Most of the time he had been working so Maggie was left to her own devices with the kids. Which meant spending time with the other wives and their kids. Even when Maggie’s parents visited, the wives turned up with homemade dishes of this and that and made a big thing of it and hosted a party or a big ‘family’ lunch. You were never alone, and you never left the family. Never. Unless you were dead, or they exiled you. Which, Alex mused, was what had happened to him.

Alex had never strayed from Maggie. With her, he had everything he wanted in a woman. They were partners, husband and wife. She never nagged or complained about his absences like he had heard other wives do. Just the thought of going home to her stirred his loins. That loving look in her eyes and the way she held him; he knew he would never find that anywhere else. He would die for her and would do anything to protect her, which was why they were now running this place.

Alex had once been the mafia’s assassin, killing whoever they ordered him to. But his last murder had been personal – the man who had tried to rape his beloved Maggie, and the brother of Alex’s old boss, Paul. Matteo had thought he could take what he liked, when he liked, including Maggie. Seeing her bruised and bleeding that day had set Alex’s teeth on edge.

And now, Alex would have to pay with his own life. The others had all turned against him and his family, but especially Paul. He’d lost favour in the mafia so quickly, it made his head spin. He’d been a ticking time bomb and he’d feared for his family’s safety. Alex had felt there was only one thing left to do and that was to give himself up to the police.

He was now known as a ‘rat’. The lowest of the low, betraying the mafia’s golden rule. Life had been hell and his family had put up with a lot, but now it was his turn to pay his family back. So, if suburbia and the Stepford Wives was what made them happy, then that was okay with him.

He knew they were coming for him, but if they wanted a shoot-out, they could bloody well have one. At least he would die with honour and not in hiding!

2 MEETING THE NEIGHBOURS

‘Oh my God Alex, look at the place, you wouldn’t recognise it.’ Maggie walked from room to room, surveying the massive changes a little bit of tender loving care had made. ‘Have you seen what they’ve done to the kitchen?’ Maggie couldn’t contain herself; she was buzzing with excitement. This picturesque village was the stuff that dreams were made of, and it was a world away from the life they’d been leading lately.

While they had opted out of the protection programme, the police were still offering them limited protection because of Alex’s high profile as a witness. And the police still had to approve of certain activities. They weren’t allowed to use social media and mobile phones were also a no-go area as they could potentially be tracked and traced. That was the hard part, especially for the kids. All kids these days had a mobile phone, but they both had to agree to certain conditions. Alex had also warned them all that the pub landline would probably be bugged, and the police would listen in on their calls, so they needed to be careful what they said and to whom. The police were also suspicious about whether Alex would beg forgiveness from the gangland bosses, change his statement and return to his old ways.

It was a high-profile international case involving many known mafia bosses across the globe. Their worlds would be blown wide open. Although a chill ran down Maggie’s spine when she thought of the other option; they’d had so many death threats, it sickened and saddened her at the same time. Living in fear all the time had caused all kinds of problems. Fun loving Dante had retreated into himself. Deana had lost a lot of weight and Alex seemed to have sunk into a depression and at one point had lost his libido, which was unusual for him, because he was always ready. Night or day. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t recognise herself either. She saw an old woman looking back at her, a world away from the woman who’d had her hair done every day before going to the supermarket.

Life had been so good and then it had turned sour. Inwardly, she blamed herself. Alex had only done what any husband would have done. There were times when she wished she’d kept her mouth shut about what Matteo had tried to do. But would her attempted rape have been a one off, or would he have come back for more? Mentally, she already knew the answer to that, and it chilled her bones.

‘I’m glad you’re happy Maggie. Even Deana seems to have a smile on her face lately, considering she’s usually a sulky teenager slamming every door she walks through!’

Maggie looked at her husband. He was a handsome man with his jet black, shoulder-length hair. His swarthy Portuguese looks and chiselled jaw made him quite striking. There were many times since they’d met that she’d felt she was punching above her weight, but he had brushed all of her insecurities aside and married her despite his family’s disapproval. And by family, she meant the gang lords of Portugal and Spain. They had objected to him marrying out of their circle. She would never be good enough, because she wasn’t one of them. They didn’t like outsiders who didn’t know the rules, but Alex had ignored all of that.

