The Mafia Kidnapped Me

(3) Being Lady Pamela.

Pamela awoke from her troubled sleep immediately hit by reality as the obscure scenes of being back and happy in her father's arms receded from her mind's eye. The June sunlight was bright and it took the shape of her window blinds as it reflected into the room. Someone must have drawn open the drapes, she thought because she remembered shutting them before going to bed last night.

It had been a week since she started living in the Mafia's safehouse; seven nights since she started shutting the windows before turning in for the night and waking each morning, hoping it was all a bad dream, that her dad was still alive and was still happy and married to her mom.

She got disappointed each time.

It started when her mother asked for a divorce out of the blue. It had come as a shock to her because their marriage had been a blissful one. Her dad did all he could to make her reverse her decision but her mom was adamant. She wanted nothing else but an end to their marriage. The night they signed the divorce papers, her father picked up a bad drinking habit and became withdrawn. Pamela suffered and the company suffered too. After dragging him to a series of rehabs and therapies, he became better. Six months later, he was shot.

Thereafter, things started to move at a decline as fast as a storm could speed. The lowest of the lows was the shootout that happened the day he died. If anything, it was suspicious. Hell, everything, from the shooting to her being here was very suspicious. It was as if she was living in a nightmare.

Not the kind of nightmare one would expect though because she was treated well here: a nice maid – Susan – who saw to her every need, a chef that made whatever she craved, and how kind of the Mafia, he extended his leash to allow her to go on evening strolls around the building, and might she add, a chance to gawk at the James Bond duplicates.

As "exciting" as that was, she missed her life – boring as it may have been. She had assisted her dad at work, so all she ever did was wake up by seven in the morning, spend one more hour waking up, then haul herself to the company to do what his secretary was already doing a pretty good job of. Yup. That was boring but she had free will.

It shocked Pamela beyond words when she called her mom the night after she met the Mafia boss and her mom regretfully told her that the cops pulled back because the detective's daughter was taken by masked men on her way home from school and the instruction for her release was their not going after the van that took her. It had been a hard choice, she's said, but the detective had chosen his family.

The teen was later rescued, to everyone's relief but Pamela had been pissed. What if the Mafia she'd met hadn't been as accommodating? What if he'd killed her the moment she stepped foot inside his house?

"He cannot hurt you, honey. You'll be safe with him." Dorothea had said over the phone.

"Safe? Is this a joke? He kidnapped me. At least his goons did."

"Are you in chains? Tortured? I guess not."

"Then why am I confined to a house? Why am I not allowed a phone except this one with only three contacts? His, yours, and again, his. If this isn't prison, I don't know what is. Besides, doesn't it bother you that I'm surrounded by armed weapons?"

She had not been able to convince her mom. Something was creepy about the place and everyone seemed to be none the wiser. Even the detective.

He came some days after the kidnap, guns blazing, cop cars and sirens – the whole nine yard, and did nothing. If anything, he'd given the Mafia and his cohorts a slap on the back. She'd been hopeful when she heard the sirens and when she saw that things were not going that way, she'd caused a scene. Pamela grimaced as she recalled how she had made a fool of herself.