It's a fucking private jet! But, of course, it is! Seems I'm jumping from one supervised life to another, from papa, the gangster, to Fabio, the definite gangster, how it's being proved to me right now. Oh, the ironical fate of a gangster daughter!

"Welcome on board Miss Emillia," a young beautiful flight attendant says, all glam and shine and a broad smile showing off some perfect teeth.

I smile bitterly back and walk past her getting into the airplane with the confidence of a mouse on the grains field when the crops are harvested.

What? Yes, I have my doubts about all these but the will to distance myself from papa and the deadly desire to visit my home places of my mother is surely stronger.

"Thank you. Is this a direct flight?" I ask.

"No ma'am. A private jet has been prepared for you in order to reach on time in NY for your next flight," she replies and even though her tone is polite and warm, I still find it judgmental.

"Oh, I see."

Of course, my phone buzzes, and boy, do I know who it is.

"Because you were late I had to make new plans. Just how much does a woman need to be ready? Now, you will be taken from this flight directly to your next one in NY. Just pass your passport to the flight attendant and she'll take care of all formalities plus accompany you to your next flight. Be nice. They only want to please you. See you in Nice. F"

Well, I have to admit that I'm pleased with all these arrangements. I don't have to cross the NY airport and risk stumbling to someone papa knows or maybe he has sent for me already.

It's shocking how he knows exactly what I would do like he's hidden somewhere in my pockets and he can also read my mind.

That's it! It's decided! I hate the cocky guy, Fabio. I can only hope I won't have to work too closely with him.

"Thank you but I guess you've mistaken the destination. Shouldn't it be Paris?" I type Fabio back and put the phone away, diving deeper into the leather chair, feeling happier than I have ever felt before, enjoying being excited and tremendously curious about what's next.

And hey, above all bad things, like papa not knowing I left, Julian will be on fire when he finds out I've still accepted the proposal, and yeah, leaving with someone I've never met before, and to be honest, I don't completely trust, let's not forget I'll be in Paris, the most romantic city in the world.

A text message buzzes in my phone buzzes again.

"Nope. No mistake. You'll start with our hotels in Cannes. Don't worry. You'll be here to work and you'll reach Paris eventually. Have a safe trip and don't be a brat! F"

I smirk at the end of his message. Oh well, a brat I've been all of my life. Why stop now? And before I finish my cocky smile in a bratty style, of course, my phone buzzes again and this time it is mom.

"Safe trip, sweetheart. Don't forget, I must know about you at all times. Kisses."

I puff, feeling annoyed with all these orders I'm being given. Don't be a brat, don't be late, don't disappear on me... Just why do people feel they can order me left and right and...

Oh, talking about that, I suddenly remember I have to tell mom my destination has changed so I rush to type her back a nice message and let her know I'll be working on projects in Cannes, for the beginning.

She replies expressing her concerns with the plans but still telling me how happy she is for my new... first adventure. She says I get to see the world.

And right she is. Italy is next.

The flight attendant requests my passport telling me that I'll have it back when my formalities are done in NY and the designated driver will show me off to the next flight.

Cool. All I have to do is carry my butt from one flight to the other and enjoy dreaming about my very near future.

I feel sad I can't tell papa about it. He'll not understand and probably restrict my freedom of movement and have a pair of locker-like security guys following me everywhere.

He'll find out eventually and I can only hope that mom will manage to smooth his anger because he will be angry.

Oh boy, he will be angry.

I arrive at NY airport in no time and I'm instructed to wait in the private jet until I'll have my passport ready.

It took no more than ten minutes.

Just how rich this Fabio guy is? Only he and papa I know to have this power everywhere.

As instructed, the designated driver takes me from the private jet by yet another car and then to my new flight, destination Nice.

I can't even begin to say how happy I am about the first-class ticket. That means space enough to stretch my bones and sleep.

The flight seems ready to take off when I get on board. Something tells me I'm the last passenger, the queen that comes into the Royal hall the last. Oh, the honor...

