The Mafia King’s Doll

Samantha

Standing in front of my full-length mirror, I hold my shirt up so I can see the tattoo.

Dante did a fantastic job. I can’t even make out any of the scars.

Todd’s name is buried beneath the words ‘stronger than ever,’ and I never have to see the scars again.

Feeling very emotional, a tear trickles down my cheek.NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

Just as I’m managing to deal with the trauma Todd inflicted on me, I have to face what happened yesterday.

With a tired sigh, I lower my shirt and walk to where my luggage is waiting in the living room.

Needing to get out of New York, I changed my flight from Saturday to today.

As I pick up my handbag, my phone starts to ring, and I dig it out. When I see Mr. Vitale’s name flashing on the screen, my body is doused in ice.

He’s no longer Mr. Vitale, my grumpy boss, but Franco Vitale, one of the ruthless heads of the Cosa Nostra.

He’s a killer.

Instantly fear bleeds through me, and my hand trembles as I swipe across the screen to answer the call.

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Morning, Miss Blakely. How are you today?” his voice rumbles over the line.

God, he sounds aggressive.

“F-fine,” I stammer.

“I see you’ve changed your flight, and you’re heading to Seattle today.” An intense cloak of dread wraps around me.

He’s watching my every move.

Not only is the man above the law, but he’s able to get my information from an airline. It registers just how powerful he is and that I don’t stand a chance against him.

“I…I…I –”

“Get a lot of rest because when you’re back at the office, you’ll have to fix everything Gloria fucks up while you’re gone.”

That’s his way of telling me I better return to work.

His tone sounds downright dangerous as he adds, “Enjoy your time with your family.”

Is he threatening to kill my family?

Thorns of fear prick at my skin, and the words just fall over my lips, “Don’t hurt my family. Please. I’ll be back on the eighth.”

He lets out an annoyed-sounding sigh. “It wasn’t a threat, Miss Blakely. I won’t touch your family. You need the break, and I hope you enjoy your vacation.”

Oh.

When I keep quiet, he adds, “I don’t kill innocent people, and I’ll never hurt you.”

Too brave for my own good, I ask, “What will happen if I resign as your assistant?”

“I won’t accept your resignation, Miss Blakely. Have a safe flight. I’ll see you on the eighth of July.”

The call ends, and lowering my trembling hand, I watch as the screen goes black.

Shoving the phone into my handbag, I grab my luggage and rush out of my apartment. As if all the demons from hell are chasing me, I hurry to the subway.

I need to get away from New York and the Cosa Nostra. In Seattle, I’ll be able to think clearly and make sense of the mess I find myself in.

When I walk through the doors at the airport, Mom catches my attention by jumping up and down.

During the six-and-a-half-hour flight, I focused on calming myself down, but as I walk to my mother, my emotions are all over the place, and I can’t stop the tears from falling.

When I reach her, we hug, and I cling to my mother.

She notices I’m crying and coos, “Aww, sweetie. What’s wrong?” “I just missed you.”

It’s only half a lie. I did miss her.

She pulls back, and smiling at me, she wipes my tears away with the pads of her thumbs. “You need to visit more often.”

I nod, and as we walk to the exit, I say, “If I had more vacation time, I would.”

When we reach Mom’s Prius, I feel a little better.

I’m going to put on the best performance of my life so I don’t worry my parents. They can’t find out about Mr. Vitale being a mob boss or that we were attacked yesterday.

Once we’re both seated in the car and Mom’s driving away from the airport, she asks, “Are you tired from the flight?”

I shake my head. “No. I napped a little.”

“Oh, good. Do you want to go shopping? I want to get some things for the Fourth of July.”

“Sure.”

She grins at me before turning her attention back to the road. “The whole neighborhood decided to BBQ in the park.”

I inject some excitement into my voice. “That sounds nice.” “Oh, did I tell you Ms. Jameson and Mr. Parker got married?” “Wow. Seriously?” I gasp.

The elderly couple have been on and off for as long as I can remember, so I’m surprised to hear they finally got married.

“Yes. They eloped in Vegas.” Mom scrunches her nose. “But they’re still living in separate houses. Every night, Ms Jameson shouts at Mr. Parker to come over for dinner.”

I let out a chuckle. “You mean Mrs. Parker, or is she keeping her last name?”

“God only knows. Those two have the weirdest relationship I’ve ever seen.” Mom turns left at a traffic light, then says, “Matt is doing well at work, and Wendy is about to pop. Once they have the baby, I’ll probably go to Portland to help out.”

“Do they know what they’re having?”

Mom shakes her head. “They want to keep it a surprise, but her butt is so big I think it’s a boy.”

“I hope you didn’t tell her you think her butt is big,” I say, my eyes wide on my mother.

“Of course not.”

Mom steers the car up the driveway, and as I open the door, Dad steps out onto the porch and waves at me.

Being home helps ease the tension from my body, and as I hurry toward my dad and give him a hug, I push all the thoughts about Mr. Vitale and the Cosa Nostra to the back of my mind.

“Welcome home, Sammie,” Dad murmurs before he pushes me back so he can look at me. “How is the New York life treating you? You look too skinny. Are you eating enough?”

I give Dad a comforting smile. “I’ve just been busy at work. I plan on picking up a lot of weight over the next week.”

“Good. I’ve roasted some almonds for you to snack on.”

The smell of roasted almonds is synonymous with Dad. It’s something he’s done all my life.

We walk into the house, and the familiarity of my family home settles around my shoulders like a warm blanket.

This is just what I needed to catch my bearings.

“We’re just dropping off the luggage, then we’re going shopping,” Mom informs Dad of our plans.

“Ribeye steak is on sale at Joe’s. Grab three, then I’ll grill them for dinner,” Dad says as he follows us to my bedroom.

“Oh, I was going to make the pot roast Sammie loves so much.” “Fine, I can grill them tomorrow,” Dad relents.

A smile plays around my lips, and walking into my childhood bedroom, I glance at the posters of Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers still up on the walls. My parents have kept the room exactly as I left it.

The single bed is covered in a pink bedspread, and the desk where I did my homework has a vase with daisies standing in the center.

“Let’s leave Sammie to freshen up,” Mom says as she pushes Dad out of the room, then she smiles at me, “We’ll be on the porch, sweetie.”

“Okay. I won’t take long.”

When the door shuts behind them, I slump down on the edge of my bed and fall backward on the covers.

God, I could sleep for a week.

My phone buzzes, and I let out a groan as I dig in my handbag for the device. When I look at the screen, a smile spreads over my face, and I open the message.

MMM: Your flight should’ve landed already. Are you in Seattle?

Samantha: I just got to my parents’ house and was going to send you a text.

MMM: How’s the tattoo?

Samantha: It just feels like I have sunburn. Nothing I can’t handle.

MMM: I’m glad to hear that. I’ll let you go so you can spend time with your family.

Samantha: Thank you for checking in on me.

MMM: Of course. Wanted to make sure my girlfriend reached Seattle in one piece.

His girlfriend.

Samantha: I’m probably the only woman on the planet who doesn’t know her boyfriend’s name.

MMM: Soon. I promise. Talk to you later.

I drop the phone on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I’m insane. Who dates a man whose face she hasn’t seen? Me. That’s who.