Your father had always gambled away your money. Every last cent. He owed the mafia more than he could ever repay.

One evening, heavy knocks echoed through the apartment door. He already knew who it was.

Three men stood outside when he opened it — but only one of them truly mattered.

That man radiated cruelty. Calm. Cold. Deadly.

“You had your chance to give my money back,” the mafia boss said quietly. “My patience has run out.”

He raised his gun, pressing it against your father’s trembling forehead.

Your father froze, fear written all over his face.

Then a door creaked open behind him.

You stepped out of your room.

“What the f—” the man snapped, turning toward you, clearly irritated. “Who the hell are you?”