Kidnapped By The Italian Mafia

Standing in front of the mirror made my heart sink. Not only were my roots coming through, there was a single, gigantic pimple right in the middle of my forehead. Twenty-one years old and I was still getting pimples.

"So I've been here for three weeks, huh?"

The days had begun to blend into one big time loop where I neither knew what day it was or cared to know what time it was. There was a clock on the bedside table, but I never looked at it for dramatic purposes. There wasn't a calendar in here so I had no way of knowing what day it was. At first, I started counting from my birthday, but then having nothing to do made me sleep longer hours so that completely threw me off.

My days were spent trying to crack the little keypad behind my bed's headboard and watching television or going down to the kitchen to eat. I was rapidly gaining weight, and it was all making me depressed. I missed my home, I missed my dad and friends, and most of all, I missed my Krav Maga instructor.

Besides yoga, self defense had been my preferred way of staying fit. It was fun, and it was physically draining, so as far as I could see, was no downside to it. Regular exercise could become so tedious after the first three sessions and I wasn't a fan of it.

The only reason it was evident that I'd been here for three weeks was because the giant pimple could only mean one thing. Realistically speaking, now was a better time than ever to shut myself away and never leave the room, but considering the way Marco had taken it upon himself to escort me down to breakfast every morning, the thought would be virtually impossible to complete.

"Hey," Speak of the devil. "You ready?"

"For what?" I turned around to glare at him. How dare he interrupt my special self loathing time? Couldn't he see that I was depressed?

"Woah, that's gnarly," his eyes widened upon seeing the demonic entity on my forehead, and I wanted to strangle him more than ever. "Didn't peg you for the type to create mountains on your face."

"Get out!" I threw a full bottle of water which struck him on the c.h.e.s.t. As expected, he didn't even flinch. He just shook his head at me and pointed at the vanity he so kindly placed in here.

"Cover it up or do what you have to do, just be ready in fifteen minutes," he began closing the door.

"Wait, be ready for what?" Of course he ignored my question, because what else would he do? Marco never informed me of anything, which he didn't exactly have to. The back and forth between us was getting old, though. It didn't seem like he had any intention of ever letting me go home, and the more time passed, the more desperate I was becoming to get out of here.

The pimple was the least of my problems right now. I didn't seem to be getting any closer to figuring out what the keypad behind my wall was, so guessing seemed to be my only option.

After applying full coverage foundation and concealer onto the pimple, I decided to leave the rest of my face b.a.r.e because, honestly, the energy to give myself a full face wasn't in me anymore. Who knew being kidnapped would be so boring after the first week?

My arm tingled where the tracking device I'd been implanted with used to be. After a while of having it in and itching the area, I grew tired of having a tracker, so I went to Marco's room when he was busy, entered his bathroom, stole a Gillette, and cut it out. To say these people knew how to implant a tracker was the understatement of the century. It took effort and a whole lot of willpower to get to that device, and after almost breaking my teeth from grinding them so hard, it took an extra ten minutes to pop it out.

Guess what I didn't expect though?

Go ahead, guess!

Are you guessing?

Have you guessed it?

No? Alright, I'll tell you.

The damned thing detected heat, so when the temperature changed from my toasty 99.2°F (37.3°C) to a drastic 74°F (23.3°C), a little green light turned red and I immediately knew it would be sending an alert. To counter this, I threw it in the sink and ran hot water over it until the light turned back to green. Obviously I couldn't keep the sink running forever, so after wrapping it in a thick towel, I put it in a little corner close to the fireplace where it could more or less maintain it's temperature close to that of a human body. Smart, right?

Once my pimple was basically invisible, I sauntered into the provided closet and started looking for an outfit. What was chic and also very convenient? Cargo pants and a crop top. Whether or not my stomach was beginning to develop rolls was of no concern to me. If I wanted to look cute, my weight or shape wasn't going to stop me.

On cue, Marco burst into the room again like he didn't have an ounce of human decency. "Are you finally ready?"

One look at the clock had me scowling at him. "It's been ten minutes, you said fifteen."

"I changed my mind. Are you ready?" He asked yet again, impatiently drumming his fingers on the door.

I finished pulling on my sneakers and finally got up. "I'm ready."

"Aren't you going to tie your hair up?" His eyes looked up to my hair which was carelessly dr.a.p.ed over my shoulders. "You'll need it for where we're going."

My face undoubtedly lit up and a huge smile took over my face. "You're taking me somewhere? Where are we going?"

"To work."

"Oh," the smile I'd had immediately evaporated. But suddenly it came back in the form of a smirk. "Oh," I walked closer to him and leaned in a little bit. "Are you taking me shooting?"

"Something like that," his expression matched my own and he leaned his head. "Let's go."

Getting him to reveal information to me wouldn't be easy, but it was doable. After all, Marco was a man, so that automatically made me smarter than him. I was sure he would tell me what I wanted. Maybe not immediately, but in time. First order of business would be for him to tell me what those keypads were and why they were hidden.

This was just the beginning of my takeover. By the time I was out of here, I'd leave as the queen of Italy too.