Malta with My Best Friend’s Dad by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Three

Kelly

“I knew this would happen.”

I smile over at Lena as she sits on the balcony, her feet resting on the opposite chair with her laptop balanced on her thighs. The sun has only recently risen, but it’s so hot here, I’m finding it difficult to sleep. Plus I’m eager to check out Valetta, the capital city.

She grins over at me, silhouetted by the early-morning sunlight. “I’ll be done in…” She trails off, laughing. “Okay, I don’t know when I’ll be done. You know what I’m like. I can stop, though, if you want?”

I aim a finger at her. “Don’t you dare stop. Because you’re right. Yeah, I do know what you’re like. If you stop now you won’t be able to focus on anything until you’ve written the scene. You’ll end up dream walking into the harbor.”

She holds up her hands. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But I feel so bad. I don’t want to abandon you.”

“Lena, we’ve talked about this about a million times. If you want to write, write. I’m a big girl. I’ll grab some breakfast and then head into the city. It’s so hot, I’ll probably come back at lunchtime. Maybe I’ll see if you’re ready then?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m one hundred percent certain. So no more guilt, kay?”

Her face lights up, the way it has countless times since we were kids. “Kay.”

That’s what we always say.

Kay, instead of okay, stemming from when we were kids and I somehow had a problem pronouncing the word properly.

I head back into my bedroom for a quick shower. I try not to look at my reflection as I walk across the room naked. Looking at myself in the mirror has always been hard, my eyes drawn to my curvy form only for nasty thoughts to populate my mind.

After showering and changing into a fresh dress, I leave our apartment – clean and tidy but nothing fancy – and head through the silent city to the bus stop.

I know that later all the shops and museums will open, but this early, with few people about, Medina really does earn its nickname.

My footsteps echo quietly around me as I walk under the shadows of the two-story buildings, truly feeling like I’m in a Medieval city, my mind filling it with monks and nuns and knights and all manner of historical characters.

I can’t help but let out a few notes, under my breath so as not to disturb the peace, as I wander through the large entranceway – like a castle’s gates, propped open – and head down the hill toward the bus stops at the bottom. If my tourist guide has told me the truth, I should be able to get the first bus to Valetta in about twenty minutes.

My eyes widen as I take in the landscape around me, so flat I can see for miles and miles. Malta is a tiny island and on the horizon, the sea glistens, as though inviting me to disappear to some seaside hideaway and sing the day away.

I sit down at the bus stop and let out a long breath, feeling the heat fill my chest, and trying not to let my mind wander to the dream I had last night.

And yet I can’t stop it from returning, making a home in my mind as dreams of Kane always do. I can remember, lying there as he peeled back the covers, looming over me with his hulking bulging chest muscles, those ripped firm pectorals I’ve never been able to forget ever since I saw them.

“Are you wet for me?” His voice was like a wolf’s growl in my mind. “I know you’ve been thinking about me. I know you’ve been dreaming about me. It’s time to make it a reality.”

I whimpered and shook my head as he pressed his body against mine, both because I knew I was going to wake up at any second… and because I knew how wrong it was, what a betrayal it was to Lena. She was in the next freaking room and I still couldn’t stop myself from getting soaked for her dad.

I close my eyes and let sunlight rest against my eyelids, glowing red, trying to push away thoughts of Kane. I always tell myself I won’t think about him again after every dream, and yet it never works.

Opening my eyes, I look up and down the street.

There’s nobody here apart from me – it’s not even six o’clock yet and I’m early for the bus – so I let out a few notes of a song, letting them hover in the air.

I sing wordlessly, practicing hitting the right beats at the right moments, practicing my vocal range and control.

It feels good to sing like this, carefree, imaging I’m standing in front of a crowd of people.

It doesn’t even have to be a big crowd, but the truth is, the horrible stinking truth is, I’ve never even sung in front of anybody except for mom and dad and Lena. And, now that I think of it, Kane… because he was in the background once when I was singing for Lena.

But of course, he took no notice of me.

I cut off when I hear footsteps approaching behind me.

Is it Lena, changing her mind about coming into the city?

There’s a smile on my face as I turn, but it dies instantly, replaced by a flat line that’s supposed to telegraph neutrality, no judgment, nothing that could make this man angry.

He looks like a criminal, a tall wide man in a leather jacket with tattoos covering his neck. His face is flat and mean-looking and his hair glistens, but not like Kane’s, not alluringly. His glistens like he’s drenched it in too much product, and it’s combed over a bald spot. He even has a tattoo under his eye, I note as he gets closer.

He’s heading right for me.

“Hello, girly,” he says, stopping a few feet short from me.

Fear forces me to my feet, my hands hanging at my sides ready to defend myself if this man decides to do something.

But what the heck is he going to do?

I don’t know, but my instincts are screaming at me, telling me to get away from him as quickly as I possibly can. His eyes are narrowed and cold and there’s something about the way he’s smiling that makes me want to yell.

His voice is heavily accented, by not Maltese – which sounds like a cross between Italian and Middle Eastern. No, he sounds Russian, something like that.

“What’s wrong, Kelly?” He swaggers closer, his smile peeling across his face. “Not in the mood to talk, eh?”

I stare for a moment as my too-slow brain tries to work out what’s wrong with what he just said, why there’s so much panic coursing through me like a hydrant of anxiety has busted inside of me.

Then it hits me.

Kelly.

He knows my name.

“Who are you?” I force the words out past my quivering compulsion to leave, to flee, my fight-or-flight defenses kicking in. “What do you want?”

“I represent Sergey Abramov, the leader of the Bratva. Have you ever heard of the Bratva?”

I shake my head and he chuckles.

“Silly naive little girl, aren’t you? The Bratva is the most important and dangerous criminal organization in the world. Sergey is its leader in America, and he is very curious about you and Miss Lena taking a holiday here, alone. He is very curious about your arrogance… you are, shall we say, presumption that you will be safe.”

“I don’t understand.”

He moves yet closer, but my feet won’t move, as though roots have sprung from the earth and coiled around my ankles. There’s a sick twisting feeling in me, my mind spiraling into a hundred scenarios where this man causes me harm.

“Of course you don’t.” He reaches into his pocket, holding his hand there for a moment. “But don’t worry. Let’s go and get Lena and then I can explain it to you both.”

“No.”

That voice, the voice I dreamed about last night, the voice of the man who’s sent tingles shivering through my body more times than I could possibly count.

It’s the voice of the man who went missing three years ago, the voice of a man with thick arms and steel-gray hair and a smirk that will never stop following me.

The Russian looks over my shoulder, his eyes widening.

I turn and let out a gasp.

It’s Kane, fists clenched, arms bulging in his T-shirt.

And he looks ready for war.