The Italian: Chapter 17

“She’s at a castle in Germany,” Marley says.

I frown. “What’s she doing there?”

“Sightseeing, by the looks of it. I’ve emailed you some pictures just now.”

I click open the email as I sit at my desk, and a barrage of images come up of Olivia Reynolds.

“Is she alone?” I ask, transfixed by her beauty.

“Yes, she arrived late last night. She got room service and has been pottering around town all day.”

I stare at the image of her looking over the balcony of what looks like a castle. She’s so deep in thought. Her blonde hair is up in a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a cream sweater and blue jeans.

She’s so beautiful.

I click to the next page of images. There’s one of her drinking coffee in a café, another of her eating an ice cream, followed by one of her driving a car, and then arriving at the hotel.

A scribe of her actions, all laid out for me to look at. I run my fingers over my lips as I stare at her images.

“Will that be all, boss?” Marley asks, snapping me out of my daydream.

“Yes, sorry. Stay with her. Let me know of any changes.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up, and I sit back in my chair, staring at the woman who’s become somewhat of an obsession to me.

The one I can’t have.

Knock, knock.

I minimize my computer screen. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Sergio says. “You got a minute?”

“Yeah, take a seat.”

Lorenzo and Sergio take a seat at my desk—my two right hand men. Lorenzo’s family has worked for my family for years, meaning he is my family now, too. Sergio had just started moving up the ranks before my father died. He’s been out on the field for ten years with them. He knows what he’s doing.

“What is it?” I sigh, not in the mood for working at all.

“We’ve got problems in Sicily,” Sergio informs me.

“Why?”

“When you gave up our cocaine ring down there—”

I cut him off. “No drugs. I fucking told you I won’t sell drugs.”

Sergio’s eyes hold mine. We have fought over this many times. “Let me finish.”

Lorenzo and I roll our eyes.

“By giving up our reign of that side of the business in Sicily, it went to someone else. His name is Luciano Lombardi, and he’s been making quite the name for himself.”

“How so?”

“They call him Lucky Lombardi. He’s into stand over tactics: torture, rape. There isn’t anything he won’t do to be the top dog.”

“He isn’t our concern.” I turn my computer on.

“He has his sights set on our brothels.”

I frown and turn my attention back to him.

“We have twenty-seven down there, as well as five strip clubs. Him and his growing band of men have started frequenting them as clients.”

I stand and pour myself a glass of scotch, my interest piqued. “And?”

“Last night he went into one and demanded the girls come and work for him. When they refused, he roughed a few of them up.”

My back stiffens. “He hit them?”

“Bashed the living fuck out of a couple of them. Three ended up in hospital.”

I inhale sharply. “Nobody hits a Ferrara girl and gets away with it.”

“What do you want us to do?” Sergio asks.

“Beef up security, send more men down there.”

“We need to take back the cocaine,” Lorenzo says.

“No!” I snap. “We’re not drug dealers anymore. We are better than that. That time is over.” We keep having this same argument. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you? No. More. Drugs.”

“If we let him take that, he will take the rest.” Sergio shakes his head. “The more blow he sells, the more power he gets. How long will it be before he infiltrates our other areas?” Lorenzo snaps. “This isn’t about the drugs, Enrico, it’s about the power that it gives whoever has it.”

“We have reputable businesses now. We do not need that side of the business. Stop thinking with fear. I will not be a lowlife drug dealer. That time is over for Ferrara. We are smarter now.”

“What about the girls? They’re in Sicily with a fucking madman who’s trying to take over our turf. Are you just going to let him?”

I stand and walk over to the window, and I look out at the city below. “Beef up security. Every girl is to be protected and I want to know everything there is to know about this Lucky Lombardi.”

“Yes, sir.” They both stand and leave the room. I sip my scotch as anger begins to seep into my bloodstream.

Nobody hits a Ferrara woman and gets away with it.

Nobody.

I sit in my car and stare across the street as she walks down the pavement.

I have a new pastime.

Stalking Olivia Reynolds.

Like a drug that I can’t have, I find myself thinking about her night and day.

Day and night.

I’m furious with Sophia, as if this is all somehow her fault. I can’t even talk to her at the moment. She doesn’t have what I need.

My drug has blonde hair, blue eyes, and the morals of a saint.

My drug made me feel worthy of her affection.

My drug is gone.

I watch on as she sits down onto a park bench and takes out her phone to scroll through it. She does this sometimes, as if not wanting to go back to her hotel.

My phone vibrates on the seat beside me, and I look over at the screen and frown.

It’s her, I scramble to answer it. “Hello, Olivia.”

“Hi,” she says softly. I smile as I watch her across the road. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” I whisper before I turn my mouth to brain filter on. I scrunch my eyes shut… stop it.

She pauses for a moment. “Can we meet up for a coffee sometime?

My heart flips. “Of course.” I smile, she wants to see me. “When. Now?” I offer.

“No, I’m at work now,” she lies.

“I see.” I run my finger along the side of the steering wheel as I watch her. “Tonight?” I ask.

“No. In the daytime is better.”

I clench my jaw, knowing that means it’s platonic. She feels safer in the day. “Okay, tomorrow?”

