The Italian

by T L Swan

  It’s every man for himself now.

  The waiter leaves us alone, and Franco looks over at me. “It’s so good to finally see your face, Olly.”

  I fake a smile. “Yours, too.” I look over his shoulder to the level above. Enrico is sitting in the corner with a group of men. He says something, and they all burst out laughing. What was so funny? His hair is a little longer than when I was with him. His face is still…

  “How are you liking Italy?” Franco breaks me from my thoughts.

  I drag my eyes back to my date. “Great, thanks.”

  I don’t want Enrico to see me. What am I supposed to do? Should I leave? What would I say?

  “I’ve been looking forward to our date all week.” Franco smiles.

  The waiter arrives with our drinks. “Here you go.”

  I pick the glass up and immediately take a big gulp. “Can you bring me another, please?” I ask. Franco and the waiter exchange puzzled looks.

  “So thirsty,” I mutter into my glass. “Parched, actually.”

  “Tell me all about yourself,” Franco asks sexily. His eyes focus in on me as he waits for me to speak.

  I stare at him. “You want to know about me?” What do I say? I don’t fuck on first dates because the one time I did, the guy was a bastard and, oh, guess what? He’s right over there, leaving me to look for the closest escape route?

  “Well…” Enrico laughs out loud. I stop still. He has the most incredible laugh.

  I snap my eyes back to Franco, shit what was I saying? I pause as I try to get my bearings. Damn, Enrico has me completely frazzled. “Well, as you know, I’m Australian and I’ve recently moved to Milan for a job.” I sip my drink. I don’t want to tell him too much in case he’s a serial killer or something. “I’m having a great time. Why don’t you tell me about you instead?”

  “Okay, I’m in banking…” He begins to talk but I completely zone out as my eyes roam up to the man at the table above us.

  Enrico Ferrara.

  He’s wearing a dark suit, and he looks different. More… cultured or something. Older.

  But what the hell is he doing in Milan?

  I frown as a distressing thought springs to mind. Oh no. Seraphina!

  He is Seraphina’s fiancé. Of course, he is. She’s frigging beautiful.

  Oh God, this is my worst nightmare.

  I pick up my glass and drain it. I glance up to see Franco frown as if he is waiting for me to say something. Wait, did he ask me a question? My eyes widen. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I really like you,” he whispers.

  What? I’ve said three words. How can you really like me? I fake a smile. “Great.”

  Her grabs my hand across the table. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

  I stare at him. Okay.”

  “I like you, you like me…”

  I take another big gulp of my drink. I wasn’t joking before; I really am parched. It’s bordering on deep dehydration now.

  “Let’s have dinner and go home. I know the perfect way to get to know each other.”

  I choke on my drink. “What?” I splutter, coughing.

  “I mean, we can just fool around if you like.”

  “Fool around?” I frown as I glance back up to Enrico. Oh man, this night is going down in the history books as the worst date ever. I open the menu and gaze at the selections. “Let’s just eat, Franco. I’m not that type of girl. I’m offended that you think I am.”

  “Oh.” His face falls. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “Well, you did. I’m not going home with you, so get it out of your head right now.”

  I try to control my racing heart, and I can feel perspiration heat my underarms.

  Just act calm, for fuck’s sake. You can get the hell out of here as soon as you eat.

  “Hmm, what looks good?” I hope I get food poisoning and get taken away in an ambulance. Anything is better than this.

  My eyes float back up to Rico. His legs are wide, his back is straight, and everything about him screams dominant male. He’s deep in conversation, smoking a cigar as he drinks out of a small crystal tumbler. I’ve never seen anyone smoke sexily before… but of course, he is. The way his lips wrap around the cigar, his cheeks hollow as he sucks. His eyes are dark, and fuck me, he’s so hot.

  I imagine him leaning back against the headboard naked after having sex, smoking a cigar. His cock still hard and throbbing… weeping. He could make anything look sexy.

  My blood begins to boil as I remember the last words he spoke to me.

  You’re more trouble than you’re worth.

  An attractive waitress says something in his ear as she leans over him. He gives her a sexy smile and winks.

  Huh, what did she just say? Did she ask for his number or something?

  She walks off and he says something to the men. They all laugh again.

  “I just really like you,” Franco says. “Don’t be angry with me.”

  I stare at Franco, deadpan. I have zero attraction to this man. I’m going to have to text Natalie for an escape plan because this is intolerable.

  I glance back up to the table at Enrico. I can hardly drag my eyes away from him.

  He’s looking around and the restaurant slowly, and suddenly his eyes meet mine across the room.

  Fuck.

  A frown cross Enrico’s face as he stares at me.

  I snap my eyes away. “Franco,” I whisper. “This isn’t probably…”

  Enrico stands and begins to stride over to our table.

  Franco grips my hands in his tightly. Holy mother of fuck, help me.

  “You want me, I want you,” Franco continues.

  Shut up. Shut up now, you horny freak.

  “Olivia,” Enrico barks, standing over us.

  I look up at him, and the blood drains from my face. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit. His dark hair is in curls, and his big lips are a wonderful shade of fuck me. The bastard has become even better looking than before. How is this fucking possible?

  He looks down at Franco and our joined hands. “Who are you?” he barks at him.

  “I’m her boyfriend,” Franco replies, winking at Enrico.

  My eyes widen.

  Enrico glares at him, and his jawline moves as he clenches his teeth. “Get away from her now,” he growls.

  Oh, this night is getting worse. “He’s not going away, you go away,” I fire back.

