A Debt to Fate

A few days passed, and Luca hadn't heard anything from the police about the explosion. Not a single mention of anyone spotting a young boy delivering a package. This silence eased his nerves, and with each passing day, he became more relaxed about the situation.

However, his family's financial situation began to deteriorate. The bills were piling up, and the money they had was dwindling fast. One morning, as Luca returned home from his late-night shift, he saw a man shouting at his mother. From a distance, he could tell something was wrong, and he quickened his pace toward the scene.

When he reached them, he asked, "What's going on?"

His mother, looking distressed, explained, "Enzo got into trouble at school again. He broke a window in the teacher's lounge while playing around with his friends."

The man, red-faced with anger, interjected, "I'm the principal of his school, and that window wasn't cheap. Your son's behavior is unacceptable, and someone has to pay for the repairs. If you don't settle this, I'll have to escalate the matter further."

Luca's heart sank. He turned to the man, pleading, "Please, sir, we don't have the money to fix a window right now. Isn't there another way?"

But the man was unyielding. "Rules are rules! Either you pay for the damage, or I'll have no choice but to involve the authorities."

Seeing no way out and desperate to avoid more trouble, Luca and his mother reluctantly scraped together what little they had and handed it over. As the man walked away, Luca felt a surge of anger building inside him.

He stormed into the house and headed straight for Enzo's room. His mother called after him, "Luca, be calm! Enzo is just a child. He didn't mean it!"

Ignoring her, Luca burst into Enzo's room, his belt in hand. "Enzo, are you crazy?" he yelled. "How many times have I told you not to get into trouble? Not to do something stupid? You always do this!"

He grabbed Enzo by the arm, raising his belt as if to strike him. His mother ran in, pleading, "Luca, please, let him be!"

Luca froze, the anger still burning in his eyes. After a long pause, he said through clenched teeth, "I'll let you off this time. But if you do something stupid again, you're really going to get it." He shoved Enzo away and stormed out of the room.

The anger gave way to despair as Luca stepped outside. He sat down, burying his face in his hands. How are we going to eat now? he thought. Mom and I don't have any other cash until the end of the month, and that's two and a half weeks away.

As he sat there, his mind flashed to the words of the man who had given him the package: "If you want to earn some quick cash, just give me a call."

At first, Luca shook his head. No, I can't get mixed up in that again. But the idea lingered in his mind, refusing to fade.

Later, his sister Maria walked over to him, looking worried and a bit sad. "Luca," she began hesitantly, "Mama said the school sent another letter about Leo. They said if we don't pay the overdue tuition fees by next week, he won't be allowed to attend classes anymore."

Luca let out a frustrated sigh. "We'd have sorted that out if Enzo's dumb ass hadn't been so dumb. Now we're stuck in this mess!"

Maria stared at him, unsure of how to respond. Before she could say anything, Luca softened his tone and said, "Don't worry. I'll figure something out. Just let me think for a moment."

"Okay," she replied quietly and began to walk away.

As she turned, Luca called out, "Hey, Maria, what about the job at the salon?"

Maria paused, turning back to him. "The madame hasn't given it to me yet," she admitted. "She said I'm still too inexperienced and doesn't want me handling work for now."

Luca nodded, trying to encourage her. "Just do your best, Maria. You'll get the job. You're really talented."

Maria smiled faintly. "Thanks, Luca," she said before heading off.

That evening, the family managed with what little they had left. The tension in the house was palpable, but they tried their best to keep their spirits up.

The following morning, Luca woke up, had a meager breakfast, and headed to work.

At the factory that day, his boss seemed particularly hard on him, barking orders and assigning him more work than he could handle. The tasks were grueling, and by the end of his shift, Luca was completely drained. His body ached, and his mind felt like it was spinning from exhaustion.

As he trudged home, the thought of the business card surfaced again. It was so easy, he mused. Five hundred bucks for just one delivery. And nothing has linked me to the explosion. No one even knows I was there.

