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 The night they signed the divorce papers, her father picked up a bad drinking habit and became withdrawn.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.
"Thanks, man, I appreciate your help." Detective Dwayne had said shaking the Mafia boss's hands where they stood by the front door as he was leaving. Cody was holding it open for them.
"Why aren't you arresting him?!" Pamela had yelled, running down the stairs.
The three men turned to look at her but she only noticed the Mafia's full-blown brown-eyed gaze that followed her every move with a curious intensity that made her feel self-conscious.
"Miss King, you should be grateful to this man," The detective started and continued. "He saved your life."
She snorted cynically. "Grateful my foot! He has arms, ammunition – a building full of them and I can bet my right arm he has drugs too!"
"Fake guns, Miss. Just decorations and for the drugs, I hope you have proof."
"Detective Dwayne, trust me when I say that this man," She pointed a finger at him. "Is nothing but a dangerous and hardened criminal, you told me so yourself, blast it!"
Dwayne laughed. "There are some things you don't know, Miss King." He lifted a finger to stop her when she opened her mouth to interrupt him. "However, all you should keep in mind is that you'll be safe with him."
Pamela couldn't believe the detective was taking the murderer's side, just like her mother was. She regarded the balding dark-skinned man with anger and felt like tearing out what little mat of hair remained on his head. And to think she'd given him credit.
Could she blame him though? Considering how over-worked and under-paid most government workers were, she wouldn't be surprised if he was doing all he did because his palm had been greased.
She turned sideways to look at the Mafia boss, hating the fact that he seemed unfazed by her outbursts, what, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his two hands in his pockets, how more unbothered could he look? She hated that it made her feel stupid and hated the fact that his goddamned sexy - uh - ugly and toady eyes danced with quirky humor and coolness at the same time.
She'd wanted to insist that she be taken back home, wanted to yell bloody murder, but she remembered that she had to retrieve her father's body first. It had been so embarrassing when she had had no choice but to stalk off back to her prison.
Pamela groaned and punched her pillow. She still felt embarrassed. She sat up and shifted to the rear end of the bed and then placed her legs on the soft carpet. It had a lovely feel to her bare feet. She yawned and stretched and unconsciously caught her reflection in the mirror.
Her brown hair was all over the place due to the way she'd turned and tossed through the night. The first three days that she spent in the safe house had been restless and she'd woken with bags under her eyes. Thankfully, they were receding because she was given adequate care by Susan who was the only ally she had, and inadvertently, the barking of dogs that she heard from time to time.
Susan calls her lady Pamela. Pamela hated the title for two reasons: it reminded her of how demeaningly the Mafia boss had said and it also, it still reminded her of how demeaningly the Mafia boss had said it. No one used titles anymore so it was certain he gave the instructions just to mock her. As much as it annoyed the crap out of Pamela, she soon realized that Susan had no choice. The dark-haired cynical boss had given her the order and it had to be followed without complaint.
Talking about him, she hadn't seen him since the confrontation. Pamela felt it was a blessing because she didn't know what would happen if she set eyes on him. She could rush at him and drag his hair out strand by strand, or she could hide in embarrassment. Whichever.
The door opened and Susan entered with a tray that carried a mug of coffee, a bottle of water, and some fruits. Pamela groaned.
"A good morning to you Lady Pam – "
She raised a finger. "Susan, my name is Pamela. Good morning."
Susan laughed, her grey eyes glittering. She walked towards a bed table to drop the tray. "You know that's out of the question."
Pamela walked towards the dressing table. "Why?" She picked a comb and sank it into her hair, brushing the tangled locks. "Because the "boss" ordered it?"
"Because the boss ordered it." Susan replied simply.
"There are so many things I want to know about him. Who he is, what he does, why everyone seems to kiss his ass."
Susan gave her a level-headed gaze. "I am not the man for that but one thing you should keep in mind is that he is dangerous. I wouldn't rile him if I were you."
Pamela's hand dropped to her side. "Thanks, I feel reassured."
