

I was ready. Ready to end it all. Both he and I.

The last thing I want is to be sold to the mafia, and of course, given the opportunity to kill my father on a silver platter, I definitely would not refuse it.

The Carter family will end tonight.

Fussy.

All of a sudden, I felt dizzy, and before I could react, I collapsed to the ground. The dealer hovered over me.

Trap.

I had very easily, very foolishly, walked into a trap.

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“Kiss me like you’re not afraid to die.” La Donna Lena.