The idea clung to him, tempting and persistent. That evening, as he sat in his room, he pulled out the card and stared at the number. His mind raced with doubt and desperation.

Finally, he made a decision. He couldn't make the call from home—not that they had a phone—but there was a payphone near the corner store a few blocks away.

Luca grabbed his jacket, slipped the card into his pocket, and stepped out into the cool night. The streets were quiet except for the distant hum of passing cars. The payphone stood under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, its scratched metal surface a reminder of years of use.

Luca approached it, his heart pounding. He stared at the card, then at the phone. His hand trembled as he inserted a few coins and dialed the number.

Each ring felt like an eternity. Finally, a voice on the other end answered, calm and cold.

"Hello?"

Luca swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's me. I... I need another job."

Luca clutched the phone tightly, his heart pounding. The voice on the other end asked, "Who is this?"

Frightened but determined, Luca stammered, "It's... it's the kid from the other day. The one who helped deliver the package."

There was a moment of silence. Then the voice replied, "Hold on."

Luca waited, the static hum of the line filling his ears. After what felt like an eternity, the voice returned, more direct this time.

"Here's an address: 1738 Verona Street, near the old railroad tracks. Be there tomorrow by 2. No later. You hear me, kid?"

"Y-yeah, I—"

Before Luca could finish, the call abruptly ended. He stared at the receiver for a moment before slowly hanging up.

As he walked home, his thoughts spiraled. Tomorrow was a scheduled day at the factory, and his boss already hated him. Skipping work would only worsen things. What if they don't even accept me? I'd risk losing my job for nothing. But another thought lingered: This could be a turning point—a chance to finally help my family.

At the same time, dread pooled in his stomach. What if they're a mob? If I get involved with a gang, it could be bad—no, devastating—for me and my family.

By the time he got home and lay down on his bed, the decision still haunted him. Sleep didn't come easily.

The following morning, Luca woke up groggy and unsettled but forced himself to get ready for work. He had an early shift that day. At the factory, he tried to keep his head down, but his thoughts kept drifting to the meeting at 2 p.m.

While loading a shipment, Luca's distracted mind caused him to mishandle a crate. A loud crash reverberated through the factory floor as several boxes of sugar split open, spilling white powder everywhere.

The boss stormed out of his office, his face red with fury. "Luca!" he bellowed.

Luca froze. "I-I'm sorry, boss! It won't happen again!"

The man stomped over and slapped the back of Luca's head hard, like scolding a child. "You stupid boy! Can't even handle simple work? You're worthless!"

"I'm sorry, boss! I—"

The boss cut him off, leaning close and snarling, "Son of a whore, can't even do a proper job!"

The insult hit like a slap to Luca's pride. He had taken plenty of yelling before, but this? This was too much. Fury surged through him, and before he could think, his fist connected with the boss's face, sending the man tumbling to the ground.

The factory floor went silent. The boss, sprawled on the ground, stared up in disbelief. "You hit me? You stupid boy! You're fired! You hear me? Fired! Get out of my factory! No pay! Get out!"

Luca pulled off his apron, grabbed his worn jacket from the wall, and turned without a word. His coworkers watched him leave, their expressions a mix of pity and shock. Luca kept his head high, though his heart was pounding with both anger and regret.

As he reached the factory gates, the boss's voice echoed behind him. "Get back to work, all of you! Unless you want to end up like him!"

Outside, Luca leaned against a lamppost to catch his breath. He glanced at the old watch on his wrist—a simple silver design with a cracked face, worn from years of use. It had once belonged to his father, who had given it to Luca before he passed away. Though it wasn't much to look at, it was Luca's most treasured possession, a constant reminder of his father's hardworking spirit.

The hands of the watch read 1:24 p.m. Luca sighed deeply. There was no going back now—no job, no income, and his family desperately needed money.

He walked to the bus stop and sat there, staring at the cracked pavement beneath his feet. When the bus finally arrived, he boarded without hesitation, clutching the card with the address in his hand.

