Page 2 of Caged Captain

I finally give in and run to the bathroom right as another round of knocking starts up, this time accompanied by a deep, commanding voice to open up. Once inside, I don’t lock the door. I keep it open just a crack so I can see what’s going on. I have the right to know what’s about to go down, whether my father agrees or not.

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair before opening the door. “Ah, M-Marco,” he stutters, angling his body so whoever is on the other side can’t see too far into the room.

“You missed your payment date,” a booming voice announces.

“Y-yes, I, um, I must have gotten the days mixed up,” my father explains. No one believes him, not even me. He stumbles backward as the man outside pushes his way in, followed by another equally tall and muscled man.

“Bullshit,” the man I’m assuming is Marco spits out. He grips my father’s shirt collar and lifts him so they’re at eye level. Marco is much taller than my father, whose toes barely touch the floor. Every muscle in my body tenses as I fight the urge to run out there and defend my dad. “I gave you an extra three days. That’s considered very merciful in my line of work.”

“Yes, of course. Th-thank you. Very generous,” my dad says, his voice shaking.

In a flash, the second man grabs my father’s right arm and twists it behind his back while Marco still has a tight hold on his collar. “Give me the word, Captain,” the second man grunts. “I’ll break it.”

“No, please!” my dad begs. “Please, you don’t have to do this. Not now. My daughter is here. Please.”

I clench my jaw, not sure it was the smartest move to tell the thugs about me. What’s the point of having me hide if he’s just going to announce my presence? Then again, my father is desperate.

To my surprise, the man loosens his hold on my dad, who drops onto the flat of his feet with a thud. The mysterious and dangerous Marco signals the other man to let go of his arm, then scans the room. I’m about to shuffle backward, further into the bathroom, but then deep, dark eyes latch onto mine.

A surge of energy rushes through me, capturing my breath and making me gasp. I’m frozen, unable to move as he pins me in place with a single look. I notice more of his features with each passing second. He has a straight nose that compliments his angled cheekbones, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, and those unreadable obsidian eyes.

“Fine,” Marco says, shifting his gaze from me to my father. I blink, feeling almost empty without his soul-searching eyes on me. “You have ten days to come up with the fifty thousand dollars you owe the Caparellis.”

My eyes bulge out of my head at that number. Fifty thousand dollars? It might as well be a million. We don’t have that money, and we certainly aren’t going to have it in ten days.

“Fifty?” my father squeaks out. “It was only thirty when–”

“When you were going to pay it back on time. Now it’s fifty.”

“Yes,” my dad acknowledges. “Understood. Ten days. Fifty thousand.”

“Ten days,” Marco confirms. “Don’t fuck it up.”

As quickly as the two men appeared, they vanish, leaving my father breathless. He closes the door and slumps against it, sliding to the floor with his head in his hands. I watch his shoulders shake with silent sobs, breaking my heart.

I’m livid that he borrowed money from the goddamn mafia. My dad might think I’m naive about my surroundings, but I’ve seen the corruption and filth of Vegas. It’s impossible not to, especially working in the service industry. This city was built with mafia money, and they’re very much an active presence if you’re like my father and know where to look.

Aside from the dirty deal with the Caparellis, I’m even more enraged that he’s back at the casino, still chasing that high of winning. How many times have I heard him say, “Just one more game. One more bet. This time, it’s a sure thing. This time, it’ll all work out.”

I lean back against the bathroom wall, resting my head in my hands. What the fuck do we do now?

2

MARCO

“Anything else, sir?” the waiter, Ronaldo, asks as he refills my wine glass.

“No, that will be all.” I hand him a fifty-dollar bill and add, “I’d like some privacy while I work on business.”

Ronaldo nods his head, knowing exactly what I’m asking. The Caparellis have owned this bistro and a handful of others around the city for decades. The staff are well compensated to be discrete and follow the commands of anyone in the family.

I watch as he folds the bill and slips it into his pocket before closing the curtain to the private dining room. Rolling out my shoulders, I let out a heavy sigh. With only the sound of Vivaldi’s concerto playing overhead and the muffled chatter of the customers on the other side of the curtain, I feel somewhat at ease.

At least, as much ease as a mafia Captain can feel when the cops are circling like hungry sharks. We recently came into possession of a file containing sensitive documents pertaining to the Las Vegas Police Department’s shady dealings. Of course, we have a few cops on our payroll, but this is something else—a different breed of cop out for their own financial gain.

These officers have formed a group that skims money from police pensions to line their pockets as well as bribe anyone and everyone in their way. They aren’t just a threat to the Caparellis; they’re a threat to the city. It’s in everyone’s best interests that they be taken down.

Of course, it’s never that easy. These things take time. A delicate touch. And then a sledgehammer of justice no one can escape. Unfortunately, we’re still in the “taking time” phase. I, for one, can’t wait for the sledgehammer part.

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