Broken By Mafia

Chapter 8

Z A R A

As the sun shines brightly through the windows, waking me up gently into my world of nightmares again, I pull the covers closer to my chest.

Last night... was terrifying.

I didn't know if I was going to die from a heart attack or Alejandro, himself, was going to kill me. He did leave—eventually. After giving a lecture, which was mostly made out of threats, he left—just like that.
I'm pretty sure he left the apartment because once I tried to escape, he wasn't there. Did I try to escape?

Yes, of course, I did.

I tried to click the buttons on the elevator inside the apartment and tried to open the front door but both times, the security system announced, "access denied."
Did I really think I was going to be able to leave this easily? I sigh, feeling the defeat of last night's escape. I decide quickly to brush my teeth and pick out a hoodie and sweats to dress myself in. I wrap a simple black scarf around my hair, you never know who's going to be walking in and out of this place.

I perform my morning prayers, praying for nothing but the safety of my family and Yasmeen. I peak out into the hall, listening for any noise of anything but there's nothing—it's absolutely pin-drop silent.
Once I walk towards the kitchen, there's already breakfast laid out for me on the table: scrambled eggs, pancakes, fruits, yogurt, and juice. You name a breakfast item, it's probably on that table. I would be lying if I said I don't have much of an appetite but I do feel guilty for wanting to indulge myself in this delicious breakfast laid out before me.

I help myself to the eggs, which were still steaming hot, and a few pancakes. I also set up a plate with fruits, alongside a glass of orange juice. Alejandro wants me as a wife; he made that very clear last night. The ring on my finger is a constant reminder of his promise of never letting me go.
Suddenly, a beeping sound jolts me out of my seat, along with an automated voice saying, "Someone's at the front door."

I sit still for a second, trying to calm my heartbeat, then walk towards the door. Beside the door, there's a digital screen that shows the person standing outside.
"Frank!" I grin excitedly, but then I frown. I don't have access to open the doors.
I click the button that allows me to speak to him, "Good morning, Frank!"

"Mornin', lady," he answers back flatly. "Can I come in?" I never thought I'd miss someone calling me a lady with an Italian accent as much as I miss Frank calling me that. It's quite funny to me. I quickly place my scarf on my head again because I had taken it off when I was eating breakfast.

"Yes, come in," I answer.

When he unlocks the door and opens it, the automated voice says, "front door open." And once he closes it behind him, it says,

"front door closed."

The security system is a snitch, I note.

"Would you like to have breakfast?" I offer politely.

"No," his answers have been completely monotonous.

"Oh, okay," I stand there awkwardly. "Did Ale—Sir send you in?" He nods, looking annoyed, "He asked me to make sure you're still in the house."

"I don't even have a way out," I mumble.
Yet. "This is for you from Boss," he hands me a white shopping bag with an Apple logo on it. I grab it, blinking at what it can be. Once I take it out, it's an iPhone box of the latest model.

"It's an encrypted phone to make it easier for Boss to communicate with you," he explains. "Of course, many of the features are disabled as per his requests, for your safety." I scoff, for my safety or for his?

"You will only be able to receive incoming and outgoing texts and calls from approved numbers," he finishes. "Also, Boss will have dinner with you tonight. He will either call you or text you later today with the details."

"Details for what?" I ask, confused. It's just dinner. "He has certain guidelines that people have to follow when having meals with him," he says. "Boss has rules and regulations for almost everything, do not disobey them. Again, it's not only for your own good but for everyone's," he repeats like a broken record.

I nod, understanding that Alejandro's anger seems to reach length. "That's all, lady. I'll see you around," he quickly makes his exit.
He didn't even give me a chance to say goodbye. I sigh, plopping down on the couch, and unpacking my new phone.

"You know, I'm pretty calm for someone who's been kidnapped at gunpoint with the threat of her family and friends being slaughtered," I think out loud to myself. "When will I crack again? Stay tuned for my unstable personality to make an appearance." Maybe I'm already losing my mind.

"I really hope they haven't thrown my phone away, I had a lot of photos in them," I think back to all the fun photos I have on it.
I pop the SIM card into the phone and set it up within minutes. A black silicone phone case also came inside the bag, which I slipped on the phone.

A minute after I set up my phone, I receive a text from an already set up contact:

Alejandro: I hope you're enjoying your gift.
I look around to see how he figured out I just set it up.

Alejandro: are you going to keep looking around or will you reply to my text?

Chills run down my spine as I realize that he has cameras set up in the apartment to film my every move. He's making it extremely difficult for me to think of ways to escape.
But the best way to get closer to getaway would be to gain his trust, which means I have to comply with his insanity.

I begin to type...

Zara: yes, I appreciate the gift.
Suddenly, the phone starts ringing. It's obviously Alejandro.

"H-hello?" My voice is already shaky and we haven't even started a conversation.

"Frank must've informed you about tonight's dinner," he states.

"He has," I confirm.

It's not like he didn't know, he's watching me through those cameras, like the creep he is.

"Dress in the red, lacy dress laid out for you in the closet," it's a demand, not a request.

"Just the red dress, do not pair it with any other article of clothing."

"Are we having dinner at the apartment?" I ask out of curiosity.

"We are," he answers. "You haven't earned the privilege of eating out in public yet."

"Is that all?" There's a slight bitterness in my tone.

"Don't wear underwear," he says casually.

"Excuse me?" My face feels numb, this must be a sick joke.

"I have already mentioned that I do not enjoy repeating myself," his voice is stern. "Also, I do not appreciate it if you are seated before I arrive for a meal. It would be a wise choice to wait for my arrival in a different room, such as your own. Everything is clear?"

I'm silent as I can't process if he's being psychotically serious or if he'll burst into a fit of laughter, letting me know that this is a joke. Something tells me it's the prior rather than the latter.

"When I ask if you understand, I want to hear a clear answer, my love," there's an annoyance in his tone. "Or else you would have to deal with the consequences."

"I understand," I try to sound as normal as possible.

"Good," he sounds pleased. "The rest of the rules will be talked about over dinner. I'll see you then, my love."

He hangs up.

There is no way—and I mean no way that I won't be wearing an underwear. What kind of a perverted mentality is that?!
And what does he mean by asking me to not pair the dress with anything?
God, I have a dreadful feeling about this.