The Deal

Chapter Three

"HELLO!"

Don Salvatorre quickly pulled the receiver away from his ear at the almost shouted reply on the other end of the line.

"Giovanni, it's me--your father."

He heard his son groan. Obviously, he wasn't pleased to hear his voice.

"What do you want?" Giovanni asked coldly.

"Un padre non può forse chiamare solo per sapere come sta suo figlio?" the don replied. Which means: Can't a father call just to check on his son?

His son let out a hoarse, humorless laugh. "That's so unlike you, father. Stop beating around the bush and get to the point."

"I found your bride."

"You what?!"

"You heard me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The don nearly smiled, imagining the way his youngest son's brows must have drawn together.

"If you want the fifty percent share of Monarch Aviation International, I'm ready to hand it over to you. But in exchange, I want you to marry the woman I've chosen for you."

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"A joke? Do you think I'd turn something this serious into a joke?"

He didn't respond right away to what he said. He must have been shell-shocked.

"I'll give you twenty-four hours to think about it."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Silence.

"Alright then. Looks like I spoke to the wrong son. I'll discuss the matter with Giuseppe instead. I'm sure your brother will be far more interested in this business proposal especially since full control of an air charter service would benefit his operations."

He heard his son curse softly on the line. A quiet sense of victory stirred in Don Salvatorre's chest. Between his two sons, Giovanni was the easier one to read. Unlike Giuseppe, who was as sealed and impenetrable as an encrypted file--unless you knew the password. Though the don doubted even Giuseppe would entertain such a proposal.

"Fine. Give me at least one week to think about it."

"How about forty-eight hours?"

"We're talking about a lifetime commitment here, father. It's not easy for me to just give up my freedom."

"Ah, well it's not easy for me to simply hand over MAI either. That company holds countless memories your mother and I shared."

He had often told Giovanni that he was conceived in a Cessna. His late wife, Anna, had been an aviation enthusiast. On their tenth wedding anniversary, he bought her a small air charter service company in Sicily. What started as a simple passion eventually grew into a serious dedication. Anna built that tiny operation into a thriving enterprise.

Thirty-three years later, that humble fleet of fifteen small aircraft had grown into a giant in the aviation industry. When Anna died, her fifty percent share automatically went to Salvatorre. The remaining half was divided: ten percent each to Anna's two younger siblings, and fifteen percent each to their two sons.

Don Salvatorre knew how much MAI meant to Giovanni. Like his mother, he had inherited her love for flying. In fact, Giovanni was a licensed pilot and had even served in the Italian Air Force for three years.

"Damn it," he heard his son curse again.

Sensing his son's frustration only fueled the don's quiet satisfaction. He knew Giovanni wasn't holding on to his bachelorhood out of stubbornness, but because of the lingering pain from his past. Giovanni was supposed to marry three years ago. But the bride's family found out who his father was. The wedding was called off.

Worse, instead of standing by him, the woman fled and married someone else.

Since then, Don Salvatorre felt his youngest son had become like one of the planes he flew. Mechanical. Alive, but barely living.

If it were up to him, he would have erased that woman's family from the face of the earth long ago. No trace, no remains. But Giovanni had begged him to let it go.

He may be a don, but when it came to his children, he was just like any other father. Soft-hearted. Not that anyone else needed to know that. As much as possible, he kept his distance from them to avoid exposing them to danger.

"Okay. I'll give you a ring after two days," Giovanni finally said.

"Good."

After the call ended, Don Salvatorre focused his attention on the dossier lying on his desk.

Carlotta Madrigal.

It seemed the time had come to settle an old debt. With the plan forming inside his head, he was about to kill two birds with one stone.

He dialed Herman's number.

"Herman, I want you to make sure Tyron Madrigal falls neck-deep in debt. Give him whatever amount he asks for. But make sure every transaction is sealed and signed. I don't want any loopholes in my plan..."

***

THERE really must be a miracle, Carlotta thought to herself.

It had been two weeks, and she hadn't heard a word from her brother Tyron. Did her words finally get through to him?

But she shook the thought away just as quickly. With how thick-skinned her brother was, it was impossible.

Her brother was the walking embodiment of the seven deadly sins.

She was wiping down the glassware when a tall man entered the bar. He didn't look like one of their regulars. And while he wasn't exactly handsome, something about him stood out in the crowd.

"Good evening, sir. Welcome to Buccaneer's Bar. What can I get you?" she greeted warmly as he took a seat at the bar.

"You."

"E-excuse me?"

"I'm here to collect a debt."

"W-wait a minute, I think you've got the wrong person--"

"Your name is Carlotta Madrigal, correct?"

"Y-yes. But I--"

"And you're the younger sister of Tyron Madrigal."

At the mention of her brother's name, Carlotta felt her knees weaken.

"H-how much is it this time?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Ten million."

Her mind quickly tried to calculate how much she had in her bank account. But her thoughts short-circuited at the man's next words.

"...in US dollars."

She nearly collapsed on the spot.

Ten million US dollars?! Even if she sold her soul--along with her internal organs--there was no way she could raise that kind of money!

But before panic could fully consume her, she asked the man for proof of the debt. As if expecting the request, he pulled a sealed envelope from inside his dark suit. He laid two sheets of paper on the bar counter.

With trembling hands, she scanned the documents.

"N-no. T-this can't be legal."

"In the underground world, the word 'legal' is a one-way street, Miss Madrigal. If my Boss says it's legal, then it is--regardless of what the rest of the world thinks."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Your brother owed Don Salvatorre Galliardi. He's not a man you want to cross if you value your life."

It wasn't the man's words that scared Carlotta. It was the certainty in his eyes. The kind of certainty that said he could kill her in an instant if his Boss so ordered.

"I-it says here we still have at least one month to come up with the money," she said, eyes on the document.

"Yes. Plus twenty-five percent interest."

"What?!"

Why did it feel like the longer she spoke with this man, the deeper she sank into quicksand?

"C-can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"What's he going to do to me if... i-if we fail to pay him on time?"

The man didn't even blink.

"You will become his bride."