The driver walks behind me, up the stairs, carrying my purse like I'm some sort of VIP or something and then another nice flight attendant shows me off to my seat while the driver hands me the purse.

"This is your passport Miss Emillia," he says.

"Thank you," I reply elegantly while he turns around and leaves, not before wishing me a safe flight.

We take off a few minutes after my boarding. I'm set for a flight of fourteen hours straight. Never flown this long before and I truly hope for some sleep through most of the trip, if not all.

And sleep I did. A few times a flight attendant came in to bring me drinks and snacks and dinner and breakfast and pretty much anything I needed to feel like a first-class traveler.

The last time she came she informed me that we were preparing for landing, music to my ears. Finally, I get to get off this flight and... let's hope Fabio will take me to my accommodation and I can have a nice hot bath and... food.

I need real food, damn it.

A handsome young man, dressed in a dashing elegant black suit and wearing a shining smile picks me up from the flight and then follows me around the airport like a puppy until we finally get to pick up my luggage and exit the airport.

"Welcome Miss Emillia. Mr. Fabio is waiting for you at the main entrance," he says in English tinted with a French accent while I walk proudly, leaving him behind to struggle to keep up with me.

I'm not a rude person, my papa grew me better than that. But his words have passed my ears like some lines from a movie I don't enjoy, staring at the airport exit.

Once I'm out through those doors my life will completely change. I'll be no more papa's little princess but the woman to be on her own, earn her living, her status, her fame or downfall. So why don't I do it with pride and confidence?

Thoughts are rushing through my mind like thunders, taking me from comfort to anguish, from wishes of being stronger to the depth of fear of failure, and my breathing races like stallions.

Suddenly I realize I don't where my lollipop is and I start digging into my purse until I find one and stick it into y mouth taking yet another deep breath and deciding not to give a damn about those who believe I won't do it.

And with these thoughts in my mind I proudly stick my chest in front, my head up and the lollipop in the corner of my mouth, walking confidently toward the exit.

As expected, Fabio is waiting for me, precisely in front of the doors. Once I come into his view he stands up straight from the leisure position he has had until now, leaning against his expensive car.

I love the effect I have on him. He should know right from the beginning that I'm not a woman easily to impress.

He does look more than surprised though, gapping at me while walking closer.

"Signorina Tozzi..." he mumbles a greeting when I'm just in front of him. "Welcome to France. I trust you've had a good trip."

"Not from my best ones but I appreciate the first-class ticket. That indeed made things more pleasant," I reply with the widest smile I've ever been capable of.

Yeah... you see, I've just remembered I cursed him in one of my text messages and now I'm truly hoping my million shining gems smile will wipe that off.

He smiles ironically back at me.

"We will do our best next time, Signorina Tozzi," he mocks.

He opens the back door of his SUV and we both get in the back seats.

"So, you'll be living at the mansion for most of the period but we will also use a very apartment in Nice, in Negresco Hotel. For those days when you won't feel to drive to the mansion outside of your city," he says.

"When will I see the construction site?"

"Eager to work?" he laughs and covers my left hand with his.

I pull my hand quickly and hide it in my lap and the message is well understood because he becomes serious and changes the tone.

"Don't worry. There is plenty of time. Why don't you take a week and enjoy Cannes first? I'm sure you will like it," he continues coldly and looking away, but forcefully fetching my hand and pulling it towards him.

Almost the next second after his move and the horrified look in my eyes phone rings and once he sees the caller he throws my hand away as if someone is watching him doing something wrong.

"Figlio di puttana, sapevo che saresti stato qui," he whispers when picking up. (You motherfucker, I knew you would be here.)

I turn my head away, pretending I don't understand, not at all interested in his fool mouth or his conversation but suddenly the muscles on my back tense when his tone changes abruptly.

"I know. I've seen them even before arriving at the airport. It's good you're not with us, although I believe they're sure you're in here," he continues in the same whisper which changes to a rough, worried tone. "Raffa, no! We don't know who they are!"