Susan chuckled and walked towards the en-suite bathroom door at the adjacent side and said, "You should be glad though, ma'am. He's really nice to you. His order was 'treat her like a queen'. He probably wants to make you his queen."
"I'd rather die." Pamela said tersely.
Susan angled her head back and laughed. "Sorry ma'am. Bad joke. Please drink that water. All of it. It aids bowel movement."
Pamela sighed, picked up the mug of coffee instead and sipped it, enjoying the warm liquid on her tongue when the shrill ring of her phone startled her, causing her to spill the coffee. Unsure, she picked the phone and looked at the caller ID. It was a private number. For some reason, shivers ran down her spine. It had to be the Mafia boss calling her, but why? Willing herself to be calm on the guise that it could be her mom calling, she picked the call.
"Hello?"
Silence.
"Hello?" She said again.
Static crackled.
Pamela took a look at the screen of her phone again and frowned. She was about to hang up when the person spoke.
"Pamela King." The deep voice said.
Tremors coursed through her. She cleared her throat nervously. "Who is this?"
"It's me, Lady Pamela. It's me."
That voice...was it the Mafia boss? Who else could it be? It had to be him. It was the same voice that had called to take her as ransom, the same person that had brought chaos into her peaceful life. She became infuriated.
How dare he call her? And what for? To make her scared? Hadn't he done enough damage? And to think she had been lucky she hadn't seen his handsome – ugly and toady – face or heard from him in days. She laughed mirthlessly. Did he even have a heart?
"What do you want? Haven't you done enough damage?"
"Your mother. Dorothea is it? She's the one I want...to take away from you.."
Then the line went dead.
With sickening fear, Pamela's hands slowly dropped from her ears and her phone dangled from her lifeless hands. Trepidation gripped her, threatening to cause her heart to burst. He wanted to take her mom from her?
First off, why would the 'boss' threaten her with her mother? What did he want her for? Yes, she wasn't exactly chummy with her mom at the moment but it didn't mean she did not love her. Also, why would the same man her mom had claimed was good want to hurt her? It was all confusing and she felt like a sitting duck staying and doing nothing.
In a split second she made a decision: it was either she continued to cower by being worried and doing nothing, or she fought for herself and placed her fate in her own hands. She chose the latter. She stood, grabbed a shawl, and rushed out the door. It was at that moment that Susan emerged from the toilet humming a song, a laundry basket in her hand. It died in her throat as she saw Pamela dashing out.
"Lady Pamela!" She called but Pamela had no time to wait or explain. She had to see the dark-haired devil with an angular jaw and succulent – thin and hard – lips. It was now or never. If she stopped to think even for a nanosecond, she would lose the courage propelling her.
She descended briskly the wide steps and headed for the door. When she got out, she met guards in black suits standing and patrolling, and the way they were clad in black reminded her of the men in Reservoir Dogs. She searched their faces, trying to recognize Cody. He was not there so she ran further.
"Lady Pamela!" The guards called out to her but she ignored them. She had no time to waste. Her mother's life could be in danger. She had to do something. But they caught up with her. What did she expect? They were evidently trained for scenarios like this. One of them held her by the arm. She yanked it off his grasp and he politely let her.
"Where's Cody?" She demanded.
He frowned at her quizzically, as if he wanted to ask why she needed Cody but thought about it and decided not to ask. She's Lady Pamela, hello.
As though realizing her influence and importance, she folded her arms and said, "I demand to speak to Cody. Now."
He nodded courteously, held the collar of his shirt and spoke some words that sounded so much like Italian to it. Or French. Or Dutch. Whatever it was, the only thing she could understand was 'Lady' and 'Pamela'. Pamela didn't want to waste her strength wondering why they were using a foreign language, neither she didn't care.
There were wires attached to his left ear like the other guards for communication. In reply, static crackled and the guard seemed to understand what was said. To Pamela, it reminded her of why she wanted to see the boss. In less than a minute, Cody appeared, looking all official and stuffed shirt.
