Page 2 of Taken By the Mobster

“I’m good. Back safe from work.”

“Everything all right?” the motel owner asked.

“Yes, sir.” Olivia cleared her throat. “Thank you for checking on me.”

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Washburn said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Olivia replied. “Thank you, again.”

Mr. Washburn mumbled something incoherent before Olivia heard him walk away. Every night, he stopped by her room to make sure she arrived safe and sound from the bank. At first it had annoyed her, even frightened her a little, but it wasn’t long before she appreciated him taking the time to check on her.

Olivia carried her dinner to one of the two twin beds in the room and made herself comfortable. She only ate a few bites before she ended up pushing the food around in circles on her plate. Her stomach twisted in knots, so she dropped the salad on the bedside table and put her head in her hands.

She wished she wasn’t here. She was sick of running, sick of hiding. If she could go back in time, she could fix this. Olivia wanted what they had taken from her. She wanted her life back.

Everything she had gone through weighed on her, making it hard to breathe. Her hands shook, and tears leaked from the corner of her eyes.

It’s okay. I’m okay.

If she repeated it enough, maybe it would be true.

Olivia let the tears come and the emotions overwhelm her. If she bottled them up, kept them pushed down, they would tear her apart. In order to keep it from happening, every couple of weeks, she let herself go through all the emotions she tried to keep buried inside of her.

However, she refused to sit there, feeling sorry for herself. She swapped her clothes for a pair of yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt, then threw on a sweatshirt and her running shoes and opened the door. For the next forty-five minutes, she jogged around the empty parking lot, her head swiveling as she kept a watchful eye out for danger.

Once she had herself under control, she returned to her room, stripped off her clothes, folded them carefully, and put them in the shabby dresser. She put on a warm nightgown and wool socks, removed her colored contacts she wore to disguise herself, and washed her face. With her book in hand, she made herself comfortable on the bed. She threw a heavy quilt over her legs and opened her book. The picture fell out of the book and onto her lap.

Olivia stared at the photo for a long time after picking it up. It was a photo of her and her sister. She remembered the day they took the photo, less than two weeks after her father told her she was to be married. Caitlin had an arm thrown over her sister’s shoulder and a wide smile on her face. She didn’t know that Olivia would soon move out of their childhood home and into the home of one of their family’s greatest enemies. Olivia had smiled for the camera, despite feeling like her father shattered her heart into pieces.

Olivia squeezed her eyes closed, trying to stop the memories that came so often and hurt so much. She kept the photo in her hand; it was the only one she had left. She’d deleted everything from her phone when she’d destroyed her SIM card.

She fell asleep with the book propped on her stomach and the picture between her fingers.

A week later, Olivia checked the clock, and, of course, it was fifteen minutes until closing. It drove her crazy that her eyes seemed drawn to that damn clock every day at a quarter to five, taunting her with the time left until the bank closed. She tucked her hair behind her ear, closed the drawer, and slid the money across the counter to the elderly gentleman patiently waiting. She gave him her best smile and thanked him, smiling even wider when he took his wife’s arm and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as he led her out the door.

With a sigh, she glanced at the clock again. Thirteen more minutes until the bank closed and another night of misery began. Every day, she struggled to overcome the constant flood of negative emotions in her head. Olivia bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself not to cry, not here, not in front of these people she didn’t know.

The door opened, the bell over it chiming. Mr. Sewell stepped through the door, his entrance predictable, coming at the same time every day. A man in a suit and long coat with a fancy Fedora hat pulled down low over his eyes came in directly behind him. Olivia didn’t think he was a regular customer; she had never seen him in the bank before. He stopped inside the door, as if he was waiting for something or someone.

Mr. Sewell gave her his usual friendly smile and hurried toward her, brown paper bag in hand, drawing her attention away from the man by the door.

“Good evening, Mr. Sewell,” she smiled.

“Now, Ms. Miller, how many times have I asked you to call me Billy?” he teased.

“Almost every time I see you,” she laughed. Mr. Sewell was fast becoming one of her favorite customers. He always had a smile and a kind word for her. “What can I do for you today?”

He’d just handed over his daily deposit when the double doors flew open and three men spilled into the bank, joining the man by the door. All of them wore similar long coats and had their hats pulled low over their eyes. Three guns appeared, pointed at the ceiling.

“Hit the ground!” the man in the front yelled. “Heads down and hands flat on the floor.” He waited for everyone to obey, then he strode purposefully toward Olivia.

Olivia stood dumbstruck, too scared to move. Her vision narrowed as the man walked toward her. She didn’t see anything or anyone else, only him. He carried himself like a man who knew what he was doing; danger and menace rolling off him in waves. He pulled a gun from beneath his long coat and pointed it at her.

“Hands up. Do not even think about hitting that button,” he said, mentioning the alarm under the counter. “Do you understand me?”

Olivia nodded.

“Good. Now, you’re coming with me, sweetheart,” he said. “I need you to open the vault.”

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