Kidnapped By The Mafia

CHAPTER 1

Rich girl. The first thing that comes to a person's mind when they hear those two words are spoiled, daddy's girl, slut, designer labels, and ditzy. I'm a rich girl that meets none of these stereotypes.

Okay well first off, you probably want to know my name. I'm Emma Tavor. Now, let me explain why I don't fit these stereotypes. Some would say that I'm spoiled because I live in a large house filled with many, many expensive things. To me, being spoiled means that you can get whatever you want. Now don't get me wrong, I can, but you're only spoiled if you take advantage of this, which I don't.

Next, I am the farthest thing from a daddy's girl. How can you be a daddy's girl if daddy is never home because he's always away on business trips? Exactly, you can't be. As for the whole slut thing, I am about as far from it as possible. I am a seventeen year old virgin. Not only a virgin, but never had a boyfriend and never been kissed. I will admit that I do own some designer labeled things, but I do not have an entire closet full of clothes designed by Marc Jacobs, Chloe, Versace, or Dolce and Gabbana. I have one pair of Gucci sunglasses; not twenty; one pair of Chloe jeans, not thirty, and one Versace dress, but only because of some party my dad made me go to.

Lastly, I am NOT some dumb, ditzy, blonde (no offense to blondes) that carries around a miniature dog in a purse. One I'm not blonde, I have dark brown, straight hair that hangs around my shoulders. Two, I'm not much of a dog person, and three, I have a 3.8 grade point average. Now that I have officially defended why I am not your average rich girl, let's move on.

"Emma!" My mom called.

"Coming!" I yelled back to her jogging down the stairs in a pair of baggy sweatpants and an old white T-shirt.

Standing at the bottom of the steps was a lady with platinum blonde hair, that was obviously dyed, dressed in a pair of designer Chloe jeans with a designer Chloe shirt to match. She had long French manicured nails, her fingers and neck dripped with diamonds, and her teeth were so white they could blind a person. This was my mom.

"Yeah?" I asked reaching the last step.

"Your father just called and said that he was hosting a party tonight and you were to attend. He shipped this dress with instructions to wear it. The party starts in an hour so go get ready." My mom said as she shoved a large white box into my hands.

"Great." I mumbled under my breath as I jogged back up the stairs and into my room.

I loved my room. It was completely and totally me. It had peach colored walls, with cream colored carpet, and it smelled like vanilla. I walked over and sat down on my large bed that was covered in silk pillows to match the walls and carpet, and opened the box.

I know I said I only had one Versace dress, but now I have two. My parents were very into the rich lavish lifestyle. They loved to spend outrageous amounts of money on something you could easily find thousands of dollars cheaper, but to the rich community labels are everything.

The dress that had been bought for me was a satin, royal blue, floor length, Versace dress. It tied around the neck and was slim through the bust and waist and then flowed loosely at the end. I slipped out of my baggy sweatpants to reveal a pair of black short shorts with the word panther printed on the butt. It was my old high school mascot. I had just graduated from Beverly Hills High a week ago.

I climbed out of the rest of my clothes and pulled on the new dress. It was a perfect fit. I was actually surprised that my ever-disappearing father knew what size I wore. I am rather small for my age. I actually wear a size 4. I know most girls would kill for my body but I don't care. I was born like this. In don't barf or eat a cracker a day and I hate when I hear people calling me anorexic or bulimic. I would never do that to my body, I know better.