Kidnapped by the wrong Mafia Boss

If someone had told me that waking up late would eventually lead to being shoved into the back of a luxury SUV by armed men wearing tailored black suits, I would have laughed, finished my coffee, and reminded them that they clearly watched too many crime dramas.

Or I would have told them to check them to check into the nearest mental home.

Unfortunately, life had developed a surprising habit of proving that the most ridiculous situations were usually the ones waiting patiently around the corner, ready to ruin an otherwise ordinary day

My morning had started badly enough when I overslept after spending half the night preparing tiny watercolor kits for my third-grade art class.

Why? Because eight-year-olds apparently believed glitter belonged on absolutely everything. My hair, my carpet, and somehow the inside of my refrigerator.

By lunchtime, I had survived two paint explosions, one broken easel, a heated and emotional debate over whether dinosaurs would enjoy finger painting, and a heartfelt promise from one of my students that he 'definitely' had not glued his best friend's shoe to the classroom floor even when evidence suggested otherwise.

Teaching children was exhausting, wonderfully chaotic, and somehow still the best part of every single day. Who was I to complain?

I left the school carrying a canvas tote stuffed with sketchbooks, uncapped markers, and half a dozen handmade thank-you cards that looked like colorful blobs pretending to be flowers.

However, I loved every single one because they had been made with the kind of wholesome enthusiasm adults usually forgot existed.

All I wanted was a hot shower, leftover lasagna, and an uninterrupted evening curled beneath my favorite blanket while I read another unrealistic romance novel that would almost certainly convince me every attractive billionaire secretly had a heart of gold.

My life was wonderfully ordinary, and I liked it that way. Perhaps I should have appreciated ordinary a little more while I still had it.

The bakery on the corner tempted me with the smell of fresh cinnamon rolls. I inhaled deeply and hummed.

Despite giving myself a very convincing speech about saving money, I still wandered inside. My self-control had always been frustratingly weak whenever sugar entered the conversation.

The elderly cashier smiled in knowing fashion as she placed two oversized cinnamon rolls into a paper bag without asking whether I wanted only one. Apparently my complete lack of restraint had become part of the neighborhood's general knowledge.

"I feel judged," I joked as i handed over my card.

"Don't." She shook her head, stifling a laughter. "You should feel understood."

"Honestly, that's somehow worse." My lips pursed in a tight, thin line.

She laughed harder, wished me a lovely evening, and sent me back onto the sidewalk carrying enough pastries to feed a small family.

The streets were unusually crowded, forcing everyone into an awkward dance of weaving around tourists, hurried office workers, impatient cyclists, and people who insisted on stopping directly in the middle of the pavement whenever they received a phone call.

I had just reached the corner outside a luxury hotel when someone slammed into my shoulder hard enough to send my paper bag flying through the air.

"My cinnamon rolls!" I cried as I watchef them perform what could be described as a graceful farewell before splattering across the sidewalk.

The man barely slowed down or even gave as much as a sideways glance. He wore a black overcoat with the collar turned upward, a black baseball cap pulled low across his face, and sunglasses despite the cloudy afternoon, making him look less like someone avoiding bad weather and more like someone avoiding recognition.

"Seriously?" I called after him, brushing frosting from my sleeve. "The least you could do is apologize for murdering perfectly innocent pastries."

He disappeared into the crowd without even looking behind.

"Jerk." I sneered.

With a heavy sigh, I crouched to collect the ruined paper bag, and silently mourned what had once been the highlight of my evening.

"Just great," I muttered. "What else does the universe have for me from it's deck of bad-luck cards?"

Just then, a sleek black SUV rolled silently to the curb beside me.

The rear passenger door swung open before I had enough time to wonder whether someone important was getting out.

Two enormous men stepped onto the pavement, their identical black suits fitting broad shoulders that looked capable of lifting a refrigerator without much effort.

One of them studied me carefully and then spoke into the tiny microphone hidden beneath his jacket.

"We have her."

I frowned, looked over both shoulders, and the. smiled politely. Obviously there had to be some terrible misunderstanding happening nearby.

"I'm sorry," I said, pointing at myself just to be certain. "Were you talking about me?"

Neither man answered. Instead, they started walking toward me.

Something deep inside my chest whispered that 'ordinary' had officially packed its bags and left without saying goodbye.

The universe still had an ace up her sleeve.