Page 44 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

But then again, how could I not, when they were made for me?

My constant fear isn’t about storms or wind or anything so mundane.

It’s a feeling, a breath beneath the skin, the sense that the currents of fate have shifted, and if I am not careful, the tide will pull me back to where I fought so hard to escape.

On those days, I don't walk to the market.

I don't take the ferry across to the other side of the island.

I don't let their names pass my lips when I answer work calls.

We have a routine.

A life carved quietly out of the stone of self-imposed exile, disguised as loyalty.

I keep the reports clean, my numbers accurate, my affiliations discrete.

I’m paid well and never late.

I speak to Valentina only when necessary.

I don't ask questions.

I don't draw attention.

My daughters, Alessia and Arietta, know only the sound of my voice and the peace of anonymity.

They have grown up with puzzles and oranges and lullabies in a house shaded by frangipani and sea almond trees, their laughter carried only by the wind.

Valentina has never seen them.

No one has.

Not even the neighbors, who believe I’m a widow, or a diplomat, or a woman in recovery from some vague private grief that prevents social calls.

I’ve come to make peace with life as it is now, with no incident, when the call from Valentina comes.

It is not unexpected, but the timing unsettles me.

It arrives just past five, when the girls are coloring in the sitting room and the sun falls across the floor in long gold lines that remind me of the Rossi estate, of afternoons I no longer allow myself to miss.

I answer with the camera turned carefully away from the living room, just in case.

My voice is crisp, my blouse ironed, my smile clean.

Valentina does not look tired, but there is a strain on her face that tells me she is pressed for time.

Her hair is swept up, her earrings subtle, her expression unreadable as always.

I straighten my spine without meaning to.

She doesn’t greet me immediately.

She’s watching, always watching, the same way she did the first time

I walked into her office years ago with nothing but desperation and leverage I had nearly bled to obtain.

"Report," she says finally.