I had to fight the urge to spit in his face. The man disgusted me.

I turned back to Sal and his proposition that I join their outfit. “And if I don’t want to?” I had to force out the words, terrified of the answer I would receive.

Sal clasped his hands behind his back and dropped his chin to his chest. “That would be unfortunate. You see, your father here has a bit of a problem. He owes the family a good amount of money. With your help, we could even out those scales, but without it …” He looked up remorsefully at my father, then cast his eyes over to me.

I didn’t like Sal for putting me in this position, but that was nothing compared to my feelings for my father.

I hated him.

I hated him more than I ever thought a person could hate another human being. And the worst part was, I somehow didn’t hate him enough to let him suffer the consequences of his own actions. I didn’t know exactly what those consequences would be, but Sal made it clear they wouldn’t be pleasant.

I wasn’t going to tell Sal to fuck off, but that wasn’t a testament to some deep-seated love for my father. More than anything, I didn’t want to hate myself. As a kid, how do you consciously allow one of your parents to be tortured and possibly killed when you have the power to stop it? I felt weak and pathetic for caving to the pressure, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be the one who sentenced him to possible death.

“What do you want me to do?” The words were the equivalent of my surrender, my bitter tone reflective of my disdain for what I was being forced to concede.

“You fight for us.”

“Like boxing?”

“Exactly.”

“But I’ve never boxed before.”

Sal smiled condescendingly. “You’re a big boy, and your father here says you’re a natural athlete.”

My jaw began to ache from the intense pressure of my tightly clenched teeth. How was this happening? How had I gone from one of the best nights of my life to one of the worst? How long would I have to fight? Was there a particular number I needed to reach in order to absolve my father, or would I get sucked in and be forced to remain on their payroll?

Sensing my growing doubts and indecision, Sal drew my attention back to him. “If you can’t help make back the money your father owes, we’ll have to teach him a lesson—one he may or may not walk away from. You don’t want that, do you?”

“When do I start?” I bit out angrily.

“Tonight,” he said with a small smile, clearly enjoying his power over me.

I had no words to respond.

I would be fighting tonight—for the fucking mafia. What was I supposed to do? I could see no way around it, so I numbly followed the two men out of my house and into a waiting car.