"Lady?" He asked in his deep voice. She had never met anyone with that deep a voice. It repulsed her.
"Take me to your boss."
He didn't hesitate. He led her towards the exiting revolving door, then to the elevator and narrow passageway filled with guns then to the door of his boss's office.
After Cody knocked, it took a long long time to get a response and it piqued Pamela, increasing her anger. It took all the patience in her to stop her from kicking the door down. She wasn't this violent under normal circumstances, but as the saying went, 'desperate times calls for desperate measures,' and God help her she was as desperate as hell.
At last, the door was opened by another guard and they entered the large office. Three men in black suits, but not guards, were seated facing the Mafia boss.
At that moment one would have thought that they were having a conversation with a sane person – he was lazily relaxed on his seat, his hand was drumming against the desk - normal people stuff, but when suddenly he banged the table with his fists, making the three men jump in fear, Pamela knew he was indisputably a mad man.
The three visitors stood, trembling in fear, nodding their heads frantically at whatever he was blabbing – at least to her it was a blabber and offered apologies for their incompetence. The men looked afraid and she felt Cody tense beside her. How dangerous was that man that able-bodied men were terrified of?
"Now, get out."
They scrambled out. The dark-haired let out a string of curses that made Pamela grimace and then whistled. A big spotted Persian cat walked up to him and he stroked and spoke softly to the cat, oblivious to their presence. There was something soft about the way he did it and if Pamela hadn't witnessed him almost murdering people with a stare, she would have said he was caring.
"Sir?" Cody said carefully, almost warily, knowing he could be shot for disturbing the Mafia's quiet time with his cat.
"What?" He said without looking up. His voice was way deeper than Cody's and of course, it repulsed her more than Cody's did. Right? That was the agreement. She had to hate his too.
"Lady Pamela –"
"What about that spoilt brat?"
"She's here!" Pamela interrupted, folding her hands and sending daggers through her glare. How dare he call her a spoilt brat? She had literarily dumped her whole life to save her father's corpse from an evil guy, what was spoilt about that? She wasn't being lazy at home, sipping champagne and having her toenails done like some torpid heiress, now was she? She wasn't wearing fashionable funeral dresses and accepting condolences. She was here, doing something useful.
He froze for a millisecond, stopped stroking the cat and let it down. It scuttled away. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers. Those slits were a shade of black not having the shine they had the last time. Also, his face held no emotion or surprise at seeing that she had caught him calling her heinous names. If she hadn't been watching with laser-beam focus, she mightn't have seen him freeze, albeit for a short time because he looked cool and reserved. His change of mood was unnerving, one couldn't have guessed that thirty seconds ago he had been in a rage, and the next second he had been caring for an animal.
"Leave." He said to Cody, his eyes still on her, and Cody turned on his booted heels and left immediately. As soon as the door shut them in, he angled his head to the side and remarked dryly, "If looks could kill I would be six feet under."
"I'm so glad you realize I detest you," Pamela replied sarcastically.
He pointed at the sofa in the office, indicating for her to sit. "Might I remind you that I saved your life?"
Pamela scoffed, ignoring his invitation. "Extremely obliged, sir. Where's the offering box?"
He gave an irritated sigh and leaned back in his seat, giving her a penetrating stare. "How may I help you?"
Pamela shook her head from side to side furiously. "The way you're acting ignorant to what you did is not sensible."
"Can you go straight to the damned point?" He snapped.
"Tell me why you called me to threaten me about my mother!" She exploded.
He frowned. "What?"
She flashed her phone before his face. "You called me today, Mr. Mafia."
"Please, call me Devlin."
Ha! Devil. She raised her chin. "I'd rather not, Mr. Mafia."
He shrugged.
"So, you called to say that you want to take my mom away from me. Why? What would you gain by making me scared?"
His face was expressionless, and if Pamela hadn't seen his jaw clenching and unclenching, she would have thought he was oblivious to her plight.
"What are you talking about?" His tone was almost bored.
"The call I received five minutes ago."
