"The doctor is waiting," Fabio tells me once I'm out for her apartment, still under the spell of those honey eyes.

"Right..." I reply and walk into my apartment where I can see the doctor waiting in the living.

"Good afternoon, sir," he says.

I hum a sort of greeting and I take off my jacket and shirt, sighing at every move I make. The doctor walks around me and starts doing what doctors do, and I don't mind him much. I'm still thinking about Emillia, about how much I wished I stayed, about how keen I've become to touch her, hold her, taste her, in a matter of just a few hours.

"I don't see anything broken but you'll wear some very nasty bruises for a while," the doctor gives his verdict and I pull my shirt back on my shoulders once he's done.

"See? I told you it was nothing serious," I tell Fabio who's standing in the door frame, leaning against one side.

"A specialist's opinion can never do wrong and is preferable to yours," he replies and nods his head, greeting the doctor who walks by and exits the apartment.

"I had a call from Benito today," Fabio brings the news.

I frown and stare at him, waiting for some more, and the more I wait, the angrier I become.

"Saying?"

"Saying he'll visit Sicily soon and he wants to see you. Seems he's not happy to have gotten a shipment that is stolen. So, he plans to investigate and find out who's done it."

"Not his fucking business."

"That's what you believe and he seems to disagree."

"Oh, fuck him! Let him come. Being on my territory makes him exposed and at disadvantage."

"I wouldn't jump to that conclusion. He still has plenty of faithful families in Sicily. And what I've learned about his right hand, that Alexander guy, he has quite of a history and some damn good men under his command," Fabio keeps talking and following me to the bedroom.

I toss my clothes away and walk into the bathroom bare naked, leaving the door ajar and Fabio talking about how this visit of Benito is beneficial in solving the Moroccan issue. 

"He can help, you know?"

"I don't want any help from Benito. And... why would he help? What the fuck is his business? Don't tell me he feels suddenly guilty for the death of my father and tries to buy my forgiveness."

"No, what I'm trying to say is that you don't even know for sure he's responsible for your father's death. You only know one side of the story, your father's, whose reputation doesn't really shine."

I shake my head disagreeing with Fabio and feeling fed up with any kind of talk for the night. The pain in my chest and around my torso bothers me a lot and I really feel the need to rest.

"I'll think about it tomorrow," I tell him while putting on some night silk, and black pants, and the next I long for is a bottle of whiskey from the minibar, filling up a full glass and offering another to Fabio.

He refuses and stands up.

"I'll get some sleep. Tomorrow I'm going to try to find out more about the two Moroccans that have followed you today. I'll take care of it while you two move into the mansion. Finally! I can watch your safety better there."

"Yeah, do that," I reply while sitting in the large armchair and start drinking the booze which I hope will put me to sleep faster.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says and takes his leave.

I lean against the backrest and the voluminous armchair deeply falling into thoughts while staring into the ceiling and traveling back to Emillia, trying to figure out what the hell is happening to me.

The moment I set my eyes on that damn mafia story she writes I've been feeling more and more drawn not only towards the story but toward the writer as well, wondering who she or he is, what sort of person, what background the writer has in mafia life because I can swear that this is no secret to her.

I fetch my phone from the coffee table and open the app than her book. There are no new chapters and damn, how much I miss diving into this silly story, losing myself in the action, and forgetting the world outside.

I wished she wrote again. I know I brought her under the pretext of needing a designer but... I want her to write.

Now more than ever I want to discover what she's like as a woman, how is her male character is like, and what will her female character do. I feel that through her writing I can understand what she expects from a man... what would she expect from me.

I throw the booze down my throat and toss the phone away, hating to death that I don't know what to do. That hasn't happened too many times and now, more than ever, the frustration of wanting her and not wanting her, feeling maybe not enough for her is driving me insane.

She's delicate... too delicate for a man like myself, a gangster with a shady life always having to look over his shoulder. So many times I wanted to leave all this life behind. You would be surprised to know how many of us don't want to be what we are.

And yet, here we are, living this life day after day, carrying a burden we have never wanted to be ours but somehow, being dignified enough to still live it.

A door opening and closing in the silence of the night pull me out of my thoughts and I wonder who that might be.

I grab a t-shirt on my way out and leave the apartment meeting the guards outside.

"Chi era?" I ask one of them. (Who was that?)

"La signorina, Don Raffa," he replies and motions me towards the kitchen. (The young lady, Don Raffa.)

I make my way to the kitchen and I find her shoved almost half into the fridge, looking for something.

"Hm," I make my presence known clearing my throat and she startles with a sigh, snapping her head out and staring at me.

"I... I felt a little hungry and I hopped there's some food in here," she justifies herself and I nod.

"Right. The chef in the restaurant of the hotel is available 24/7. You can order anything you like," I say shoving my hands in my pockets, not knowing what to do with them.

"Well, um... no, I'll be fine."

"But you were hungry."

"That's okay, really. I can wait till breakfast."

"I was told never to play with a girl's food... or hunger," I push it a little bit.

Right now, I would bring her all the chefs in Nice even if she wants only a sandwich.

"And what else were you told about girls? Or their hunger?" she immediately becomes sharp, defensive... provocative.

"Well, not much. Haven't met too many," I lie.

"Why do I tend not to believe you?" she challenges, walking past me, proudly and defiantly and I let her go.

Wouldn't know what to reply anyway.

The trace of her perfume lingers long after she's gone, filling my lungs and my desires and bringing the poor me to a stage of wanting.

Wanting her.

"Listen...," I stop her before she exits the kitchen.

"Yes?" she immediately replies as if she is expecting me to stop her.

