After Our Divorce, The Mafia Boss Told Me To Pick One Of Our 3 Sons — I Chose Our Daughter

The atmosphere inside the Holloway estate over the next three days was suffocating.

Nathaniel spent his hours in his home office, flanked by security monitors and legal briefs. His underground operations were suffering; three major shipments at the Port of Chicago had been delayed because federal inspectors were suddenly paying extra attention to Holloway-owned logistics warehouses. Someone was leaking information, or someone powerful was pulling strings behind the scenes.

Downstairs in the private gym, seventeen-year-old Ethan slammed a heavy leather punching bag with rhythmic, punishing force. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto his bare shoulders. His hands were wrapped in white athletic tape, red stains blooming over his knuckles from striking the leather without gloves.

“You’re throwing your weight off,” a cold voice said from the doorway.

Ethan stopped, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm. Nathaniel stepped into the gym, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“Your left hook leaves your ribs exposed,” Nate said, walking toward the bag. “If you fight like that on the streets, someone will put a knife in your side before you can recover.”

Ethan didn’t answer. He turned his back on his father and reached for his water bottle.

“Don’t turn your back on me when I’m speaking to you,” Nate commanded softly.

Ethan whirled around, his blue eyes—so strikingly similar to his mother’s—burning with a fierce, dangerous light. “I don’t care about my left hook, Dad. I don’t care about the warehouses, the docks, or your meetings with the Commission.”

“You are a Holloway,” Nate said, his tone dropping into a dangerous rumble. “In less than a year, you turn eighteen. You will take your place in the family firm, whether you like it or not.”

“The firm?” Ethan let out a harsh laugh. “You mean your mob? Is that what you offered Mom? Pick one son to save, and leave the rest to get dragged into your sewer?”

Nate moved like a panther, closing the distance between them and grabbing Ethan by the collar of his shirt, pinning him against the padded wall of the gym.

“Watch your mouth,” Nate growled, his face inches from his son’s. “Everything I built, I built for you boys! To give you power! To make sure no one in this city could ever push you around!”

Ethan didn’t flinch. He looked straight into his father’s eyes, refusing to show even an ounce of fear.

“Mom never pushed us around,” Ethan said quietly, his voice deadly steady. “She built a home. You built a prison. And you know what the worst part is, Dad? You actually thought she’d pick me. You thought she loved me more than Caleb and Owen.”

Nate’s grip on Ethan’s collar loosened slightly.

“She loves all of us,” Ethan whispered. “That’s why she left you.”

Nate let go of Ethan’s shirt, stepping back as if he had been burned. Before he could speak, the gym door opened, and fourteen-year-old Caleb stood in the entrance, holding his middle school backpack over one shoulder.

“Dad,” Caleb said nervously, looking between his father and brother. “Uncle Dominic is here. He says there’s a problem at the South Side railyard.”

Nate straightened his cuffs, restoring his cold, impassive mask. “Tell him I’ll be right there.” He shot one final glance at Ethan. “We’re not finished with this conversation.”

“Yes, we are,” Ethan said softly as his father walked out.

That night, long after the mansion had gone dark and the security guards were patrolling the outer perimeter, Ethan crept down the back staircase. He slipped into the study, opened the heavy oak desk drawer, and pulled out a small, encrypted burner phone he had hidden behind his father’s spare passports.

He dialed a number he had memorized four years ago.

The phone rang three times before a gentle, weary voice answered.

“Hello?”

Ethan swallowed hard, tears welling in his eyes for the first time in days. “Mom?”

Silence stretched across the line for a second, followed by a sharp, ragged gasp. “Ethan? Oh, my God… Ethan, baby, are you okay? Are your brothers okay?”

“We’re fine, Mom,” Ethan choked out, pressing his hand against his mouth to muffle a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry we didn’t walk out with you.”

“Don’t you ever apologize to me, Ethan,” Clare’s voice came back, fiercely warm and full of boundless love. “You did nothing wrong. None of you did. I am coming for you. Do you hear me? I am going to get all three of you out of that house.”

“Mom… Caleb is scared. Owen cries in his sleep,” Ethan whispered. “Dad is losing his mind. He’s pushing us harder into his business. He’s going to make us like him.”

“He won’t,” Clare promised, her voice vibrating with a conviction that made Ethan’s heart stop pounding. “Listen to me carefully, Ethan. I need you to be strong for a little bit longer. Keep your brothers safe. Don’t fight your father directly. Let me handle the heavy lifting.”