Mr. Mafia Man

Chapter XXIII: The Betrayal

When I woke up the next morning, Nicolas was gone. Where he had gone and what he was doing was a mystery, however I could only assume that it had something to do with his father's death and setting up the mafia now that it was under his command.

I think that Nicolas' thought that I would be staying home again, not doing anything, and hanging out with his grandmother, but he could not be more wrong about that. I was in New York, the Big Apple, Fun City, and he thought that I wasn't about to get out and explore? Boy was he wrong.

I pulled on some clothes and left a letter about where I was going on the counter along with my phone number unless the old lady ever wanted to call me before heading out into the city.

The first thing I noticed was that the city was exceptionally busy, jam packed even. Traffic was loud and the people walked fast, each of them rushing to get to their destination in a timely manner. Not exactly sure of where I wanted to go, I huddled in the doorway of the apartment building, watching the people go by and looking up good places to go in New York City.

After a few Google searches, I decided to head to the garment district to hopefully pick up some good fabric to make into a birthday present for Nicolas (you think I'm going to tell you what it is? So you can blab? Hells to the no.), and start walking.

After a few minutes, I realized the walk was going to end up being a little longer than I thought it was going to be and also that I was really out of shape. Keeping up with the insane pace of the New York city locals was more difficult than I thought it was going to be and everyone seemed a little more put together than me.

A few minutes later I decided, finally, to call a cab and just hitch a ride there instead of trying to basically Olympic speed walk to the garment district. Luckily there was one right behind me that was basically beckoning to me - I didn't have to call it or anything - which should have been red flag number one, but at that point my feet hurt so much that I wasn't willing to question a blessing.

Hopping into the cab, I collapse into the back seat.

"Long day, huh?" Asked the cabbie pulling off the curb and into traffic.

"More like long walk." I groan, sitting up and buckling myself in.

"Would you like a water? You look parched." The cabbie offers me a water bottle from the front seat, which I accept, as my throat was feeling like the Sahara desert. Downing the water bottle, I lean my head back against the seat, lost in thought.

It wasn't until a solid ten minutes into the ride that I realized I never told the cabbie where I wanted to go.

"Garment district please." I tell him, suddenly very sleepy.

"Oh, don't worry, I already know." He reassures my, his voice lulling me into a deep sleep.

I didn't even question the cabbie - red flag number one billion at this point - because I was drifting off to sleep. And then, before I even realized that I was falling asleep in the back of a stranger's car, I was out like a light.

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I've never been especially concerned about getting kidnapped. My entire life people never really wanted to hang around me voluntarily anyway, so I always just kinda thought that I should be more scared of straight up assassination or murder than any kind of kidnapping. Yet here we are, my third kidnapping in less than a decade, and I have not had one attempt on my life. Not one!

Honestly, after all those kidnappings, annoying my captors enough to make them let me go has become somewhat of a second nature for me. I've never been held for more than 24 hours, and they always bring me back home basically pleading with me to never contact them again.