Paying My Father's Debt

Chapter 12:

The second Mary stepped inside, she realized just how wrong she’d been.

She expected grime. Flickering lights. A sticky floor and the stale breath of desperation clinging to the walls.

But the Rattlesnake Bar was... elegant.

Low-lit chandeliers hung from the ceiling like jeweled predators. Dark mahogany booths lined the walls, upholstered in blood-red velvet. The floor gleamed black and polished. Smoke coiled in the air, expensive and thick, the scent more cigar lounge than dive bar. There were no jukeboxes, no sticky pool tables. Just quiet music, smooth jazz bleeding from discreet speakers, and voices lowered in conversation you weren’t meant to overhear.

This wasn’t where people drank away their regrets.

This was where they sold them.

She scanned the room and swallowed hard. If there was a heart to the Vongola empire, this was probably it. The pulse of their dirty deals. Their contracts, bribes, threats—all handed down across fine glasses of aged scotch and polished oak.

Mary glanced around, suddenly all too aware of her outfit. It screamed outsider, screamed bait. But no one stopped her. No one asked questions.

A few men turned. One whistled low, gave her a lazy grin. “Hey baby, lose your leash?”

Another licked his teeth. “Come over here and sit on something nice.”

“Look at this one,” someone muttered from a booth. “Barely legal and already shopping for danger.”

She kept her head down, cheeks burning, chest tight, every nerve on edge. Her fists clenched at her sides. She hated this. Hated how exposed she felt. And hated even more how quickly her mind flashed to William—his solid presence, his brutal stare, the quiet threat that radiated off his body like heat.

She hated it, but she missed him. Missed the way no one dared look at her for too long when he was close.

Focus.

She repeated the word in her head like a mantra. Her mission hadn’t changed: Find her dad. Get out.

She moved slowly, carefully, scanning every booth, every face in shadow. She made a full lap and found nothing. The bar wasn’t that big. Disappointment sank in like wet cement. Her chest hollowed.

He’s not here.

She turned to leave—and then stopped.

A voice, faint, rising above the ambient noise. Familiar one.

“Let me handle it. If it goes south, we’ll disappear before sunrise.”

Her heart stopped.

She turned toward the stairwell tucked behind the bar. Velvet ropes, guarded half-heartedly by a man who barely glanced at her. One look at her outfit and he waved her through.

Mary’s pulse thundered in her ears as she climbed.

The upstairs hallway was dim and quiet. The walls were papered in dark floral silk, sconces glowing low. The voices came from behind a door at the end, slightly ajar.

She didn’t knock, just pushed it open and froze.

Ben Callahan sat in an armchair, legs sprawled, a tumbler in hand. Across from him, leaning casually against the desk, was Neil.

Her father’s voice was sharp. “We don’t need your services right now. Maybe we’ll ring for you later.”

Then he looked up. His eyes met hers.

Everything stopped.

“Mary?!” His voice cracked, wild with disbelief. “What has that bastard done to you?!”