"Give me the phone." He commanded.
"For what? I'm not one of your puppets –"
Devil – Devlin, pardon, stood up, walked towards her, and tried to yank the phone from her grasp but she put it out of his reach.
"You have to say please! I'm not some pushover like the dumb Men In Black you have at your beck and call."
He used one hand to pin both of her hands together and yanked the phone from her fist. "When hell freezes over."
He stepped back and looked at the call log and his brows furrowed deeper into a frown.
"And what makes you so sure it was me?"
"You called me Lady Pamela," Pamela said almost breathlessly. When he had come close to her, his cologne had filled her senses, making her want to bury her nose in his chest, and it made her angry at herself for reacting that way to a murderer and a fugitive of the law. Why can't her traitorous heart distinguish the pewter from silver?
"And it was your voice, the same one that called me after the shoot-out last week." She concluded.
Devlin's frown became deadly. It was the highest emotion he had shown since she had met him.
"How many seconds did the call last?" He was cool and controlled but his voice sounded rough and on edge. He balled his fists.
"It ended before it was twenty seconds. Why?"
"Caine!" He called.
The door opened almost immediately. "Boss?"
Devlin used two fingers to signal that Caine should come further. On getting to a close-range with him, Devlin gave him a heavy punch on the face.
Pamela gasped, mortified as Caine staggered backward. She ran to him to help him. "Oh my God!" then she looked at Devlin as if he had grown horns. "What are you doing?!"
He ignored her. "Get up." He commanded.
"No! You need to lie back you're bleeding, you need a doctor right away –"
Pamela might have as well been talking to herself as Caine stood up and moved closer again and was slapped across the face. Red welts formed on his face. Pamela wondered what the guards owed Devlin to gain such loyalty from them.
"It is your job to protect the safe house from infiltration. Your job! You gave your word with your loyalty. How was Bull able to break our connection? How could he call the lady? Answer me." He gritted out.
"Who's Bull?"
"I'm sorry boss. It will never occur again. I swear." His voice sounded composed. Anyone hearing his voice from outside would not know he was in pain Pamela marveled at the heights of their respect for Devlin.
"Go sort it out. Next time it happens, I will nail your balls to the wall. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir." The salt-and-peppered guard said and left, looking solemn.
"I'm confused. Who's Bull?" Pamela asked as soon as he left.
"I pray you never know." He replied coldly, clenching and unclenching his fists.
"And what of my mom? I'm worried about her. Why would you want to hurt her?"
"I could never hurt your mother." He gritted out through clenched teeth. "Cody." He called.
Cody entered. "Boss?"
"Go get Dorothea. Without a scratch."
"Yes sir." He left.
Pamela frowned. Mafia Devlin was on a first-name basis with her mom? Things were starting to confuse her by the second. She took a look at Devlin and shook her head. Why would a ruthless mafia take care of her and her mom?
Pamela had planned on looking at Devlin only to analyze him. She hadn't planned on the analysis turning to something like admiration and she sure as hell hadn't been planning on him catching her. She looked away, an embarrassed blush sustained her cheeks.
"Anything else?" He asked humorlessly. "I'm busy."
She cleared her throat. "I want to understand why are you protecting my mom if you used her to threaten me in the first place."
"It. Wasn't. Me." He bit out angrily and checked his wristwatch with a quick flick of his wrist. "If that is all..."
"If it wasn't you then I want to go home. I don't see the need to be here. I want to be where I can get my dad's body."
He chuckled, then laughed. "I'm sorry Pam Pam but you can't go home just yet. Guess you're still stuck being Lady Pamela."
"It's not funny."
His smile disappeared. "Neither is wasting my time. See yourself out."
Pamela watched him open a file and ignore her completely. She stomped her foot, sighed loudly, and did other things to get his attention but he didn't look up. When she was tired, she started for the door, angrier and more frustrated than when she'd walked through them, praying and hoping that the Mafia was speaking the truth and her mother would be fine.
~
Author's Note:
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