The Plan

I turned and resumed my assault on the door.
"Why do you keep doing that?" he asked in that steady bass of his, like I shouldn't be totally panicking.
"How the heck do you think we can escape with a locked door in our way?" I shot back at him, extremely frustrated. He could at least pretend to be interested in helping me kill the door! But, no, he was going to sit on the only chair in the room and fidget with a piece of paper.
"I don't think we're going to be leaving here any time soon," he croaked, not meeting my eyes. He seemed to be going over things in his head. At least the situation's getting through now.
"You know this how?" He was quiet for a minute, then he brought his head up, his emerald eyes briefly flashing fire at some past experience before answering me,
"I'm pretty sure my mom brought us here," Blank. I was blank. Also angry. What the dancing polar bears?
"Wha-,bu-," I tried to take a deep calming breath. Cool. Be cool, throwing knives are never the answer,
"Then why can't we just leave?" Out of all my questions, I decided that this was the most important one. Who cared if I was befuddled? If I could just get home, I could mull over it later in my room.
Looking me straight in the eye and with no hesitation, he answered my question in such a way that I'm pretty sure the people in Australia could feel my shock,
"My mom runs the mafia,"