As the bus rattled through the streets of Philadelphia, Luca's heart beat faster with every passing block. He was heading toward an unknown future—one he wasn't sure he wanted, but one he couldn't afford to turn away from.

LUCA STEPS IN

The bus screeched to a stop near 1738 Verona Street, jolting Luca from his thoughts. He stepped off, clutching his jacket against the chill in the air. The area was different from his neighborhood—grittier, with narrow streets lined by crumbling buildings and graffiti-covered walls.

Luca checked the scrap of paper where he'd written the address. His heart raced as he confirmed the numbers on the building. It matched. The structure was as unwelcoming as it looked—faded brickwork, boarded-up windows, and a creaky metal door that seemed like it hadn't been oiled in years.

For a moment, he stood frozen on the sidewalk. His instincts screamed at him to turn around, to go home and forget about all of this. But the thought of his family—their struggles, the bills, the shame on his mother's face when she couldn't buy groceries—pushed him forward.

The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open. Inside, the hallway was dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. The air smelled of stale cigarettes and grease. Luca hesitated, taking in the shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly down the corridor.

"Hey, kid," a deep voice called out. Luca turned sharply to see a burly man stepping out of the shadows. He was tall and broad, his black leather jacket creaking as he moved.

"You the boy?" the man asked, his tone clipped.

Luca nodded nervously. "Y-yeah. I'm Luca."

The man gave him a long, appraising look before jerking his head toward the end of the hallway. "Follow me."

Luca's feet felt like lead as he trailed behind. At the end of the corridor, the man opened a door and gestured for Luca to step inside.

The room was filled with smoke and low murmurs. Around a table sat a group of men, each one looking more intimidating than the last. Papers, ashtrays, and an open bottle of whiskey cluttered the table. The faint sound of a radio played an old Italian ballad in the background.

As Luca entered, the conversations stopped, and all eyes turned toward him.

One of the men, younger than the rest and sporting a gold chain, broke into a grin. "So, this is the boy who delivered the package, huh?" He stood up, spreading his arms dramatically. "Hey, kid, you really got guts. I should give you a hug! You didn't even know what you did for us!"

Another man, seated near the corner, laughed and chimed in, "È un vero fratello. Real brother, huh?" His voice had a playful edge, switching seamlessly between Italian and English.

The group chuckled, their laughter cutting through the tension. But Luca didn't join in. He stood stiffly, clutching his jacket and glancing nervously at the faces around him.

The laughter subsided as the man at the head of the table spoke. He was older, sharply dressed in a dark suit, and exuded an air of authority. His piercing eyes locked onto Luca's.

"Sit," he said simply.

Luca obeyed, sliding into the chair they'd left for him.

"So," the man continued, his tone calm but firm, "you're the boy who delivered the package."

"Yes," Luca said quietly.

The man leaned back, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. "And now you're here. That tells me two things. One—you're desperate. Two—you're willing to take risks. Both of those can be useful… if you're smart."

Luca nodded, unsure if he was supposed to respond.

"Carlo," the man said, turning to one of the others. The man he addressed was wiry, with a scar running along his jawline. Carlo stood and adjusted his jacket.

"Take the kid with you," the boss said. "Go check out the Barzoni crew. See what they're up to on their turf. The docks, south side."

"The Barzoni?" Luca asked, his voice trembling.

"They're rivals," Carlo explained, his tone casual but laced with menace. "We've got some… disagreements over territory. Since you're new, they won't recognize you. You're perfect for this job."

The boss leaned forward again, his eyes boring into Luca's. "Don't worry, kid. We won't give you a task you can't handle. Not yet."

The men around the table chuckled again, but Luca didn't join in.

"You did good last time," the boss added. "Keep it up, and maybe you'll have a future here. Just don't screw up."

Carlo clapped Luca on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Come on, kid. Let's get moving."

As Luca stood to follow Carlo, the boss called after him. "Remember, Luca—once you're in, there's no walking away."