"Cazzo, figli di puttana marocchini!" he curses and then throws away the phone. (Fuck, motherfucker Moroccans.)

My first thought goes to papa. This mood and stress I know so well and usually, papa would take us in hiding whenever a situation was coming up.

I'm expecting to be taken in hiding, this time not by papa, but by Fabio. Why else would I occasionally live in a hotel if my accommodation is actually at the mansion, as he has said?

At least my life here will be no stranger to me.

"Is everything alright?" I challenge him though I can clearly see how disturbed he is.

"I'll never understand why he's so stubborn and risk himself this much!" Fabio mumbles to himself.

"Is Raffa so important to you?" I surprise him with a blunt question.

I mean, papa always cares for the safety of his men, but they work for papa exactly to risk their lives and save ours. What's so different about this Raffa?

"If he is important to me?! The question is are we important enough to him," he replies without thinking twice which seems to have been a mistake because as soon as the words come out of his mouth a shiver of realization crosses his eyes and snaps at me as if praying I didn't hear him.

"What..." I mumble trying to make a sense of his words.

"What...?" he says without meaning it and fetches his phone as soon as he can, like... in the same second.

"Take left here!" he orders to our driver who immediately pulls the steering wheel to the left. "Pico, vieni a prendermi dal luogo che ti o appena inviado! Subito!" he shouts to someone over the phone. (Pico, come and pick me up from the location I've just sent you! Now!)

The car comes to a sudden stop under a safety bridge and Fabio nervously calls someone who doesn't seem to bother to pick up.

The anger that takes him over makes me fear and I freeze staring at him constantly.

He gets out of the car and starts pacing around calling and calling and cursing in Italian as if the skies have opened and doomsday is about to fall on us.

When a new car stops next to ours he swings the door open and gives quick orders to the driver.

"Porta la signora all'hotel. Richiama e assicurati che ci siano guardie alla sua porta fino al mio arrivo." (Take the lady to the hotel. Call back up and make sure there are guards at her door till I come).

"Che diavolo sta succedendo?" I shout, worried for my life. (What the hell is going on?)

My perfect Italian seems even a bigger shock to him as he freezes and stares back at me.

"Tu... tu non parli, non ti muovi, cazzo, non respiri nemmeno finché non torno. Ascolta quello che ti viene detto e aspettami. Tranquillamente. Capisci?" he gives me yet another order without waiting for any reply or rejection or pushback. He doesn't seem to have the time. (You... you don't talk, you don't move, fuck, you don't even breathe until I'm back. You listen to what you are told and wait for me. Quietly. Do you understand?)

I lean against the back seat of the car trying to settle my racing heart.

Now, this was not the beginning I was expecting. I'm not in search of the same life I've been living till yesterday and yet, here I am, jumping from the pool I've been runway away from to a lake where I have all the premises to drown.

"We will reach the hotel in no time, Miss Emillia," the driver says in a warm tone meant to soothe my anxiety.

And it did to some extent but only when he picked up his phone and called for the extra guards, as he was told.

He drove calmly for about ten minutes more speaking to me about the city and places to visit.

I know he wouldn't usually do that, he's not a tourist guide after all, but he gave me the impression that he was trying to take my kind away from the recent events, taking glances at me through the rear mirror from time to time, checking on me.

Once we arrive two guards welcome us at the main entrance and we all get in the hotel and walk straight to the elevator, as if this is a place they own.

The heavy silence falling on all of us makes my ears pop but I keep quiet and wait.

A phone ringtone pricks suddenly and the driver replies.

"Si. Siamo all'hotel. Tutto bene. Si, Signor Raffa." (Yes. We are at the hotel. All good. Yes, Mr. Raffa.)

Uh, again this Raffa guy! I think and roll my eyes while the guard is still on the call.

And still, strangely more than ever knowing this Raffa guy is asking about me and making sure I'm safe... makes me not fear anymore.

~~~~~
Dear Reader, thank you for being here. 🤗