"So I think we shouldn't waste any more time here," Serena said, her voice flat but firm. "Let's get on with it. We've already wasted another year on the ground."
She pulled out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Jace. "Hold the paper. This is what you're going to sign. And… here, take this pen. Or do you have a pen with you?"
Jace looked at her, eyebrows raised. "No, I don't."
He stared at the paper, then glanced up. "I know I'm in a tight position, but this doesn't feel right. Like—signing something this serious while sitting on the ground? I gave you 600,000 to do a business deal. That's not pocket change."
He exhaled sharply. "I know I want to join your organization, but I gave you a lot of money. At least we should be on the same page. Not like this—me down here, like I'm not even the slightest bit equal to you. You tell me to sit on the ground and sign? Like a slave or what?"
His voice lowered, but the bitterness was clear. "You're about to be my stepmom. Don't you feel even a little ashamed?"
He looked up at her, his face tight with frustration.
Benjamin didn't like that.
He stepped closer, pressing the cold muzzle of the gun even nearer to Jace's head. "If you say anything like that again," Benjamin growled, "I swear, I'll report it to the boss. You'll be dead before you even finish your sentence."
Jace didn't reply. He didn't move. He just swallowed hard.
Oh, shit… I messed up again, he thought to himself, mentally cursing. Why did I open my mouth? Why did I talk like that? I forgot—I'm in their zone. Their territory. They make the rules here.
Slowly, he took the paper Serena had handed him and unfolded it.
His eyes scanned the document. Legal terms. Formal clauses. Then something caught his attention.
"You are hereby bound by oath to serve the organization. You shall not reveal any information to an outsider. You agree to live and die within the Mafia. The only exits are death, exile, or retirement after 60 years of service."
He paused.
His heart stopped for a moment.
What? Jace blinked. Did I read that right? Sixty years?
He looked up briefly, but Serena was just watching him, arms folded. Calm. Cold. Like this was nothing.
So if I don't get kicked out… I'm in for life? he thought, panic rising in his chest. These people… they're serious. This isn't just a temporary deal. This is forever.
He looked down again, eyes scanning for more.
Another line: "Voluntary exit is allowed only after a full service of 60 years, provided all internal debts and blood pacts are resolved."
Sixty years. I'll be 80 by then…
He clenched the paper in his hand, lips pressing into a hard line. What did I get myself into?
He had thought maybe at 40 or 45, he could settle down, leave quietly, live normally. Maybe start a family.
But now?
Until I die. Or they kick me out. Or I survive 60 years working for them.
This is insane.
Jace looked back up at Serena. She was still waiting.
He wasn't sure if the shaking in his fingers was from fear, anger, or both.
But one thing was clear—this wasn't a game anymore.
And he was already too deep in to walk away.
"So I signed the paper… This is really terrifying," Jace muttered to himself.
Why are you still thinking? You're wasting time. You know that, right? Serena snapped, glaring at him. "Just sign the damn paper, you loser."
"I'm trying to," Jace replied, voice tight. "Please… just let me think."
Serena stared at him, her expression unreadable at first—then cold and venomous.
"Don't think I'm lying when I call you a loser," she said. "I mean it. You are a loser. What kind of man sits on the ground just because a woman told him to? That's why I say there are no men anymore. I don't see men as men—I see them as cockroaches. I could crush them under my foot and feel nothing."
She leaned closer, voice like a knife. "Because they have no pride. Just like you. You're the worst of all—no dignity, no backbone. You try to act tough, talk back to me like you're someone, but I can see you're shaking. Don't think I don't notice. You're trembling."
Jace stared at her for a long moment. "You might be right… or maybe you're not," he said softly.
"Then why are you shaking?"
He looked down at the paper again. His hand trembled as he held the pen.
"Because I'm thinking," he said. "Thinking whether I should sign this document or not."
He raised his eyes again, haunted.
"My mom… she died in front of me. And since then, I haven't been the same. I haven't been able to live a normal life. I've been traumatized for years. All through high school, I barely made friends. I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't trust people. Not even girls."
He took a shaky breath.
"One girl confessed to me in high school… but I turned her down. Not because I didn't like her. But because my mind was somewhere else—stuck in the pain of what happened to my mom. I think about her every single day."
He looked down at the paper.
"And now… do I care if this contract says I have to stay for 60 years? Or until I die? It doesn't make a damn difference anymore."
He looked up, fire behind his eyes. "All I care about is finding the person who killed her. If I have to stay in the Mafia for the rest of my life to get that answer, so be it. Even if I'm 50 by the time I find them… I'll still do it."
He paused.
"But I hope… I really hope it doesn't take that long."
A long silence fell. Jace closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. He reached for the pen again, hand still shaking.
Serena watched him quietly. For once, she didn't speak. She knew exactly how it felt. She knew the weight of signing that paper. The rules were brutal. Unforgiving. Break a single one… and the punishment was death.
She had signed it once, too.
She knew what it did to a person.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
Serena turned toward it.
"Come in," she said.
The door creaked open, and a tall man stepped inside.
Lucas.
He walked in silently, his boots clicking against the cold floor.