r18novel Page 183
Page 183
He roared, spittle flying everywhere, wishing he could smash the lewd face in front of him with his fists, but his broken jaw restricted his movements, and he could only let out muffled and terrifying roars.
Manager Smith seemed to have anticipated this, deftly dodging the scraps of paper, his disgusting smile unchanged, even tinged with a hint of pity:
"Mr. Golota, calm down and think it over. One hundred thousand dollars will solve everything. It's just for one night, and that's the highest price in Chicago!"
Just one night, we guarantee it! Or would you rather watch your house be taken by the hospital? Watch your beautiful wife become homeless with you? Think about it, think about who can truly help you.”
"Get out!"
Golota roared and grabbed the ashtray on the table, smashing it over the ground.
Manager Smith deftly dodged, shrugged, and left a business card.
"I've left my business card. If you change your mind, feel free to call me anytime. But be quick, the hospital's patience... is limited."
He disappeared through the door as quickly as a slippery mouse.
Golota was panting heavily, his chest heaving violently, the pain from his wounds almost making him faint.
Shame and anger burned like flames in his internal organs.
He swore that even if he died poor or starving, he would never agree to such filthy conditions!
·······
But the next two or three days were the darkest time of Golota's life.
The hospital's ultimatum has arrived.
If the minimum down payment of $30,000 cannot be made within a week, they will immediately transfer the debt to a debt collection agency and impose hefty late fees and legal fees.
Golota had heard of the methods debt collection agencies used: endless harassment and threats, and possibly even the forced seizure of assets.
Marie-Aura tried to contact all the relatives and friends she could reach, but $70,000 was an astronomical sum for people of their social class.
The small amount of money borrowed was just a drop in the bucket.
Golotta watched as his wife grew more and more silent each day, the bruises under her eyes deepening, and despair gradually replacing the light in her eyes.
She stopped crying and would often sit by the window, looking at the gray sky outside, sometimes for a long time.
That evening, Mariora prepared a simple dinner: a little oatmeal porridge (the only thing Golota could swallow at the moment) and a few slices of bread. The two remained silent.
Suddenly, Mariora spoke softly, her voice hoarse and hollow: "Andrew, maybe...maybe we should consider selling the house."
Golota abruptly looked up, shook his head violently, and made a muffled sound of protest.
Where can they go?
Where does the money for rent come from?
Moreover, this house is their only asset; they bought it by saving money bit by bit; it is their home!
"But what will we do if we don't sell the house?"
Marie-Aura's voice trembled slightly, and she finally couldn't hold back her tears, "Those bills... we can't escape them. Andrew, I'm scared..."
She lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly.
"Today...today someone called, claiming to be from a debt collection company, and their tone was very scary. They said...they'll find us..."
Golotta felt as if his heart was being gripped tightly by an icy hand.
He reached out, wanting to hug his wife, but realized he didn't even deserve to give her a reliable embrace.
He doesn't even have the ability to protect this family or her.
The business card left by Manager Smith sizzled in his mind like a red-hot branding iron.
One hundred thousand dollars······
Just one night...
The mere thought made him feel nauseous and want to vomit.
He slammed his fist on the table, making the dishes bounce.
Mariora trembled with fright.
"I'm sorry...Mariola, I'm so sorry..."
Golotta's voice, muffled by bandages and her emotions, was filled with pain and self-loathing: "I'm a piece of trash... I..."
Another two days passed.
The deadline is tomorrow.
Golotta sat on the sofa, like a statue of despair.
He had tried everything, even asking underground money lenders, whose high interest rates could completely devour him and his house within six months—but no one agreed.
Polish gangs are all afraid.
The devilish proposal from Skywind City Finance Company was the only seemingly "feasible" path.
Mariora came over with a glass of water and placed it in front of him.
She looked at him with a complex expression, a mixture of love, pain, fear, and a kind of... resolute determination.
She noticed her husband's unusual struggles these past few days and vaguely guessed at a possibility she dared not delve into.
His violent reaction after meeting the finance manager that day, and the business card that was hidden but occasionally peeked out...