Maggie was from the East End of London; a publican’s daughter from a back-street pub where people wiped their feet on the way out. She’d had a good childhood, and she had loved her parents, but there had been times when she’d cringed at the clientele. They had all been duckers and divers, using the pub as a marketplace. Fences came in selling gold chains, and whatever else had fallen into their corrupt hands. Everyone had turned a blind eye; it was the code in the East End where no one saw or heard anything. This lifestyle had been the norm; even when some mad man came in waving a gun about, it was all hushed up away from the police. Of course, there was the usual protection rackets that went on and her father had let the back-room illegal poker games, set up by the local gangsters, carry on. But then he hadn’t really had a choice if he’d wanted a roof over his head. Life was tough, but that was the East End and people just accepted it. The good side, she thought to herself, was that your dear old granny could walk home from bingo with her winnings and no one would think of mugging her. It wasn’t allowed. These local gangsters had their turf and they looked after their residents. They were like Robin Hood heroes.

When she’d met Alex, her life had spiralled out of control, but that was another story, she thought to herself. Things were different now, and in some ways, she felt she had come full circle, living in a pub again. It was the only thing she was qualified for and the only thing she had ever really known. But only time would tell if they made this new life a success.

‘I love you Alex, my Latin lover, you know that don’t you?’ she said without thinking.

Blowing a kiss at her, he smiled. ‘Believe me, I know you do. No one would show someone they didn’t love so much loyalty.’ They made themselves a cup of coffee and chinked their coffee cups together. ‘To love and loyalty.’

Once Maggie had finished her coffee, she followed the sound of Deana’s shouts from upstairs and left Alex alone.

Standing up, he put his hands in his jean pockets and looked around the place that was their new home. Wandering into the main bar, he let his hands trail along the newly refurbished oak bar, tables and chairs. Although the smell of the fresh paint was making him sneeze, Alex felt a fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. This was a big leap into the unknown for his family, but they were determined to make it work this time. But what did he know about pulling pints or cooking and serving food to customers? They needed staff to help them. Thankfully, they’d been given the number for an agency. It wasn’t as simple as putting an advertisement in the window. Well, not for them, anyway. Each and every new team member would have to be vetted, he knew that.

He worried that maybe Maggie was getting ahead of herself and didn’t want this new life to come crashing down around her. He’d let her down once too often and vowed to himself he wouldn’t do it again. In two days’ time, their name would be above the door as the official publicans. He had made his choice and stood his ground; there was no room for turning back now.

Letting out a huge sigh, he peered through the windows to the street beyond. To his surprise he saw two women coming towards the pub. Curiously, he put his head closer to the glass. He recognised one of them. He’d seen her out jogging. Jogging! The very thought of it made him laugh, as he’d watched her from his newly decorated lounge. He’d called her the pink lady and had laughed out loud when he saw that she reached the end of the street and turned the corner red faced. ‘That bloody woman doesn’t run anywhere apart from the bottom of the street and then she stands around the corner having a cigarette. For someone who runs every day, she doesn’t half look purple in the face and gasp for breath a lot,’ he had joked with Maggie and Deana.

‘Maggie!’ he called now. ‘The witches of Eastwick are coming calling.’

Hearing Maggie’s feet coming down the stairs, he carried on watching the two women from his spot at the window.

‘The who? Who is it Alex and should I be concerned?’ Frowning, Maggie walked over to the window where Alex was stood.

‘Them two, there. It looks like those busybodies are coming calling. They’ve waited long enough to look polite, but here they come. I’ll leave you to it Maggie. You wanted suburbia, and I guarantee they are nosey bastards. On your head be it.’ He laughed and walked out of the room as the expected knocking on the door started.

Checking herself in the mirror, and cursing herself for not having time to change her paint-splashed top, Maggie opened the door and smiled. ‘Hello, can I help you? I’m sorry I don’t look my best, but there’s been a lot to do!’ Excusing herself as politely as possible, she looked on as an earthenware dish was pushed towards her.

