My Mafia Babysitter

two

I woke up that night to my driver shaking me awake.

"Ms. Violet, we've arrived." He said quietly, helping me out of the Cadillac. I looked around, seeing the tall buildings and bustling streets reminded me of home.

"That was fast drive." I laughed halfheartedly, trying to take in my surroundings. A cement brick building with cast iron cages around the windows, a black door with gold trimming and an elegant knocker.

"You've been asleep for twelve hours," The driver chuckled softly, "I pulled over a few times to see if you were still breathing."

"Oh." I replied silently as the driver used the knocker to rap at the door. I took notice of the gold outlined peephole that we were undoubtedly being stared at through. A few moments passed before the door swung open, a man in his early fifties quickly pulled me in and slammed the door shut again. I was patted down and searched before being allowed to enter the remainder of the home.

"Sorry about all of this, ever since we got news from your father about the break in, we've taken security measures to a new level." The man said, walking in front of me as he showed me around, "My name is Alphonse, I am the leader of the Hale family. I have known your father for many years, he is a good man."

"Yes, Sir." I nodded, looking into each room as we passed by. A sitting room with a long luxurious mahogany lined couch with what looked like plush black fabric as cushions. Several bedrooms and bathrooms, a large kitchen with marble counter tops and stainless steel appliances, a music room, a lounge room, and at some point I just stopped keeping track of everything. Finally we came to a dimly lit hall where a single light shown over a soft pink colored door.

"Your father has sent over a generous amount of money to make sure we provide a room in which you are comfortable." He entered in a security code and opened the door. "We have cameras up and down the hallway leading to your door, a security code to open the door, and a pressurized lock to ensure nothing comes in or gets out."

"Out?" I questioned as the door swung open, my stomach knotting slightly at the fact I was under the same amount of security as a murderer in prison.

"For your own safety, I can assure you that nothing your father wouldn't approve of will happen here." He ushered me instead and followed behind me. I gasped softly, taking in the luxury of the bedroom. "This is your living quarters, obviously this is your bedroom. The door to your left is a small painting studio that doubles as a library. To your right is your bathroom with both a walk-in shower and a bathtub to use at your leisure. The door next to your vanity is a walk-in closet. When you are hungry or in need of anything, just come over to this control panel," He nodded toward a box connected to the wall, pointing to a silver button specifically. "Press call and tell Niklaus whatever you need, day or night."

"Niklaus?" I questioned, still admiring the beautiful room. The bed was, of course, gold trimmed, but had a light pink comforter and white pillows. The floor was a dark hardwood with a white faux fur rug that felt soft against my aching feet. The vanity was a pale white with gold accents, the chair just below it was also white and gold, but had a pink cushion. Two nightstand stood on either side of the bed, mirroring the same color scheme of the vanity.

"Yes, Niklaus, my son. He will be in charge of your safety and care while you are staying with us." He smiled warmly and entered the security code into the control panel, opening the door for him to leave. "I do hope that you will feel comfortable here, Violet. Dinner as at six o' clock, we shall reconvene then." Without allowing me another word, he slipped into the hallway and shut the door. The sound of the pressurized locking system shifted and locked me in. I search the room, no windows, no laptop, no cell phone. The only link to the outside word was a landline phone connected by wires to the wall. A small piece of tape ran across the surface of the phone with black writing that said: monitored. I sighed and picked up the small suitcase I was allowed to bring, and placed it on the bed. As I began to unpack, I realized I hadn't brought any clothes. A few picture frames that held pictures of my parents and my brothers, a hairbrush, a locket my father gave me for my sixteenth birthday, and The Great Gatsby.

The more I sat around, the more I began to think about everything; my father, my mother, my brothers, how everyone I love was in danger but I was the most protected. I felt selfish and undeserving. To take my mind off of everything, I looked into the closet and felt a sense of relief in the fact it was full of clothes and shoes for me to wear. Shirts, blouses, pajamas, sweatpants, jeans, athletic wear, dresses, gowns, you name it. I sent a loving thank you to Dad in my mind. I found myself wondering to the studio where I found an easel, paints, an assortment of brushes, and labeled drawers chalked full of other things. The walls that confined the small studio were lined with books and I slid my old dingy copy of Great Gatsby next to the newer version. Exiting the studio library, I wandered into the bathroom where I lavished the sight of the claw legged bathtub and the walk in shower that was built from stone. The shower's door was frosted glass and I found myself smiling for the first time since I had arrived here.

"Frosted glass? Who is going to see me in here?" I snorted sarcastically to myself, "It might as well be clear." Because I had slept for almost half the day already, I decided to put myself to work and find a new book to read. Two seconds in the studio library and I found my perfect suitor: She: A History of Adventure.

I flitted over to the bed and hopped on, wiggling under the covers until I was comfortable. The book opened and my eyes danced across each line with ease. An hour had passed when I heard the beeping of someone pressing in the security code. I quickly scrambled out of the bed and made myself more presentable, fixing my crooked sweatpants and disheveled long sleeve tee. When the door opened, it wasn't Alphonse Hale like I had expected. It was tall man with curly black hair that fell past his jawline, dark brown eyes that watched me with angry intensity, a five o' clock shadow made up of dark facial hair hued across his upper lip, cheeks, and chin. He wore a pair of tight black jeans and a black long sleeve button down shirt that he had pushed the sleeves up to his elbows.

Wowza.

"So you're the Manhattan Princess, huh?" He looked me up and down, scoffing quietly.

"What?" My brow furrowed in confusion. Why was he so angry?

"Your father is the King of New York, you're the Manhattan Princess?" He said, like it was something obvious that I should have known. "Four big brothers, over protective father, spoiled brat." He shrugged matter-of-factly. My blood began to boil.

"Excuse me, but you don't know me at all. I wouldn't just jump to conclusions-"

"I know enough, Princess." He snapped, leaning against the wall.

"Did I do something to you?" I balled my fists at my sides angrily, knowing I was most likely becoming red in the face.

"You have no idea," He laughed sarcastically, "Now get ready for dinner, my father is waiting."

"You're Niklaus Hale?" I questioned in disbelief. If I have to deal with this guy on a daily basis, either he's going to kill me or I'm going to kill him.

"Unfortunately." He grumbled, facing the other way.

Crap.