The Mafia's Little Obsession

Elena's Point Of View

The rain fell in an unrelenting drizzle, blurring the headstones around me into indistinct shadows. I stood frozen, my black heels sinking into the wet earth as the priest's voice droned on. The words, a faint hum of scripture about eternal rest and divine plans, might as well have been in another language. Nothing could reach me through the oppressive weight of grief that had wrapped itself around my chest like iron chains.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life. Just two weeks ago, my parents were alive, vibrant, and making plans for their next anniversary trip. Now, their shared casket sat a few feet away, surrounded by wilted flowers and faces of distant relatives I hadn’t seen in years. People whispered their condolences as if words could somehow patch up the gaping hole their deaths had left behind.

My hands trembled as I clutched the edge of the black umbrella, my knuckles white against the plastic handle. A cold wind swept through the cemetery, rustling the leaves of the ancient oak trees, but I didn’t feel it. All I felt was numbness.

“Stay strong, Elena,” a distant cousin murmured, patting my shoulder as she walked past. The phrase was starting to sound like a broken record. Everyone wanted me to be strong. To stand tall. To bear the unimaginable with grace.

I was ready to scream.

The funeral ended in a haze. The final prayer were said, the casket was lowered, and the mourners drifted away, leaving behind the scent of damp earth and roses. I stood there for what felt like hours, unable to move, unable to process the finality of it all. My parents were gone, and the world expected me to somehow keep going.

“Elena Torres?”

The voice snapped me out of my daze, sharp and professional. I turned to see a man standing a few feet away, his black trench coat immaculate despite the rain. He was tall, stern, and exuded the kind of authority that made people instinctively straighten their posture. In his hands was a leather folder, worn at the edges but still elegant.

“Yes?” I replied, my voice hoarse from crying.

“I’m Attorney Anthony Cooper. Your father’s legal advisor.”

“My father’s…what?”

He took a measured step forward, his polished shoes crunching against the gravel. “I need to speak with you privately."

"About what please? " I inquired

" It’s about your father’s estate.” his voice low in an Almost hum

I frowned, my stomach twisting with unease. “Right now?”

He nodded once, as if the timing were obvious. “It’s of uttermost importance that we speak about it now Miss Torres.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue. I followed him to a small bench beneath a tree, the rain dripping off its leaves in slow, steady drops. The air smelled of wet grass and decay.

Anthony opened the folder, revealing a stack of papers. His movements were deliberate, almost surgical, as he flipped to a specific page and handed it to me. “I believe this requires your immediate attention.”

The moment I saw my father’s name on the document, my heart sank. “What is this?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Your father was in significant financial trouble two years ago,” Anthony explained, his tone devoid of sympathy. “He was on the verge of declaring bankruptcy when a benefactor stepped in.”

I blinked, trying to absorb his words. “A benefactor? What are you talking about? Who is this benefactor?”

“Mr. Nicholas De Luca,” he said, as if the name should mean something to me. “He provided your father with a substantial amount as loan to save his business and personal assets. Unfortunately, the terms of repayment were… a little unconventional.”

Unconventional? My eyes scanned the document in my hands, and that’s when I saw it. The words blurred together at first, my mind struggling to comprehend. But there it was, written in cold, unforgiving ink was a marriage contract.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, this has to be a mistake, my father never told me about any of this”

Anthony’s expression remained stoic. “I assure you, it’s not a mistake.”

“My father would never…” My voice cracked. “He would never do this to me, he loved me too much to have done this.”

“Your father signed this agreement and it's legally binding” Anthony said firmly, pointing to the signature at the bottom of the page. It was unmistakably my father’s handwriting. “As part of the terms, you are legally bound to marry Mr. De Luca.”

The world tilted on its axis. I gripped the edge of the bench to steady myself. “You’re telling me my dad sold me off like a…like some piece of property?!”

Anthony didn’t flinch. “Your father was desperate at that time, Miss Torres. He saw no other way to protect your family's Legacy.”

My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. “This is bullshit. This can’t be real.”

“It’s very real,” Anthony said, his voice cutting through my denial. “And Mr. De Luca expects the contract to be honored.”

I shoved the paper back into his hands, anger bubbling beneath my skin. “You can tell Mr. De Luca to go to hell. I am not going to marry some man I don't even know.”

Anthony sighed, as if he had anticipated my reaction. “Miss Torres, I understand this is overwhelming, but I strongly advise you to reconsider your approach. Mr. De Luca is not a man you defy lightly.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I snapped, my voice rising despite the lump in my throat.

“It’s more of a warning,” he said evenly. “You’ve just buried your parents. I’d hate for you to lose anyone else.”

His words sent a chill down my spine. “Is that somehow supposed to scare me or what?”

“It’s the reality of the situation,” he replied. “Mr. De Luca will contact you directly to arrange a signing meeting. I suggest you keep your phone close.”

I stared at him, my mind spinning. Who the hell was this man, Nicholas De Luca? And how had my father gotten us into this sort of messy situation?

Anthony stood, closing the folder with a snap. “Good day, Miss Torres.”

I watched as he walked away, his figure disappearing into the mist. The rain continued to fall, soaking through my thin coat, but I barely noticed. My hands were trembling again, this time with rage and fear.

As I sat there, staring at the now crumpled document in my lap, one thought consumed me, what the hell had my father done?