Page 34 of Maid For The Mafia Informant

Powering up the laptop and finally being able to access my own email after what feels like a year but really is only nearly two weeks is a daunting task in itself.

Thousands of emails.

Literally thousands, which I have to break down into categories if I’m to make any headway before even looking at how far ahead I am on evidence and courts submissions.

One name sticks out crazy big though, not for the frequency of her emails, but because of who she is: Daniella Fellini, the famous double-crossing Malibu Bitch Barbie District Attorney I wish the earth would just open and swallow up.

There’s some standard correspondence, but the most recent email is from just a few hours ago.

I must be a sucker for punishment, because as much as I can’t stand the idea of the woman drawing breath from the same atmosphere as me, I do need to find out what the fuck she’s really up to and how she fits in with De Falco and my existing suspicions regarding Agent Partridge.

At some point I’m gonna need the DA’s office to make my case, so whether it’s her or her office I have to face it at some time and hopefully in the not too distant future if I’m to make any progress against the mob.

She claims she went into protective custody once her own deputy District Attorney went missing, about the same time I did. Apparently at the time she really believed the news, which the De Falco family ran with, claiming responsibility for my murder.

Fearing for her own neck, she followed Partridge and his agency advice to go into hiding.

Not quite what fits in with my own version of events, like her screwing the guard who was assigned to watch over my door across the hall and then walking out with the mob once they trashed my rooms.

Nah. I’m not buying it. But it does beg the question: Who is running the district attorney’s office in this city now?

For once I wish Partridge was here, busting in like he always does so I could pin him to the wall and beat it out of him if I had to, even just to save me the hours… days of research I know I need to even begin to get my head around all this.

Even so soon after starting though, I decide I need a break. I lean back in my chair and suddenly notice the ringing in my ears.

It’s the sound of total silence.

Something we city folk never get unless we get out into nature. Even though I can hear a subtle, dull thud of waves on the rocks hundreds of feet below, there’s so much silence here it almost hurts to listen to it.

Even that safe house had constant noise, doors slamming, water pipes groaning, the non-stop hum of fluorescent lights and distant city traffic.

I wonder how Sophie’s doing, using her welfare as an excuse to go look in on her again. She’s in bed right where I left her, but I let out a low sound once I see her.

She obviously moves around in her sleep, a lot.

She’s scissored her legs between the sheets and rolled over onto her side, giving me a splendid view of her perfect ass, thighs and everything else I’ve been getting my fill of.

I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but I send a quiet thank you to whoever it is upstairs that runs this show.

My ‘break’ is almost a full blown distraction, with the sight of Sophie like that, ripe for the taking again, I have to exercise total control.

Swallowing hard, I feel my hard on catching on the door frame, making me groan, and Sophie stir in her sleep, her legs shifting.

The sound of the sheets, and her tinny whimpering is like a magnet.

In a second I’m kneeling by the bed, my apron hitched over my renewed hardness, already dripping for her all over again.

She smiles with her eyes shut, mews and goes back to sleep.

I stroke her hair back, kiss her forehead and wonder if I’ll ever be able to go out in public again. Wonder if I’ll ever be able to work again?

It feels like I have a permanent hard on now that I have Sophie.

No matter how many times I make love to her. Try as I might, I can’t function at anything else for more than just a few minutes without thinking about her, without having to go check on her to see if she needs anything.

I toss between trying to focus on work or a cold shower.

Cold shower wins, and I find it’s the one thing that clears my head for a few minutes at least. Passing her sleeping form again, I realize how hopeless it is though and in no time, I’m harder than when I started as I rub my eyes and face, trying to concentrate on work.

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