“Andrew,”
Mariora's voice was unusually calm, "The person who came to see you that day...did they suggest any solutions?"
Golotta froze and shook his head violently.
Mariora knelt down, took his cold hand in hers, and looked up at him. "Tell me, Andrew. Whatever it is, we have to face it. We can't lose this family."
Under his wife's clear yet desperate gaze, Golota's psychological defenses completely collapsed.
Like a child, he choked up and mumbled out the details of the devil's deal in broken sentences.
With each word he uttered, he felt himself rotting and degenerating.
After saying this, he clutched his head and let out a mournful cry like a wounded beast: "No! No! I absolutely refuse! Absolutely not! Even if it means death..."
Upon hearing this, Mariora's face turned ashen, and she swayed slightly.
The room was deathly silent. Humiliation, fear, disgust... the same emotions swept over her.
But slowly, as she looked at her husband in agony, at the home they had built together, filled with memories but about to lose, a maternal, protective resilience overcame her personal humiliation.
She stood up, her body still trembling slightly, but her voice was unusually steady: "Andrew, listen."
Golota looked up at her, her eyes blurred with tears.
"We have no choice."
Marieola's voice was soft, yet it struck Golota's heart like a hammer: "We've lost the house, we have nothing, the debts are still there. Your career is over too. We can't do this."
"No! Mariora! No way! I'd rather die!"
Golota was so excited that he tried to stand up.
"Then tell me what to do!"
Marieora finally raised her voice, her voice trembling with tears, "Tell me! Andrew! Look me in the eyes and tell me, is there any way to save us?!"
Golota was speechless, only his heavy breathing could be heard.
Mariora took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down: "It's just one night... He said nothing would happen, just stay... Maybe... Maybe he really just wants some kind of perverted satisfaction, or wants to humiliate you... But for the sake of this family, Andrew... I can endure it."
"No... I can't let you..."
Golotta's suffering reached its peak.
"This is my decision."
Mariora interrupted him, her tone heartbreakingly resolute: "I am your wife, this is our home. I will protect it."
She walked to the phone and picked up the business card that Golota had crumpled and then smoothed out.
Her hands were trembling, but she didn't hesitate to dial the number.
Golotta watched helplessly, wanting to stop it, wanting to smash the phone, but all the strength in his body seemed to have been drained away.
An overwhelming sense of powerlessness pressed him firmly against the sofa, rendering him unable to move.
He could only watch and listen as his wife, in a frighteningly calm voice, arranged a time and place with the other party.
After hanging up the phone, Mariora didn't look at Golota, but said softly, "Tomorrow night. He said... he just needs to stay for twenty-four hours."
That night, neither of them slept.
The following night, cold sleet began to fall.
Mariora put on her best and most formal coat, her face pale and bloodless.
She didn't even say goodbye to Golota, but just gave him a deep look, a look so complex it broke Golota's heart—a look of love, resolve, fear, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Then, she opened the door and stepped into the cold, damp night of Chicago.
Golota stood rooted to the spot, watching helplessly as his wife's figure disappeared into the bitter wind and rain.
He slammed his fist against the wall, his knuckles cracked and blood flowed freely, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
He collapsed to the ground, letting out a suppressed whimper, like that of a dying animal.
The rain pattered against the window, like a mournful dirge for this silent sacrifice.
Shame, anger, helplessness, extreme self-loathing... a whole host of emotions overwhelmed him.
He, Andrew Golota, the once fearsome "Polish bad boy" in the boxing ring, is now powerless to even protect his wife, forced to watch helplessly as she walks into an unknown and humiliating situation to earn that damned, filthy life-saving money.
Outside the window, the lights of Chicago were blurred by the rain and snow, just like his shattered future and dusty life.
Chapter 154 Sorry, I can't come.
But Viktor had no intention of bullying anyone.
He simply turned on the TV, invited Mariora to watch it, and provided her with drinks, food, and even a complete outfit worth four hundred dollars. That was all he did for twenty-four hours.
Mariora was also very worried.