Loving the Ruthless Mafia King

The banging and clattering broke through the thin walls like thunder, jarring Sera from her sleep. She blinked at the ceiling, disoriented, before realizing that the noise wasn't stopping. Cursing and the sound of cupboards slamming shut cut through the quiet. She rolled over and glanced at the small clock on her nightstand, squinting at the blurry red numbers—2:04 a.m.

With a heavy sigh, she rubbed her eyes, pushed herself out of bed, and tiptoed toward the kitchen. She knew this routine all too well, but tonight felt worse somehow, maybe because of how exhausted she was, maybe because she'd actually dared to hope things might improve after the recent scare with the mafia. But as she drew closer to the kitchen, her stomach knotted. He was there, opening and slamming cupboard doors, a whiskey bottle clutched loosely in one hand. She could see his glassy, unfocused eyes even from across the room.

“Dad?” she called softly, but he didn’t look up, his muttering only getting louder as he fumbled around, knocking over containers and shoving aside dishes.

Finally, he opened the highest cupboard, his eyes lighting up with a twisted sense of triumph. Sera’s heart plummeted as she saw him reach into the back, his hand emerging with her shoebox—the faded cardboard box that held every dollar she’d managed to save. She clamped a hand over her mouth, swallowing the panic rising in her chest, and stepped forward quickly.

“Dad, wait!” she said, her voice trembling as she tried to approach him calmly. “That’s... That’s my money. I need that.”

He froze, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he looked at her, the haze of alcohol making his gaze heavy and unfocused. “Your money?” he slurred, voice laced with irritation. “Where’d you get money, huh? Always whining about how poor we are…”

“Please, Dad, I worked for that money,” she said, stepping closer, her hands outstretched in a silent plea. “It’s for bills, for food—”

He cut her off with a sneer, swaying slightly as he held the shoebox just out of her reach. “I work too, you know! I work hard. But you’re always complaining, acting like I don’t do enough for you.”

She tried again, her voice shaking with barely restrained desperation. “I’m not saying that, Dad. I just… we need that money, okay? Please, just give it back. I’m begging you.”

But he only let out a bitter laugh, his gaze shifting to the contents of the box. “Look at this… a whole fifty bucks,” he muttered, counting the small, crumpled bills with a sneer. “This won’t even cover the beer I’ve had to put up with tonight.” His words stung, a twisted mockery of all the late nights she’d spent scraping together pennies, just trying to survive.

“Dad, please—” she began again, moving forward to take the box from him. But before she could reach it, he shoved her back, his grip tightening around the money as he pocketed every last bill. The shove sent her stumbling backward, her body colliding with the floor. Pain radiated up her side, and she winced, blinking up at him in stunned silence.

He didn’t seem to notice—or care—that she’d fallen. Instead, he muttered to himself, his fingers clutching the money with a kind of greedy satisfaction that made her heart ache.

“Dad, please, just… just think about what you’re doing,” she managed, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We barely have enough to make it through the week. I don’t know how much longer we can… we can keep going like this.”

Sera felt the tears pricking at her eyes, a painful lump rising in her throat as she struggled to keep her composure. “I don’t want to be tough, Dad. I just… I want us to be okay. I want… I want us to have something normal, something better.”

He didn't even seem to hear her.

With that, he stumbled toward the front door, his movements sluggish but determined. Sera pushed herself up from the floor, reaching out a hand as if to stop him, but he didn’t look back. He barely even acknowledged her existence, his focus already elsewhere. He fumbled with the lock, swaying unsteadily, and then he was gone, disappearing into the night with her last fifty dollars crammed into his pocket.

The silence that followed was deafening. The apartment felt emptier than ever, the shadows thicker and colder in his absence. Sera stayed where she was, her knees tucked up to her chest as she wrapped her arms around herself, the weight of it all crashing down on her at once.

Her fingers trembled as she pressed her palms to her face, struggling to hold back the tears. She didn’t want to cry; she was tired of crying. But as she sat there, alone in the darkened apartment, the bitter truth settled over her. She was on her own—truly, utterly on her own.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she forced herself to blink them back, taking in a shaky breath as she let the numbness settle over her like a shield. She would figure this out. She had to. Because if she didn’t… no one else would.