~ The beginning of this forceful marriage ~

We're on the run because my father owes a very dangerous man a lot of money. Money we don't have. Our house was shot up with what felt like a thousand bullets last night, and my heart still pounds voraciously when I remember that they were meant for us.

We barely escaped with anything. We have the clothes on our backs and what we managed to shove into a suitcase.

"Lilah, please," my father begs me to look at him, but I can't.

How does he expect me to be okay with everything that's happened? We're in a rundown motel on the outskirts of town. We ditched our car a few miles back and grabbed a taxi so they couldn't track us.

"Please talk to me."

"What do you want me to say, Dad? You sacrificed everything. Our home. Your shop. Us! We have nothing. They took everything. Everything, Dad. How did you get involved with Carmine Milazzo?" I drop my head into my hands to try to think of a plan. Nothing will get done if I leave it up to my dad. "He is the mafia. The worst of the worst. You know he runs the city. He owns us now."

"He owns me, Lilah. Me. You're free."

"I'm not leaving you!" I'm appalled he would even think that. "Every problem has a solution. We need to think of it."

"He won't stop until I'm dead." Dad reaches for my hand from where he sits on the twin-size bed. "No one fucks over Milazzo. The men who shot up our home? Those are his jockeys, but now that I'm on the run, he'll find me and kill me. That's what he does, Lilah."

My eyes water as the horror of his words freeze the blood in my veins. "No. I refuse to believe that." I kneel on the floor and squeeze his hands in mine. "Why would you do it?" The tears begin to drip, searing down my cheek.

"The shop wasn't doing well. We were drowning."

I rear back as if I've been slapped. "What are you talking about? We were fine."

He rips his hands from mine. "No, we weren't. We haven't been fine for a long time. No one brings their cars to shops like mine, not anymore, not in today's world. We were barely making the mortgage payment on the house, so I went to the one man I knew would save us."

"Dad." I hang my head in disappointment.

He hits his chest with his hand and raises his voice. "I did what I had to do to protect my own. That money saved the business and our home, fed us and gave us hot water. It saved us, but when it was time to pay, I only had a third of what he needed."

"How much?"

"Delilah, please don't make this harder than it is."

"How. Much?" I bite.

"Two hundred thousand dollars," he whispers, unable to look me in the eyes.

I fall backward, my back hitting the edge of the second bed in the room. I probably shouldn't sit on the floor. The red carpet is old and matted and covered in questionable stains. I rub a hand over my mouth, staring at the nicotine-yellowed wallpaper peeling from the walls.

"I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want you to worry because I know you would have tried to help-"

"-Yes, I would have tried to help!" I yell, getting to my feet. "I would have gotten a job-"

He stands, too, towering over me. "And I didn't want that. I wanted you to focus on school, your friends, or dating. Whatever you kids are doing these days. Taking care of our family is on me. Not you."

"And now look where we are." I spread my arms out to remind him of our situation. "We are hiding out in a motel that probably hasn't been cleaned since the fifties, and it's only a matter of time before they find us. He will have men everywhere. No matter where we go, even another state, we aren't safe."

He lies down on the bed, the mattress squeaking from his weight, and he presses his hand to his chest.

"Are you okay?" I hurry to him, hoping he isn't on the verge of having another heart attack.

"I'm just tired. Let's rest, and we will figure it out when we wake up."

I nod but don't say anything else. Instead, I sink onto the edge of the other bed. I should probably sleep too, but I know I won't. I'm exhausted, but after everything that's happened over the past twenty-four hours, I'm too wired to sleep. After a while, the crow's feet spreading from the corners of Dad's eyes deepen as he sleeps. His silver hair is thin, and he has a round belly from eating junk food all the time at the shop. He isn't doing well.

But I'm going to change that.

I'm going to talk to Carmine Milazzo myself. I'll see if there is anything I can do to make things right. There aren't many horrors in this life that scare me. I believe in facing an issue head-on, swallowing my fear even if it turns my stomach sour.

I snag my bag from the end of the bed and head to the bathroom. I ease the door shut, so I don't wake Dad. When I look in the mirror, the events from last night have caused circles under my eyes and my skin to be pale.

To see a man like Carmine, a woman has to look the part.

I toss my long black hair in a high ponytail, showing the elegant curves of my neck. While I stare at my reflection, I think of the dreams I wanted for myself. I wanted to travel, or study abroad. Now, none of that can happen. Tears redden the whites of my eyes, and I stare at the harsh light in the bathroom to dry them.

Deep breaths in and out.

I do that until I don't feel like I'm about to completely lose control, and control is the only thing I have going for me right now.

"You can do this. He's just another man, and men always want something," I say to my reflection, my green eyes bright against my fair skin. Grabbing my blush from the bag, I pinken my cheeks and apply a generous amount of mascara. My lashes are long naturally, but the mascara darkens them and makes them thicker.

After I undress, I throw on a simple black dress and slip on the black flats that I happened to be wearing when I ran from my childhood home last night.

"That will have to do," I say to myself, rubbing my hands down my body to smooth out the wrinkles of my dress.

I peek out the door and hear Dad snoring, telling me that not even a bomb could wake him. I tiptoe in front of the bed, grab my purse from the table, and the floorboards creak under me. I stop, side-eyeing him. He snores louder, then snorts, rubbing his nose before flipping to his side.

I love that man, but no wonder mom could never sleep well.

I ease the door open, only cracking it wide enough to wiggle my body through. When the air hit me, I wrinkle my nose. It smells of hot trash and cigarettes.