Page 6 of Property of the Italian Mafia Boss

“It’s okay; I want to make sure you’re alright?” he asks, glancing away from me to look at the Parthenon.

Maybe the old building that’s withstood the test of time is what he is after. That makes sense.

“I’m fine. Lost in my head. I’m sorry again.”

“It’s not a problem,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Otello,” he introduces himself.

“Mable.” I shake his hand, and something flashes across his face, but it’s gone before I can make anything of it.

“Mable. What an interesting name. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mable. I need to go. Have a great day.”

“You too.” I give an awkward wave and begin walking toward the bus again, my brows furrowing when I look over my shoulder to see Otello watching me.

An unsettling weight forms in my stomach, and I grip the straps of my drawstring backpack, shuffling my feet faster to get away from the coiling twist in my gut. When I get to the bus, the driver opens the door, and it folds to the side.

As I step on, the breeze across the back of my neck leaves an eerie trail behind. I grab the silver rail, and for one last time I look behind me, staring at the side of the Parthenon, the huge columns breaking the sun’s rays. People mingle, all of them lifting their phones to grab the perfect image, but Otello isn’t there.

He’s gone.

I breathe easier, knowing my discomfort came from him, and while I don’t know why, I don’t need to know why. I need to listen to myself.

“You coming or going?” the driver asks, becoming impatient as I block the doorway.

“Sorry.” I climb the steps and take a seat in the back. The red leather squeaks as I slide across it, and I sigh, leaning my head against the glass window.

My eyes close as I wait for everyone else to get onto the bus. I’m not sure how much time passes, but someone jostles my shoulder.

“Hey, sorry. We’re back at the hotel now. I figured you’d want to know,” a sweet older woman wearing a colorful blue shirt, pink pants, and a wide beach hat says with a wrinkly smile. “You must be so tired. You slept through the entire trip.”

I rub my eyes and stare out the window, not remembering when we left the Parthenon. I stand, slipping my bag on my shoulder. “Thank you. I’m pretty sure I would have been left here if you didn’t wake me.”

“I’d hate for you to end up somewhere you don’t belong. Imagine being lost.” She shakes her head which causes the sagging skin on her chin to shake. “Oh, I couldn’t live with myself knowing that may have happened to you.”

“Thank you,” I say again, letting her walk in front of me.

I’m the last one to get off the bus, and the door nearly shuts against my backside. I’m exhausted and decide to take the day to catch up on sleep instead of going to the beach. Tomorrow I’ll go, and I’ll promise to put myself out there and meet someone.

That will be my goal for the day.

My phone rings as I walk into the front doors of the hotel, the gorgeous white stucco of the building reminding me of the beautiful country I’m in. I smile when I see it’s my best friend calling me. Lilly wanted to come to Greece with me, but she couldn’t get off work, which was fine because this was a trip I had to do on my own.

“Hello?” I answer, walking up the old, painted steps.

“I’m so jealous you’re in Greece,” she pouts. “Is it everything you thought it would be? How are the men? Have you found one yet?”

I unlock the door to my room and step inside, the view of the sea just outside the balcony. I love to sleep with the sliding doors open, so I can hear the waves.

“No, not yet. I’m still jet lagged. I’m actually in my room now. I’m going to take a nap.”

“You’re such a grandma. Fine. I love you. I want to know everything when it happens, and I want pictures of him. I need to approve.”

I roll my eyes but smile at how nosey she is. “I promise. Love you too.” I hang up first because if I don’t, she’ll talk for hours about nothing and everything.

I undress, putting on a comfortable plaid pajama set, and slide under the white fluffy comforter. Sighing when my head hits the pillow, my eyes close, and again, I’m bombarded with images of the man who pulled me out of my parents’ car.

I can’t see his face, but I feel him, and I wish I had known his name so I could have properly thanked him. With the comfort of brown irises playing in the forefront of my mind, I fall asleep, dreaming of a time when life wasn’t so complicated.

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