‘I’m Olivia and this is Emma. We live at number 73 and 75. We would have come sooner but we didn’t want to intrude. We’ve cooked this lasagne to welcome you to the neighbourhood. Well, I have…’ Olivia beamed. ‘It’s my special recipe. I thought it might come in handy while you’re busy setting everything up.’

The other woman, Emma, thrust a bunch of flowers towards Maggie.

‘And these are from me. Welcome to the neighbourhood.’ They waited.

Taken aback, Maggie put the bunch of flowers under her arm and took the lasagne. ‘Thank you, Olivia, Emma. I’m Maggie, Maggie Silva. I would ask you in, but we’re in a bit of chaos at the moment,’ she lied. ‘But we will be open in a couple of days, so be sure to pop in for a drink on the house.’

‘Silver? I do hope your husband isn’t called Long John.’ Olivia laughed.

‘Not that spelling.’ Maggie smiled. ‘And believe me, that joke has been done many times. It’s Silva, with an A. It’s Portuguese.’

Slightly embarrassed, Olivia nodded. ‘Well, that is different – sorry.’ Maggie could tell Olivia was itching to see inside. ‘You have two children, don’t you? I’ve seen you with them down the local shop.’

‘Yes, my kids are called Deana and Dante. I think I’ve seen you both around, too.’ Mentally, Maggie thought about Alex’s nickname for the pink lady and smiled.

‘We can let you know where the local schools and colleges are. Avril, a little further up, is a teacher. Maybe she can put in a good word for you.’ Tapping her nose as though keeping a secret, Olivia grinned. ‘It’s not what you know, Mrs Silva, it’s who, especially around here.’

Giving her a knowing look, Maggie smiled. Inwardly, she wanted to laugh. These two were better than the Spanish Inquisition. ‘That would be lovely. Every little helps. Anyway, I had better go and put this in the oven, and thank you for the flowers – both of you. I’ll return the dish as soon as possible.’ She smiled and closed the door. Hearing a cough behind her, Maggie looked up the stairs and saw Alex standing on the landing.

‘Very well executed, Maggie love. They will be the first of many. Long John Silver my arse.’ He burst out laughing and walked away, leaving Maggie holding the lasagne dish. Her heart sank. She had to be on her guard – they all did – they knew that. Each day felt like walking on eggshells. But she had come through it and for now Olivia and Emma had just enough gossip to spread around the neighbourhood. She hoped she hadn’t given too much away.

‘Ooh Mum that looks good.’ Taking the lid off the earthenware dish, Deana sniffed at the freshly made lasagne. ‘Crikey, we could feed the whole village on that. How many of us do those old biddies think live here?’

‘Old biddies? Cheeky bugger! That Olivia looks younger than me. Still, it’s a nice thought though, isn’t it?’

‘If you say so Mum; personally, I’m with Dad. They thought it was a passport into the Silva palace. They can wait and pay like the rest of them,’ Deana laughed. Taking the dish out of Maggie’s hands, she put it in the oven.

‘My Deana, who made a housewife out of you?’ Maggie laughed as she watched her usually uncooperative daughter.

Both women laughed and began setting the table.

‘Wow, something smells good. Which takeaway was that?’ A hungry Dante followed his nose into the kitchen.

‘This is the Olivia and Emma takeaway, otherwise known as considerate neighbours introducing themselves. Along with those lovely flowers. See?’ Maggie pointed to the vase she had filled and put on the long dining table.

Not impressed by the vase of flowers, Dante took a seat at the table and waited patiently. ‘Is it ready yet?’

‘Five minutes, let me just fill a jug full of sparkling water and put some lemon in and then we can start. Where’s your dad?’

‘Out back, looking at the beer garden. He has no idea what he’s looking at, so he’s talking about sorting out a gardener, or asking the brewery if they can provide one. I said we should do it ourselves and then claim it back on expenses.’

‘Ooh, listen to the accountant,’ Deana joked. ‘He might not be as good looking as me but he has brains, I’ll give him that!’

‘Of course he has. He’s a natural-born mathematician my Dante, aren’t you love?’ Maggie grinned, then opened the oven door and let the smell of the lasagne waft out into the kitchen. ‘Deana, get the salad bowl out of the fridge, and that crusty French bread; it will go with this nicely.’