Page 5 of Property of the Italian Mafia Boss

When my parents died, there are details I don’t remember, but every night since the accident, a pair of brown eyes infiltrates my dreams. I don’t even know if they belong to a real person because I don’t remember anything from that night. I was in the ICU for weeks, alone, having to plan my parents’ funeral all by myself. I got their life insurance policies, but I didn’t feel right spending the money, so it has been sitting in the bank ever since their deaths.

I caved in on myself. I built a wall. I didn’t want anyone threatening to get too close, so I dove into work as a website designer. I worked every day, never took off for personal time, and never called in sick, and now after all these years of refusing to slow down I’ve realized how unhappy I am.

Yet anytime I try to move on and leave the past where it belongs, all my mind wants to focus on are depths of brown with flecks of gold.

Like right now, I’m standing in front of one of the most significant historical buildings in the world, and I feel…nothing.

Maybe I’d rather be on the beach and swimming in the sea. Maybe that would change my mindset.

Because honestly, what’s it going to take to jumpstart my heart and kick the numbness away?

The wind picks up, the breeze drifting along my skin, and I sigh, closing my eyes as I revel in the fresh air.

My parents would want this for me. They would want me to live my life, not waste it away in some cubicle.

Well, I hope they would want that for me because my father wasted away in his office nearly all day every day.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a shiver runs down my spine. That feeling of someone watching me has my instincts on alert. I turn around, my hair dancing in my face as another gust of wind blows. Tucking the wild strands behind my ear, I glance around, noticing other tourists stopping and staring at the giant building I traveled across the world to see.

I don’t see anyone watching me.

“Excuse me.”

I jump when a tall man blocks the sun, and I tilt my head to look up at him. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, very attractive, and I blush.

“Hi,” I practically squeak.

“I was wondering, can you take a picture of my wife and me? It’s our honeymoon and—”

“—Say no more,” I cut him off and take his phone from him, swallowing the embarrassment in my throat. “I’d love to. Congratulations.”

“Thank you so much. It’s been amazing,” he says with a big bright smile on his face. He wraps an arm around his new bride, and she’s stunning with long red hair and a dash of freckles on her face. They look happy, their smiling faces beaming back at me.

I can’t remember the last time I smiled like that.

They stand in front of the Parthenon, the huge columns towering over them even from so far away, the sun beaming at the perfect angle. Its rays make the glare in the photo intentional. I press the screen and take a few shots, then turn the phone horizontally, so they have multiple choices.

“Perfect. Here you go.” I give him his phone back, and they scroll through the pictures, big smiles on their faces as they see the photo.

“Thank you so much. I appreciate it. Do you want me to get a picture of you??” he asks.

“No, that’s okay. Thank you.” I leave them be and begin walking to the bus to go back to the hotel. The beach is sounding better and better as the day goes on.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll plan to go to Shipwreck Island. I’ve heard it is a must-see while visiting Greece.

I’m looking down, trying my best to get out of this stupid, self-pity funk I’m in and run smack into someone’s chest.

“Woah,” he says, grabbing my shoulders to stop me from falling over.

I grab onto his arm and my foot twists, but I right myself before I can cause any damage.

“Are you okay?” his voice dark, slightly annoyed, but somehow still kind.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. That was all my fault.” I hold my hand above my eyes to block the sun, so I can see who I ran into when my breath catches. Dark hair and brown eyes, just like in my dreams, but these are different.

Something about them seems more sinister. They say the eyes are windows to the soul, but I don’t see a soul. I see curiosity and relief. It’s the look someone gets when they finally find the one thing they have been looking for, like a child in a candy store finding his favorite chocolate bar or a woman finding a spicy romance novel she’s been wanting that’s been out of stock.

Yeah, I’m very familiar with that look, and he has it written all over his face.

---