You are pissed and tell him off

“Ah, now I understand,” you say after a short moment, “this was a joke. You wanted to relax the situation and told me a joke, right?”

“What?” Mike asks irritated, “no I did not. Why should I tell you jokes?”

“Are you seriously telling me, that you, a barely armed street cop with the experience of a dead cat, are everything that I can expect if my father, his men or his enemies point with a gun at my head?” you ask and grid your teeth, “what the hell is wrong with you guys? Did some high-ranking FBI boss looked at the file and said: Mob boss, is this dangerous? Who cares? Look what you get for free and make the best out of it!”

“Hey, that’s pretty harsh,” Mike says hurt, “I know I’m not the best, but I swear you I’m reliable and will do everything I can to keep you safe.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid off,” you reply, “listen, buddy, organized crime is not as easy to fight as the **** dealer on the next train station. That I’m part of the family protects me only a little bit. If there is even the slightest hint I betrayed them, my own father will kill me an bury me on the next construction side.”

“Please calm down,” Mike tries desperately to negotiate, “listen … I know this is not easy … but … I have everything under control, you will see.”

“I hope not,” you say unimpressed, “listen, I don’t want to sound rude, but I would prefer it if we keep conversation to a minimum.”

“Yes, you are right,” Mike says, “just … stay save and … yes, we will keep quiet. I’m sorry that I’m not able to make you feel protected. Have a good evening, Ashley.”

You hang up without answering. This has to be a joke. You are in a lion’s den and your protector is a babbling idiot. You are so frustrated that you barely notice that somebody knocks on the door.

“Come in!” you say loud and harsher then you wanted.

The door opens and a girl about your age in a french maid dress appears. You wonder if she is really a maid and that’s her regular clothes or if she is just one of your brothers’ unwilling whores.

“Good evening, mistress,” the girl says sweet, “I’m here to inform you that dinner is ready. But you look troubled. Is anything wrong?”

“Trouble with a friend,” you say and shake your mobile phone, “and then my dead mother and that I now have to stay here. So yes, there is a lot wrong. But that’s not your fault. Thanks for asking. Come on, lead the way!”