Mafia Princess

Chapter 5: Panic button

Jane's POV

When we hit BGC, Jake pointed at the buildings. “That one’s ours,” he said, pointing at a glass tower that looked like it touched the sky. “Top ten floors.”

“Oh,” I said. Because what do you say to that?

Alexander parked in an underground garage. There were more men in suits. More guns. More cameras.

“Welcome home,” Alexander said. He said it like an apology.

Jake got out first. Then Zachary. He walked around the car and opened my door before I could touch it. He didn’t offer a hand. Just stood there, blocking me from everyone else, until I slid out.

“You good?” he asked. Quiet. Only for me.

I nodded. “Yes, po— I mean. Yes.”

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “Good.”

And for the first time since Nanay said "you didn’t come from me", I believed it.

The elevator in the Wilson compound didn’t ding. It just opened. Silent. Like everything else here.

It was all glass and steel. I could see the city dropping away as we went up. My stomach dropped with it.

Jake bounced on his heels next to me. “Floor 45 is gym. 46 is weapons. 47 is Dad’s office. Don’t go there unless you’re invited. 48 is us. 49 is panic room. 50 is helipad.”

“Helipad,” I repeated. Like it was a normal word. Like Tatay hadn’t once fixed a tricycle with duct tape.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “In case we need to leave fast.”

“Leave fast from what?” I asked.

Alexander answered before Jake could. “Anything.”

The doors opened on Floor 48.

It didn’t look like a house. It looked like a hotel, but if hotels were scared of color. White walls. Gray floors. Black furniture. No pictures. No plants. No Peanut.

A woman was waiting. Early 50s, gray bun pulled so tight it hurt my scalp looking at it. Tablet in hand. No smile.

“Mr. Alexander,” she said. “Mr. Jake. Mr. Zachary. Miss Jane.”

'Miss Jane' That was new.

“Marta,” Alexander said. “This is Jane. She’s staying. East wing. Next to Jake.”

Marta’s eyes flicked to me. She did the same thing Zachary did in the car. Head to feet, back up. Checking for broken bones. Except her face didn’t do the punched thing. She just nodded.

“Your room is ready, Miss,” she said. “Follow me.”

I followed. My shoes squeaked on the floor. Everyone else’s didn’t. I looked down. They were still muddy. From the province. From home.

Jake fell into step beside me. “Marta’s scary but she’s good. She makes the best mango cheesecake. And she knows where Dad hides the chocolate.”

“Dad eats chocolate?” I whispered.

“Only when he’s mad,” Jake whispered back. “So… always.”

Zachary was behind us. I could feel him. Not touching. Just there. Like a shadow with a heartbeat.

Marta stopped at a white door. No number. No name. Just wood. “Here,” she said, pushing it open.

The room was huge. My whole house in Laguna could fit in here twice. Bed bigger than Nanay and Tatay’s combined. Desk. Couch. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing all of Manila lit up like a birthday cake.

And no pink. No dolls. No nothing soft, just like Zachary said. Gray blanket. White pillows. Black curtains.

It looked like a room for a boy who liked sad things.

My backpack looked stupid on the bed. So did I.

“Your belongings will be delivered tomorrow,” Marta said. “Clothes. Electronics. Anything you require, you ask me.”

“I don’t require anything,” I said. My voice was small in the big room.

Marta blinked. “Miss?”

“I mean. I have clothes. And Peanut.” I stopped. I did not just say Peanut out loud.

Jake made a choked sound. Alexander rubbed his forehead.

Zachary, behind me, went very still. “Who’s Peanut?” he asked. Quiet.

My face was lava. “Nothing. No one. Forget I—”

“Is it a stuffed animal?” Jake asked, delighted. “Oh my god, you do have one!”

“No,” I said, too fast. “He’s… a bear. But not… I don’t sleep with him. Much.”

“You brought a teddy bear?” Jake said, like I’d just told him I had a superpower.

“I’m fifteen!” I said. “Not five!”

“You’re fifteen and you were kidnapped by your secret mafia family,” Jake said. “You’re allowed a bear.”

“He’s not—” I gave up. “Shut up.”

Zachary moved. He walked past me into the room and put something on the desk. A small black box. Same as the phone.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Your new phone already has tracking,” he said. “This is for your room. Panic button. If you press it, security is here in 10 seconds. If you can’t press it, say ‘red’ into the phone. Same thing.”

I stared at the box. “Why would I need that?”