Ps: the picture is Devlin.

Pamela woke up the next morning having an eerie feeling in her gut. Yes, she had spent the last few days somewhere else, but she all too well still remembered how the mornings went in the King household. The sound of the cook singing in the kitchen was always there, and the smell of coffee that made you want to drink it was unmistakable. But now it wasn't.

Maybe the cook slept in late, Pamela said to herself as she forced her heavy eyes open. Yesterday was, after all, a tiring day.

She yanked off the covers and yawned, trying to settle the nervousness that was slowly creeping up her stomach. Even the birds refused to sing, she noticed with a pang. Everything seemed weird. Trying to come up with a calm, rational explanation, Pamela stood and went to the toilet to wash her face and brush her teeth.

As she made her way to the bathroom, she glanced at the clock and it reminded her of how late Marcel had stayed last night. He had been sweet and nice, telling her stories of his adventure and travels. When it was past eleven, she had sent him home, thanking him for everything. He hadn't seemed the least bit interested in going home but he had gone, promising to call her first thing in the morning, which he hadn't and that added to her list of suspicions because if there was anything she knew about Marcel, it was that he was a man of his words.

After quickly brushing - or doing some up-down movement on her teeth which could pass as brushing, she suppressed the urge to run down the stairs. The marble floor muted her steps as she made her way to the kitchen. When she got there, she froze in her tracks.

"Dorothea?"

Her mom turned around to look at her. She gave her a beautiful smile. "Morning honey."

Well, things seemed to be normal. All her suspicions had been for nothing. Yes, the housekeeper and cook weren't there, but her mom had probably sent her home, poor Florence had been emotionally attached to her dad and had had it bad at the funeral.

Thinking about it more rationally, the morning birds were singing, and the smell of coffee hadn't gotten to her because her mom just started to prepare it.

"Marcel called, dear." Her mom said still mixing the instant coffee.

Pamela went to sit on the kitchen stool, noticing how stark and less sunny the house looked without her dad's presence.

"He should have called my cell."

"Oh he did, but you were not picking up so he called mine." She glanced at Pamela. "Can you help me beat those eggs? "

Pamela gave her mom a you-know-I'm-like-a-square-peg-in-a-round-hole-in-the-kitchen look.

She frowned at her daughter. "Just to beat eggs?"

"It irritates me."

"Or you're just lazy and spoiled."

"Guess who I have to thank for that?" She said walking over to the sitting room and yanking the curtains open, to bring in some of the sunshine.

"Your dad spoilt you rotten," Dorothea muttered, taking an egg and breaking it.

"Heard that," Pamela said walking into the kitchen and taking an egg.

"Be careful with that."

"I want to help."

"It doesn't irritate you anymore?"

"Point taken." She replied. She broke the eggs and started to beat them, just as her mom was beating hers. She smiled as they were both beating eggs simultaneously.

"I heard you and Marcel last night." Her mom said taking the beaten eggs from her and pouring them into the steaming pan.

Pamela walked to the sink to wash her hand. "Yeah, he's such a sweetheart."

"Little wonder you were listening to him with such rapt attention that one would think he was some celebrity or something. You didn't want to let him go."

Pamela laughed. "Well, you could say that." Then she frowned. "How did you know I was listening to him with "rapt attention" ?" Then she gasped. "You spied on me?"

Dorothea stirred the eggs. "What? No. I just happened to - glance through the peephole."

"What? That is so creepy. You can't do that."

"I'm sorry I was just curious." She switched off the gas. "It was very late and so I was wondering what you two were doing at the porch, that's all." She moved to the sink to wash her hands. "Help set the table, please."

Pamela moved to set plates for them. "You don't trust him?"

Her mother stopped cleaning her hands on the towel and frowned. "That has nothing to do with anything."

"Dad didn't, you know. He was the reason we separated."

"I know honey. I was the one who consoled you as you cried yourself to bed that night."

Pamela sent her mom a scowl. "Thanks for reminding me."

Dorothea laughed and carried their plates to the dining table, while Pamela carried their glass of orange juice and coffee. They both sat.

"At the end of it all, whatever decision you take is okay with me because you're an adult, but because your dad kicked against the relationship, he probably had his reasons. But then again, your dad was fond of overthinking things, being painstakingly careful and while that doesn't hurt, I'd just say you are careful around him, and not jump to dating him."

"I never said I wanted to date him," Pamela replied defensively.

Her mom raised her hands in surrender. "Whatever you say."

Breakfast was long, and they discussed various things, from the weather to wardrobes, to the funeral, to funny moments of Robert King, but not once did they mention the incident with...him. It might not have happened, for all Pamela knew.

Pamela spent the rest of the day indoors. She didn't have any friends - daddy's orders, but her mom did and they came visiting, chattering on and on about stuff.

Marcel called again, apologizing that he wouldn't be able to visit because he was caught up in something important. Whatever it was, it sounded urgent, and Pamela was almost disappointed, but she made sure her voice sounded as enthusiastic and understanding as possible.