“Yes. Two o’clock?”

“The café near your hotel?”

“Yes. See you then.” She hangs up, and I watch her stare at her phone for a moment before she stuffs it in her bag and begins to walk away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, bella. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whisper with a smile.

She wants to see me. There’s hope.

I sit in the café and glance at my watch. It’s 2:10 p.m.

Where is she?

I’ve been antsy all day. What if she doesn’t come?

I sip my coffee, while her coffee sits on the table opposite me, going cold. I got here early. I couldn’t wait any longer.

She breezes in and gives me a little wave as she approaches the table. I smile like a puppy as I scramble to my feet.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” she replies as I kiss her cheek.

She’s wearing a white linen shirt and navy capri pants. Her blonde hair is in a low ponytail, and she is wearing minimal makeup.

Natural perfection.

She sits down opposite me.

“I ordered you a coffee but it’s probably cold. I’ll order you another.”

“It’s fine.”

I stare at her, lost for words. What do you say to someone you’ve been following around all week? “How are you?” I ask.

“Good.” She smiles. “Getting there. How are you?”

My face falls. I hate that she’s fine. Am I alone in this? “I’m okay.” I fake a smile. “You wanted to see me?” I ask.

“Yes, I did.” She pauses and sips her coffee. “I have a few questions that I need answered.”

“Okay.” She wants to keep seeing me. She’s going to agree to it. “Anything, ask me anything.”

Her eyes hold mine, as if she’s steeling herself to speak. “Why do you think that your heritage depends on who you marry?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you… you said that…” She stops herself. “I know these seem like stupid questions to you, but I didn’t ask you them the other day and they are eating away at me.”

“I’m the head of my family now, and with that comes responsibilities. It’s in my hands to ensure that my family continues on as it has for centuries.”

“And you were taught this as you grew up?”

“Yes. When I have my own children, it is very important for them to know my language and their culture, and what it means to be Italian.”

“I see.” She smiles sadly.

We sit in silence for a moment.

“So, that’s your magnet?” she asks.

I frown, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“When you meet someone, they have a magnet that attracts you to them. Everyone has a magnet. Some are stronger than others.”

I stare at her, fascinated by her theory. “What’s your magnet to me? What attracted you to me?” I ask.

She chuckles. “Funnily enough, my magnet to you is the exact reason that we can’t be together.”

“Such as.”

“I loved how you are so proud of being Italian.”

My heart drops.

“And how you care for your family and love your parents. How I felt so safe in your arms.”

I frown and take her hands over the table as emotion overwhelms me.

Baby.

“But it was your stance on marriage that caught me off guard. You told me that when you marry, it’s going to be for life.”

I clench my jaw. She’s here to say goodbye.

No. please no.

“But then you ruined it in spectacular fashion by telling me that you own brothels, and then wanting me to be your mistress.” She shrugs. “I’m wiping that from my memory bank permanently, by the way. I’ve never been so insulted in my entire life.”

“I didn’t buy the brothels. I took them over from the family. Don’t judge me on that. And…” I pause. “I just didn’t know how to walk away from you. I was trying to find an answer to this mess—one where we can stay together.”

“I know.” She smiles sadly. “And if my self respect was for sale, I would sell it to stay in your arms.”

We stare at each other, sadness and regret hanging in the air between us.

I wasn’t joking. I really don’t know how to walk away from her.

She pulls her hands out of mine with renewed determination. “What was your magnet to me?” she asks. “Just for interest’s sake.”

Sadness begins to roll in like a thick fog.

I raise my brows as I think. “When I’m with you, I forget who I am. You remind me of who I was before,” I whisper. “When I could be who I wanted to be.” Her eyes search mine. “You are the only honest thing left in my life, and I’m scared that if I lose you, I will lose myself.” I frown. Where the hell did that come from?

I drop my head, rattled by my own admission.

“Baby,” she whispers. “You are a good man. You don’t need me or anyone to prove that to you. And when you meet her and fall in love, you will know that too.”

“I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else,” I whisper as fear grips me. “What if I’m already in love with you?”

“You’re not.” She smiles sadly with a shake of her head. She cups my hand to her cheek.

“How do you know?”

“Because when you love someone, they instantly become your family. It isn’t a choice. Your family presents itself.”

My face falls. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I never meant for this all to happen but I couldn’t stay away.”

“I’m sorry, too.” She smiles as she takes her hand from my face, coldness fills the void.

“So, this is it?”

“Yes, this is it. I just wanted to say goodbye and tell you that I understand.”

I get a lump in my throat. “You do?”

“Of course, I do.” She gives me her first genuine smile of the day. “I wish you the best. She will come.”

I stare at her, unable to push a word pass my lips. She’s already here.

“And if I find out you have a mistress behind her back, I’m coming back here to kick your ass.”

My face falls. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll stay for the three months for the experience, but them I’m going to New York.”

My gaze drops to the table, unable to look her in the eye, and reining in my every instinct to drop to my knees and beg. “If it’s any consolation, I knew you would never become my other woman.” I pause for a moment. “But I had to try. I can’t change my heritage and what’s expected of me.” My eyes search hers. “If I could, I would.”