"I don't think Fabio needs you tomorrow."

"Actually, he said I could take a week before start working," she confirms smiling.

"Si. I was thinking we could... um... take a... walk, sometime in the afternoon. The mansion is on the beach, you know," I make my first invitation ever, rubbing the back of my neck and feeling so fucking exposed.

I don't even know how to properly invite a woman. I never had to. Women have always fallen at my feet before I even blink.

The moment my eyes fall on her, I'm doomed, looking into her mesmerizing eyes staring back at me and I find myself aroused by her mare fleshy lips smiling.

"Like a date?" she naughtily asks.

"What...?"

"A date. Are you asking me on a date?"

"No!" I shout as if burned by fire.

She lifts her eyebrows in surprise and places her hands on her waist, waiting for me to explain what I'm actually asking her.

"No... it's just a... casual walk on the beach and..."

"Yes. I would like that, really," she rushes to agree so damn fast that I can't even wrap my head around the fact that I have just invited a woman on a fucking date.

"What time should I be ready tomorrow morning?"

"Anytime... anytime you... wake up," I reply.

Cazzo, now she's dictating my schedule!

"Alright. I'll see you at 8 am, for breakfast," she decides and joyfully comes closer, planting a kiss on my cheek.

A fucking kiss! On my fucking cheek!

"Yeah..." I mumble still shattered and follow her with my eyes till she disappears into the main hallway and then into her apartment.

I'll be damn! I wished so much to get closer to her and now, when I'm the closest I could ever dare to think, I don't know how to turn back the time and make myself unseen from her eyes.

I guess it's too late now.

I've made myself thousands of thoughts all night, thinking about how can I cancel this beach walk that I've proposed. I don't know what the hell is in my mind thinking that I could one day be a normal guy, living a normal life with a decent woman.

And no, the night has not been long enough for me to find a way out, a way out that I don't even know I want.

The first hours of the morning find myself still awake, with almost zero sleep. And when my phone buzzes with a call, I know I won't sleep from now on, even if I wanted to.

"Si, Nonna," I say picking up the call. (Yes, grandma)

"Raffaello, sei sveglio?" she asks. (Raffaello, are you awake?)

"Sono, ora..." (I am now.)

"Grande! Devi tornare a casa. Adesso!" she orders me (Great! You have to come home. Now!)

"Perché, Nonna? Che succede?" I ask her getting out of bed and making my way to the bathroom, silently groaning with pain. (Why, Grandma? What's going on?).

"Cosa c'è di sbagliato? Ti sei fatto male?" she suddenly changes the subject once she hears my heavy breath. (What's wrong? Are you hurt?)

"No, Nonna. Sono bene. Dimmi che sta succedendo," I insist and bring her back to the original reason for her call.

"E Tiffany. È chiusa in camera sua e non vuole uscire finché non torni. È da ieri mattina che non mangia." (She's locked in her room and she doesn't want to come out until you're back. She hasn't eaten since yesterday morning.)

I breathe deeply and think of what sort of headache have I brought myself.

"Nonna, please go to her room and tell her I want to talk to her," I say and almost immediately I can hear Nonna's steps.

"Tiffany, è Raffaello. Ti vuole parlare," Nonna says and almost instantly a door unlocks and Tiffany's crying voice comes through.

"Pronto..." (Hello).

"Che succede, Tiffany? Perché stanno dando a tutti momenti difficili?" I ask her trying to keep a decent level of my voice. (What's going on, Tiffany? Why are giving everybody hard times?)

"Perché mi hai portata qui?" she asks between sobs. (Why did you bring me here?)

The fuck I know! Right now I'm asking myself that more than she does.

"I brought you here to save you from that dumpster shit hole you were working in and wasting your time and youth. But hey, if you don't like it in here I can ask someone to take you back right now," I offer, secretly saying a short fucking prayer she'll agree and I can finally get off this headache and have my shower and my breakfast.

What time is it? Is she still sleeping? Of course, she does! She traveled half of the world yesterday.

"So tell me. Shall I arrange to be taken back?" I ask annoyed with her silence.

"When are you coming back?"

"In a week," I reply.

"Then I'll wait," she decides

"Good. Now be a good girl and listen to Nonna. I'll see you when I'm back," I say and hang up.

A much-needed deep breath brings excruciating pain through my chest and I cough a few times.

"Are you okay?" I hear Fabio asking from behind me and I immediately straighten my posture and turn around.

"Si. Sono perfectamente bene," I quickly reply and open my mouth to ask him if the travel to the mansion is ready. (Yes. I'm perfectly fine.)

"Emillia is in the dining for about thirty minutes. She insists to wait for you to have breakfast," Fabio says. Fabio shocks. Fabio smiles meaningfully. Fabio is pissing me off.

"What the fuck?! At this hour?" I react.

"Of course. You told her this hotel has a chef 24/7 and... she was really hungry."

I smirk, running a hand through my hair at the news of my little birdie, my smart little birdie.

"Tell her I'll be out in ten minutes," I ask Fabio.

"Ten minutes?!" he asks ironically surprised. "Raffa, brushing your teeth doesn't end in ten minutes," Fabio tries to emphasize yet again the fact my morning ritual and habit of dressing are literally a cult, as he has once said.

The phone buzzes in my hand and I turn my eyes toward it, my smile freezing on my lips when reading the very few lines in the text message I've just received.

"Then tell her I'm out and she can have her breakfast. Then go straight to the mansion and don't move from there," I give him his orders for the day, and immediately he understands that right now, jokes are aside.

"I'll leave Pico with you," he says and exits as soon as I agree.

Benito is landing in Nice this morning.

~~~~~
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