Page 29 of Maid For The Mafia Informant

Ben nods, and after the man apologizes to me personally, he shakes his hand and that’s the end of it.

A fairly ordinary looking car is waiting for us, and Enrico asks if there’s anything else we need.

“Just your address,” Ben quips.

“It’s keyed into the GPS, ready to go,” Enrico adds. “I’ll get word to you soon, see how you settle in, stay as long as you want,” he says again.

I feel like he means it too, there’s something about Enrico I trust and I can see why Ben felt it right to include him in our plans.

I’m glad he did.

Within the hour, we’re on the coast road and the whole world seems to have disappeared behind us, the freshness of the sea air and the sight of the vast blue horizon relaxes me.

But occasionally I catch Ben glancing back in the mirrors, even turning his head to look for his backpack on the back seat. He’s still thinking about everything, I know. He has to.

Passing through a couple of smaller towns, I finally suggest we stop for lunch, but Ben shakes his head before turning to me, his eyes a little softer.

“I’ll feel better once we’re somewhere safe,” he tells me. “Plus, I promise I’ll make us something to eat. I still owe you a breakfast too,” he reminds me, winking.

I give him a smile and look out the window, I can almost feel myself counting the seconds now before the police or most likely, my dad, somehow gets directly involved in all this.

Growing up it was never easy living in his shadow, especially once it was clear I was never going to be the athlete and especially not the cop son I know he’d always wanted.

Sensing my growing anxiety, Ben says maybe we could stop somewhere if I really want, but I shake my head. A glance at the GPS tells me we’re close anyhow.

Plus I’m with Ben now. I’ll go where he goes, do what he does.

I do belong to him now after all. I just hope he knows what he’s in for when it comes to my dad finding out.

But something tells me he’ll be fine.

The road to the villa is more like a goat track. If it wasn’t for the GPS, we’d probably drive straight past it.

Enrico’s villa itself is nestled in the cliffs, lower than the road too, so it’s well hidden.

Secluded.

Private.

Safe.

All those words make me feel better already and I push down the thoughts about my dad, the police, and the mafia just a little deeper.

Hopefully for a little longer too. I want to enjoy myself with Ben, not always be looking over our shoulders.

There’s a huge iron gate with a high wall that seems to surround the whole property, right to the cliff’s edge.

Ben punches in the passcode and the gates swing silently open, closing as soon as we pass through.

Ordinarily, I’d feel strange, maybe even like it was some sort of a trap, but once we follow the gravel drive down and it rounds right in front of the house, we can both see the ocean and the horizon through the tall windows of the white stucco, Spanish style villa.

Without waiting another second, I rush out and make my way down one side of the house to take in more of the stunning view.

A low wall breaks up the front from the stepped garden out back, but I have a perfect view of the sea, even a small beach at the bottom of the steep, jagged cliffs.

I can hear Ben walking up behind me, his steps on the gravel crunching as he comes closer.

“It’s just beautiful!’ I exclaim, feeling his hands on my hips and his lips on my neck.

“It sure is,” he croons. “It most certainly is beautiful.”

I know he hasn’t even taken in the view. I know he’s been watching me every step since I leapt from the car.

I turn and kiss him, loving how tight he holds me. I wish we could stay like this forever. Here, just the two of us.

I hear my phone chirping, and although I try to ignore it, Ben tells me to answer it in a firm tone.

We’re safe here, I know, but some of those dark clouds from the outside have started clawed through our safe haven already.

“It’s a private number,” I tell Ben, brushing it off, but he urges me to answer as it keeps ringing.

I answer but don’t recognize the voice.

It’s a man, older. A heavy accent I can’t place.

I feel a chill run up my spine though when he cheerfully says hello, addressing me by name.

“Hullo, Sophie. This is Franco,” he says, taking a breath, letting his words sink in.

I don’t know any-

“Franco De Falco. Put Ben on the phone will ya?” his voice goes from friendly to firm, then cold in three words.

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