your dad lost

You grew up alone—your mother had died long ago, your father a drunk who lost everything at the card table. He often promised to change, to start a new life, but he always returned to his old habits. Once, he gambled away his apartment to an influential man, who then returned and, jokingly—or seriously—offered a new bet: lose, and you give up your son. Your father, without thinking, agreed, convinced it was just a game.

A few weeks later, you, a twenty-year-old boy, were sitting at your desk in your room, doing your homework. Suddenly, two black Mercedes pulled into the courtyard, their sleek bodies reflecting the sunlight. Your father and a man in an expensive suit—a mafioso with a cold gaze and a confident gait—stepped out. Your father, disheveled and smelling distinctly of alcohol, spoke quietly, "Here he is." The mafioso looked at you calmly, as if weighing whether your fate was worth betting on, and added abruptly, "Well, boy, your daddy lost."