She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. It doesn’t make it any easier, but I understand. Thank you for explaining everything.”

I smile, relieved that she doesn’t hate me. I hate me enough for the both of us.

She stands.

“You’re leaving already?” I murmur as I stand with her. “Can we just be friends? Stay and drink your coffee.”

“We both know where that will lead.” She smiles sadly.

I take her in my arms, and we stand cheek-to-cheek for a long time.

I close my eyes in regret.

Don’t go.

“Goodbye, Rici.” She tries to walk away and cling onto her hand.

“What if I won’t let you go?”

“But you will.”

The truth hurts.

She turns, walks out of the restaurant, and out of my life.

I slump back into my chair and drag my hand down my face.

I inhale with a shaky breath. It will fine.

I’ll be fine.

It needed to come to an end.

I’ll be fine.

I sit at the table and stare at the bride.

Traditional white dress, madly in love with her groom.

Italian to the bone.

It never bothered me before, and I’ve been to a lot of weddings. This wedding is different. I can’t take my eyes off the newly married couple. I keep envisaging myself kicking the ten-tier wedding cake down. Smashing it to smithereens.

Screaming to the whole world that it’s a façade.

The groom leans over and kisses his bride, and my stomach twists with jealousy.

Italian blood.

The lifeline of my heritage.

Fernando, my cousin, can marry her because of the blood that runs in her veins.

I tip my head back and drain the scotch from my glass.

Stop fucking thinking about it.

I feel two warm hands on my shoulders. “Enrico.”

I glance up and smile as I see my mother. She’s dressed in her mourning black and as beautiful as ever.

“What is it, son?” she asks softly as she takes a seat beside me. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Mamma.” I fake a smile. “Busy.”

“That’s not true. I’ve seen you every day this week. Something is wrong, I can feel it. A mother knows these things.”

I clench my jaw and look out over the party. “Leave it, Mamma.”

“Andrea told me.”

I run my tongue over my teeth as my attention drifts back to her. “Told you what?”

“You’ve met someone.”

“I said leave it.”

“What’s the matter, Enrico? Talk to me.”

I shake my head. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“She doesn’t love you?”

I roll my eyes.

“She loves another?”

“No!” I snap, angered by the mere prospect. “She does not.” I drag my hands through my hair.

“Why can’t you have her?”

“Because I am Italian. Because I choose to honor my ancestors.”

Her face falls. “Oh, Rico,” she sighs. “My darling boy.” She watches me for a moment. “You are your father’s son. Honorable and brave.”

I stare into her big, brown eyes, and I see sympathy.

“Your father would want you to choose love, Rico. What good is tradition if your love is untrue?”

I stare at her, confusion setting in.

“When you find your love, you must fight to keep her.” She leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Without another word, she stands and walks away.

My eyes go back to the married couple. I don’t even know what true is anymore.

Olivia

Two weeks later

I look at the three swatches of fabric as I try to work out what I’m putting on this vision board for an upcoming dress I am delivering next week. One is browner than I thought, and damn it, I thought it was going to be perfect. I hold the sequin swatch over the fabric. They do still look good together though.

“Delivery for Olivia Reynolds,” someone says.

I glance up to see a delivery man with a big bunch of red roses. “What in the world?”

“Are you Olivia?”

“Yes.”

“Sign here, please.” I sign the card, and he hands over the heavy crystal vase filled with beautiful roses.

“Thanks.” I smile in surprise and open the card attached. It reads:

What the fuck?

I walk into the restaurant just after seven. I’ve been a bundle of nerves all day.

What does he want?

It’s been two weeks since I said goodbye to Rici. I would love to say that I haven’t thought of him once, but I would be lying.

He’s the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of at night.

His love has lingered on my soul.

The restaurant is dark and moody. Candles sit on top of every table.

I catch sight of him sitting at the back, and I smile as I make my way up to the table.

He stands and smiles. “Bella.”

Unable to help it, I smile at the mere sight of him. He takes me into his arms. “Hello.” We are genuinely excited to see each other and we hug and take a seat.

He has this twinkle to his eyes, and he pours me a glass of champagne.

“What’s this about?” I ask. “You wanted to see me.”

“I did.” He takes a sip and seems in a rush. “I’m just going to get straight to it. I have a proposition for you.”

“Do tell.”

“Although there are some conditions that you will need to adhere to.”

“Conditions?” I frown. What the hell is he on about?

“You will become a practicing Catholic.”

Huh?

“You will learn Italian and speak it as your first language.”

I frown and sit back.

“You will be under guard twenty-four hours a day, and will not go anywhere unaccompanied.”

“I’m sorry… what?” What the heck is he talking about?

“You will move to Lake Como with me, into my main residence.”

I raise my brows… speechless.

“You will become an Italian citizen.”

“Enrico, what are you talking about?” I whisper.

“I can’t live without you, Olivia.”

“What?”

“I have been fucking miserable since you left, and I am not giving you up. Not for my country, not for anyone.”

Has he lost his mind?

“I want you, in every sense of the word.”

“You want me to become… Italian?” I frown.

“Yes.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So that I can love you.”