Marie's POV
I was dumbfounded. I couldn't believe what I was listening to; my senses were heightened. Mancini's suggestion left me puzzled, and my father's anger was clear. Why would he want to take me away from my father because of a debt? I have no interest in being your wife, Mancini. Why would I be endangering my future with a man like Mancini? That's suicide.
My father's anger was palpable; I had never seen him so violent before. He asked Mancini to leave.
"This is enough. This is so disrespectful. Leave, Mancini. You want my daughter over a debt of ten million dollars. My daughter isn't up for sale, so use the door behind you," he growled, clenching his fists.
"Your father is safeguarding you; you're worth my money, so it's only fair I take her. Besides, there's no way your father can raise that amount to settle his debt. Let's just cut to the chase," he chuckled, wearing a cynical smile. The smile suddenly faded as he slammed his hands against the door.
"A week; otherwise, I will take Marie with me, and there's nothing you can do about it. You have seven days: you can help him or prepare to be mine," he slammed the door behind him.
My father shoved the flower vase off the table in anger; I knew how he felt. He knew this was a mistake and that he should have avoided it before now.
As the days went by, I noticed my dad slipping into anxiety and illness. I knew I had to do something. I wouldn't let my father lose to Mancini.
On the fourth day, I gathered my jewellery and sneaked out of the house to the jewellery store.
"Selling this would give me half of what we owe," I said to myself as I handed the box over to him. His long braids flew right in his face. He checked it out nevertheless, couldn't understand how he did that, but I couldn't question him. I needed money and that was what I came for, no distractions.
"A million dollars for all the jewellery. They're old," he sighed, waiting for my response.
"Fine, let's do it." I had no choice but to agree to his bargain. I felt fulfilled having this money in a briefcase.
When I got back to the house, my father was surprised to see me walking in with a briefcase.
"Here you go, Dad. This is a million dollars from a friend. You don't need to ask me where this came from. Let's sum it up and know our progress, Dad," I suggested, opening the briefcase as I presented it to my father. With the look on his face, I knew he refused to take it.
"I don't know how you did this, but I won't take it. I can't let you in on my problems. This isn't yours, so don't try to make yourself a part of it. I will figure out a way to end this," he promised me he would cope with it, and I trusted him.
Six days passed, and by the last day, my father wasn't himself. He skipped his meals, made calls, leased some of his properties, and did a lot more. But he came up short.
I couldn't sleep through the night, knowing that my father failed to get what Mancini wanted.
When Mancini returned, my father managed to raise only half of the money. When Mancini stormed through the gates, I could see the tension in his eyes. He was hoping that we wouldn't come up with the money.
I could feel Mancini's dissatisfaction as my father opened the gates so they could come in. He wished they could discuss and settle their differences.
Standing close to the door, I could listen to their voices outside the courtyard.
"I've got half of your money. Give me another week, and I'll get the rest so you can leave my family alone," my father sounded scared yet bold, wondering how he balanced his emotions.
"You and I know that's not how it works. I'll take the courtesy of being with Marie until the rest is paid."
"No, you're not!" I jolted as I listened to a struggle. I opened the door and stumbled outside where I realized that they were firing against each other. The fight was intense.
My heart raced, and my mind was filled with fear. As I turned back to back inside, I turned to see my father being shot.
Staring on the right side of my chest, I looked at the blood streaming down my shirt making a red wet patch. I dropped to the ground in shock at being shot. As I lay there, I couldn't do anything as I watched Mancini turn his gun on my father to finish him off.
He shot him several times, and I saw life draining from his eyes. I tried to scream, but my voice barely whispered. I was powerless to stop it.
I dragged myself to my dad; my vision was blurred by pain and tears. I reached out and grabbed his hand, which slipped from my grasp.
He's dead!!!
I closed my eyes as I felt the taste of my blood in my mouth, coughing hard as everything went pitch black.
My father's eyes closed, and his hand went limp in mine. I struggled to hold him carefully, wishing to move on, but I was engulfed in pain. I felt as if my heart was crushed into a million pieces and my world had gone dark.
As I held my father's lifeless body, I was flooded with countless memories we had shared. I remembered the way he read me golden stories, the way he taught me to ride a bike, and the way he always made me feel confident.
I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the smell of his cologne. It was a familiar scent that used to relax me, but now it just brought me pain.
I felt warmth spread through my body, and for a moment, I felt as if it was my father's soul embracing me. But it was just the last flicker of life leaving my body.
As my vision faded, I saw Mancini's face twisted into a cruel smile. I knew I was going to die, and I was consumed by a sense of helplessness and despair. My last thought was of my father, and I knew I would never see him again.