Saviour

Chapter 1

It was the heat that hit me first. Sweaty and stifling, the warmth stuck to me as I lugged my suitcase out of the airport. The pavement burned beneath my feet as I waited, foot tapping impatiently on the pavement, for a taxi to finally arrive. 

20 minutes later I was at the front of the queue, studiously ignoring the fear that I'd managed to get sweat patches on my linen shorts, as the taxi driver loaded my suitcase into the car.

It was a short drive to the hotel, but not an easy one. The bustling traffic, scorching sun and Italian swearing were not at all suited to my plain English taste but I tried to stay hopeful. It'll all be worth it had become my mantra since starting my job. They can't break me. 

The latter statement became less and less believable as I was drowned further in the cloying heat. This was not the place for someone who hated summer, nor the time either given that it was in the middle of august; peak holiday season. 

As the taxi driver lugged my baggage out of the car, my mind travelled back to the day I was given the order to leave. God was it only yesterday?

My manager, a pompous ass by the name of Jason, was droning on about something boring as I mentally plotted ways to shut him up. 

There was duct tape of course, easy, efficient, but basic too.

On the other hand, a punch to the throat would do quite nicely although that did mean suing was an option. 

Maybe I could lock him in the cupboard and see if he'd just go to sleep. But then again- "Kara" a voice snapped me out of my reverie. "Yes sir?" I answered in a panic, my eyes snapping up to the annoyed scowl above me. "Am I boring you hon?" asked Jason, his tone sickly sweet and patronising.

"Of course not sir." I seethed, " Although I'd prefer it if you referred to me by my name" 

He laughed, standing up from his desk as my coworkers lowered their heads, each one cringing in the awkward silence. He'd hated me since the very start. 

Ok yes maybe some of that was my fault. Although in my defence, it was only one time when I'd gotten drunk and told him he must be trying to compensate for the size of his dick by being an even bigger one. 

I'd been very careful never to drink at office parties again...

"You know what?" he smiled (never a good sign), "I've got just the way to make it up to you. Next week the Marchetti corporation opens their newest hotel in Italy. Plenty of key players will be there and, with the succession issue within the company, we need our best eyes and ears on the scene in case they make an announcement. Can you guess who I've suggested should go?"

"Oh no sir I really can't go. I'm supposed to be visiting family, I asked for the week off remember? I haven't seen them in months. And I've never even been out of the country before so-"

"Kara."

"Yes sir"

"I recommended you because we need a hardworking journalist on this case. Are you not hardworking? Don't you care about your work?" I clenched my fists under the table as he continued smugly, seeming to take my silence for an answer.

 "All right then. I guess that's sorted. Kara will leave for Italy tomorrow, Tom you can take over her workload. I'm sure we'll all very much miss your presence."

And with that it was sorted. My flight was booked, bags packed, plans cancelled and I was soon on my way out of the country for the first time. Jason may have got what he wanted (me gone) but at least I was fulfilling his wishes in a gorgeous foreign country with pizza, beaches and hot men with accents, so really, who's the real winner here?

Finally in the comfort of my hotel room, I began to plan out my trip. 

For me, there's nothing like the joy of a well-planned list, complete with little checkboxes, highlighters and different coloured pens. Some might even say it's better than sex. (Actually no one says that but, if someone did, they'd find no judgement from me) 

After I'd stopped drooling over my to-do list, I quickly changed into the perfect sight-seeing outfit; a little white summer dress with a lace hem and sleeves, along with matching white high-heeled sandals. If I'd stayed in the memory of that boiling taxi ride any longer I'd never have left my room again, so a bit of exploring in the Italian sun was definitely necessary.

Planning to find a nice bench to sit an write on, I grabbed my notebook and began reading through my notes on the Marchettis, blindly grasping the door handle and leaving my hotel room to make my way downstairs. 

Maybe if I had been less engrossed in my notebook I would have taken note of the other people staying at my hotel (a Marchetti hotel of course) as I walked across the lobby. 

Maybe my eyes would have wandered from the page to the faces of the Romano Mafia, their weapons barely concealed beneath their matching black suits. 

Maybe I would have noticed the blood on their hands and decided not to walk into the consequences of whatever they'd been doing, choosing to go back to the safety of my hotel room instead. 

But I didn't.