MAfia Desire

Epilogue.

A YEAR LATER ...

ANTONIO

Goa's bright sun shone on Cora, who was wobbling off on her pudgy legs, hanging onto the maid's hand. Her face hidden under the huge sunhat and wearing shiny pink kiddy sunglasses. I watched the four of them, an odd group. Two huge men wearing black, carrying plastic buckets and spades, the colourfully dressed Indian maid, and the toddler in her pink swimming Pamper with little mermaids printed on it.

It had been a mission to get the four out of the house, especially Cora, who was almost permanently attached to Divya's legs, mama a constant sound ebbing off her sweet lips.

Even though she had never told me this, I knew Divya felt insecure knowing she had no claims to her. Something I had put right when she officially adopted Cora last month as her mother.

I had taken my time getting the paperwork done, giving respect to Vladislav after his daughter's death. I didn't know if Yuliya and her lover being found dead of an overdose in their apartment was her father's doing.

I wasn't sure when I had called Vladislav if I had insinuated it. I didn't think I had. But I was sure in my knowledge that the man did nothing without true conviction.

It was unfortunate. The death of the biological mother of my child. But no one would argue that she was ever going to be a mother to her. One day, when she was old enough, we would have that strange talk with our daughter about her heritage. This was something Divya strongly desired, never wanting to diminish Cora's Russian roots. It was also because of her, mainly, that Vladislav, his wife, and their sons were a part of our life and of Cora's. My wife had enough charm in her to wrap even the Bratva around her sexy little pinkie.

The only person I knew who didn't fall for her charms was my mother, with whom I neither had contact nor wanted to. She was better off out of our life, a choice she herself had made.

I watched the foursome disappear beyond the coconut trees and walk towards the beach. I cared for the life we lived in Goa in this small terracotta-coloured beach house with blue wooden shutters. Divya wanted to come here three times a year, and I gladly allowed it. Although I equally enjoyed the time we spent in Portsmouth, Milan, or Palermo. I honestly doubted if location mattered to me as long as my wife and child... children were near me. But I was glad I didn't have to live in Boston anymore.

When they were almost a speck on the beach, I closed the door. They would be back soon enough, even though I had given strict instructions to my men. I wanted to use the time to maximum advantage.

I stalked through the living room and skidded to a stop in the kitchen, letting my eyes fall on the beautiful sight that met me. Barefoot and pregnant in a dress the colour of the sun, she was the creation of all God's talents, exuding hotness.

Moving from the sink to the blender, she carried in her hands a bunch of ripe mangoes, bringing back memories of another time. Her face lifted when her line of sight fell on me.

Her face was a bit rounder than six months ago, but what I didn't like was the frown that fell on it.

"I know that look, and the answer is no."

I sauntered over to her and stood on the opposite side of the island, lazily watching her drop one cut mango after another in the blender, her hands the colour of her dress.

"What look?" I emanated innocence.

"It's the middle of the day, mister."

Since when has that ever stopped me?"

"Am I just a fuck machine to you?"

"And more," I said, my voice catching on the more.

So much more.