As the afternoon passed, Pamela, bored to tears, decided to take a walk in the area. She told her mom she would be back soon and put on her shawl, but not before applying sunscreen. Her pale skin was especially sensitive to sunburn and she hated it, wishing she was tanner and less susceptible to sunburn.

She made a mental note to visit the company the next day. They had to begin the operation especially now that her dad wasn't there. Marcel had been interested in running the company so she decided to take him with her. His presence would be a huge help for her because she didn't think she would be able to handle it on her own.

Taking in the sight of the garden, Pamela breathed in the beautiful scent of roses and violets. She stopped to touch a rose petal and marveled at the beauty of mother nature. She marveled at the wonderful, translucent way a rose looks and the color changes that take effect when the sun is shining through the petals in a way that makes them glow.

Her eyes traveled across the street and she waved at her neighbor, a nice old woman. She was mowing her lawn and she had two dogs who were lazily lolling in the bright sunlight. The dogs reminded her of the dog her dad had gifted her when she was only five.

Molly had been a beautiful, white-furred Bichon Frise dog that had been her companion for years. When Pamela was fifteen, Molly developed a rare kind of cancer that grew bigger and bigger in her heart that had obstructed her breathing and put her in so much pain. Molly had had to be put to sleep forever and Pamela remembered how she'd cried so hard. She had refused to get another pet after that.

She smiled when the old woman's weeder landed on the other side of the garden when she wanted to wipe the sweat off her brow and her two dogs ran to fetch it. Pamela looked away and tried to focus on her roses when she stopped short. She snapped her head again at the old woman's house to confirm the strange thing her eyes had caught, and she trembled with fear when her suspicions were confirmed.

It was a black van that suspiciously looked like the one that had caused a shootout the day her dad died. Dread settled in her.

The eerie feeling she'd had when she woke up came rushing back in full force. Trying to appear calm and cool-headed, she turned on her heels and walked home. All she longed to do was to break into a run, but she walked, just in case her fear and paranoia were for nothing, as it could be just an ice-cream van that hated bright colors and wanted black, or a Potter van or something.

Then her eyes caught another black van silhouetted behind a car. Her heartbeat picked and her underarms started sweating. She quickened her pace and even though her home was just around the bend, it felt like a thousand miles away.

With every step she took, she feared she might get shot, get dragged from behind, or get ambushed.

But wait a minute, Devlin wouldn't want to shoot her, would he? Surely he wouldn't, not after what they had shared... Surely not after the ki -

Don't think of that!

But Devlin had told her over and over that it wasn't him that had attacked her and even though she didn't want to believe him, she had to admit that all signs were pointing to the fact that it wasn't him, which made her feel worse.

At least Devlin would have a little bit of mercy on her. An unknown, angry mafia wouldn't.

Thump thump thump her heart went, and she almost collapsed in relief when her house came into view. Suppressing the urge to bolt through the gates, Pamela walked calmly and steadily through. Now she was in, she would be fine, she thought because their gate guard was there and he would surely protect -

Pamela stopped short. The guard was sitting on a chair by the gate, nodding off, spittle dripping from the side of his mouth.

She became angry. She slammed the gates with more force than necessary and the man jumped, startled. He stood at attention when he saw her.

"Don't let anyone in," she said through gritted teeth, suppressing the urge to yell at him. He nodded and Pamela could see that he was trying to suppress a yawn. That made her frustrated and she couldn't help but remember a certain place where all the guards were on the alert 24/7 and had made her feel protected and calm against all odds.

Her evil thoughts of wishing she was back in the mafia's prison were cut short when she heard a car pull up outside the gate. Her heart skipped and she turned on her heels and broke into a run into the house. She banged on the front door and her mom opened it.

"What's wrong?" Dorothea asked taking in Pamela's ashen face and shaky breaths.

She shook her head. "It's probably nothing." She said more to herself than to her mom with a sigh, plopping down on the couch.

"What is probably nothing?"

"Lock the door!" She said sitting up as if suddenly remembering.

Her mom looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Where are your friends?" Pamela looked around and saw the place was empty.

"They already left. Pamela, what's wrong?"

"Good." It was better if her mother's friends didn't witness anything gruesome. "Now please, bolt the - "

The door was suddenly yanked open and Pamela screamed, accelerating to her feet.

The door opened to reveal a really, really displeased Devlin, looking ravishing in his clear-cut suit. His perfectly carved brows were furrowed in anger, his angular chin was tight and his lips were thinned. The way he stood, he looked like some ancient statue, a really ravishing ancient statue from Greece or Egypt.

This was scary! This was alarming! But Pamela couldn't help but stare at him - not just in shock - but also in rough admiration. She couldn't help her heart that skipped beats, and that didn't have to do with his sudden burst in.

"You. Come with me. Now!"

~

I hope you love the chapter. I'm sorry for the late upload. I'll do better. The next chapter is coming very soon.

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With love, Maggie.