The Mafia Contract Series

Charlotte

ROSE HALL ACADEMY – ENGLAND he trouble with study periods is they give your mind a chance to wander and today is no exception. As I sit twisting my pen in my hand and doing everything possible to avoid actually placing ink on the paper, my mind heads to the future and what’s expected of me. What’s expected of all of us currently doing time at Rose Hall Academy. A finishing school for the wealthy and a stop gap for students who don’t have any purpose in life merely than to marry well and spend their inheritance.

Sighing, I stare out on the landscaped grounds of a very respectable place and long for a different future. Something cool, a little edgy perhaps. A million miles away from the one heading my way at lightning speed and there is nothing I can do about that.Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“Psst, Charlotte.”

I look up and twist my lips into a grin as I watch Rochelle rolling her eyes and nodding toward Mrs. Penrose, the study mistress, who appears to be sleeping. As she hides behind her huge tortoiseshell glasses, her head nods as the warm rays of the sun caress her skin and lull her into a state of unconsciousness.

Rochelle mouths, “Are you ok?”

I roll my eyes and nod as she throws me a despairing look of her own because we are both being ‘finished off’ as they say, so we can step into society and begin the hunt for a suitable husband that passes all the requirements laid down by our peers.

Like me, Rochelle would rather pull out her own teeth than entertain the cocky suitors that are lining up at the door, ready to make the best match they can. There is no love to be found in social climbing, just position and power, and we are the sitting ducks who allow it to happen or face the threat of being cut off and let loose in an unforgiving world.

Sighing, I stare out across the freshly mown lawn and watch the birds flying high in the sky and wish I was as free as them. They can go anywhere they want to with no restrictions and once again I allow the daydreams to make a bad day a whole lot better.

It starts as a gentle hum and then the sound gets louder, causing the class to look up and listen with eager ears.

This is different.

Mrs. Penrose jolts awake and glances up, appearing a little flustered as the noise grows ever closer.

Rochelle catches my eye and we both look out and see something hovering above the academy.

“What’s happening?”

Martha Fraser asks the question we’re all thinking, and Mrs. Penrose looks surprised. “I’m not sure. It sounds as if we have a visitor.”

Helicopters aren’t uncommon at Rose Hall. Many have landed on the lawn while their occupant visits their daughter or head this way to enroll a new recruit to the damned.

The noise grows louder and, pushing decorum aside, the students push back from their desks and crowd against the window. Even Mrs. Penrose is curious, and the startled gasps move around the room like a Mexican wave as we witness a fleet of helicopters landing one by one on the huge lawn outside.

“My goodness.” The clipped tones of Mrs. Penrose match our own shock and the chatter in the room increases as the students witness something new and, well, rather exciting.

We take our positions at every window and watch as the rotor blades ease and I hold my breath to see who steps out from the metal bird.

“It must be royalty.” One eager voice whispers in awe and another one says, “Or from the government.”

“Maybe it’s a celebrity, a rock star or an actor.” Another excited voice rings out and Rochelle nudges me as we stare in fascination as several men pour from the helicopters dressed entirely in matching black suits.

“Well, it’s not the SAS. That’s a crying shame.”

Rochelle says under her breath, and I stifle a grin as Jemima Mortimer shrieks, “Wow, I wonder why they’re here! It looks like an invasion.”

Just the sight of the men in black shades, dressed head to toe in black, is giving me mafia vibes and it’s only when my phone rings that it distracts me from the amazing sight outside.

Glancing down, I read a text from my mum and there is only one word.

Run My heart starts beating, actually thumping so hard it almost hurts as I stare at the message and then look outside.

Another text comes through, and I turn and read it with an increasing sense of fear.

Meet me outside in the lane.

Don’t let anyone see you leave.

Y ou must move now; you don’t have long.

My first thought is that my father’s done something, and we need to run as a family. There is obviously no time for a family conference about this and I dread what could be tomorrow’s headline.

My father is Lord Richmond and not a stranger to scandal and this must be another one of his mistakes hitting the headlines.

I look around and note that every eye in the room is glued to the unfolding drama outside, so without hesitating, I inch slowly toward the door into the corridor outside. My heart is racing, and I feel a rush of fear as I take the fire escape and make my way outside.

This must be serious; my mother wouldn’t ask me to run if those men weren’t here for me.

Just thinking of what that could mean spurs me on and as I push through the fire escape, I slam it loudly behind me. Luckily, the rest of the school is otherwise entertained, and I sprint the short distance to the tree-line, hoping like hell nobody can see me and raise the alarm.

The wall that surrounds Rose Hall Academy is designed to keep us in and intruders out, but we discovered a hole in it a while ago leading to the lane outside. Ivy has grown over the space that was the result of a car hitting it late one night a few years ago. The school never had it repaired, and I’ve lost count of the number of girls who have snuck out and met the local lads for a night of sin. Not me though. Not good little Charlotte Richmond, who plays by the rules. Maybe that’s why I feel so afraid now. This isn’t like me. This isn’t me and as I squeeze through the thick ivy, I wish it was anyone else but me right now.

I scrape my elbow on a bramble and a nettle stings me at the same time and I curse my father for his recklessness. Why can’t he just be happy with what he’s got instead of the numerous affairs he appears to thrive on that always make it into the tabloids?

Feeling quite cross about the whole situation, I look down the lane for my mother’s car and note a black Range Rover parked halfway down.

Quickly, I run toward it and hope she has a good explanation for this and as soon I reach it, the door flies open and before I know what’s happening, I am pushed inside.

By the time I open my mouth to scream it’s too late because the door closes, and I hear the locks engage and then a bag is placed over my head and tied securely at the neck before my wrists are bound and I am strapped into the seat as the car speeds away.

I have never been so frightened in my whole life and the fear only intensifies when a rough voice whispers in my ear, “You’re mine now.”