  Enrico drops his hands to the table and leans down toward me. “Don’t push me, Olivia,” he hisses.

  Who does this fucker think he is? My anger boils. “I’ll push you over in a minute. I said… go… away.” I roll my eyes and pick up my drink to add to the theatrics.

  “I need to talk to you outside… now.”

  “No. Leave me alone, I don’t want to see you. You’re annoying me.”

  But we all know that’s not true. I want to jump into his bastard arms and kiss his bastard lips, and then punch him in the bastard face. Bastard of all bastards.

  His brows shoot up in surprise.

  Franco chooses now to speak. “You heard her. Fuck off.”

  Enrico stands up, his back straightens, and he glares at Franco. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything, he just glares at him. If death had a stare… this is it.

  My heart is beating so hard, and this is beyond uncomfortable.

  “I said, fuck off,” Franco repeats.

  “Stop it,” I whisper in a panic. Jeez, does this guy have a death wish? He’s going way too far with the aggression. This is my battle. Only I’m allowed to tell Enrico to go away.

  Enrico stares down at Franco as he tucks his hands into his suit trouser pockets. “You should be very careful with who you tell to fuck off,” he warns calmly.

  I swallow the lump in my throat as I look between them.

  I need to diffuse this situation. “Enrico, go back to your table. We’ll talk after I have my dinner.” He narrows his eyes at Franco. “Please, Rico,”
I whisper.

  His eyes find mine. “Outside. Now.”

  “What?”

  He takes my hand and pulls me from my chair without saying another word. Before I know it, I’m being marched toward the door.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper angrily.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Lui chi è?” Translation: who is he?

  “Speak English!” I snap as we burst out through the doors and into the restaurant foyer.

  “Who is that?” he growls.

  Words escape me. What the hell do I say?

  “Chi diavolo è lui, Olivia? Translation: who in the fucking hell is he, Olivia?

  “You’re trying my patience. Answer my question. Who is that man?” he barks.

  “He’s my date.”

  “What?” I flinch. “Vi ammazzo entrambi con le mie fottute mani.” Translation: I’ll kill you both with my bare fucking hands.

  The door of the restaurant bursts open, and Franco appears.

  I turn toward him in a rush. I know I need to get rid of him. “I need to talk to you. Inside… now.”

  “I thought I told you to fuck off!” Franco yells at Rico.

  Jeez, what is this power tripper on? “Franco, stop, please.”

  Enrico steps closer to Franco. “Be very careful.”

  “You be careful,” Franco replies.

  “Franco, stop it.” Ugh, all men are idiots.

  “Get away from her,” Franco says as he pushes Enrico hard in the chest.

  Enrico smiles at Franco, and he has this creepy calmness about him. “Push me again,” he dares him.

  My eyes widen. “Stop it!”

  “Go on,” Enrico whispers.

  What the actual hell is going on here? “Stop it, you idiots.”

  “Get on Tinder and find your own date!” Franco yells.

  Enrico’s horrified eyes come to me. “You met him on Tinder?”

  My heart sinks.

  Enrico loses control and turns to Franco. He punches him hard in the face, and Franco floats to the ground like a feather.

  “Oh my God!” I bend to help Franco. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Enrico’s nostrils flare as he glares at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so angry. “Ti porto fino a qui e ti trovo con qualcun altro? Che diavolo sta succedendo?” Translation: I bring you all the way here and find you with someone else? What in the fucking hell is going on?

  “What are you saying?” I cry. “I don’t understand you.”

  “All this time,” he whispers, almost to himself. He shakes his head in disgust as his furious eyes hold mine. “And now I find out you’re just another Tinder whore.”

  My face falls.

  He turns and pushes out of the foyer and through the front doors, storming outside.

  The door bangs as it closes. I watch him leave, in shock. What the hell just happened?

  The restaurant door opens in a rush and Franco’s cousin comes into view. “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispers angrily as he peers out the glass doors to see if Enrico gone. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “He was being a jerk,” Franco huffs.

  “Do you know who that is?”

  “Who?”

  “That’s Enrico Ferrara.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The biggest crime boss in all of Italy.”

  Franco’s face falls. “That was him?”

  “What?” I scoff. “That’s ridiculous. Enrico is a policeman.”

  Vinnie pulls Franco’s jacket closed and fixes him up. “I don’t know what he told you, lady, but my sister’s old boyfriend used to be a driver for them.”

  “What? That’s not true, it’s insane.” I push out of the front door and I look up and down the darkened street. It’s silent, and there is no sight of Enrico.

  “I’m going,” I tell them before I hold up my hand and a cab pulls over.

  “I’ll call you,” Franco calls out.

  “Please don’t.” I slam the door shut. “I’d rather be single.”

  My heart is hammering in my chest as the taxi begins to pull away. Shame and adrenaline are pumping through my body.

  Who the fuck does Enrico Ferrara think he is?

  It’s funny that the more you tell yourself not to think about something, the more your mind fixates on it.

  I’ve been going over and over the things Enrico said on Saturday night.

  You’re just another Tinder whore.

  Five words have cut me to the bone.

  The worst part is, it’s true.

  I was never cut out for dating a stranger. How could I possibly think I was?

  I keep seeing the sheer disgust on his face. The way he stormed out and left his friends without going back. I didn’t sleep all night for thinking about that look on his face. It will haunt me forever.

  I’m so flat today, and I know it’s stupid. Why on earth would I let an asshole upset me so much? I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me. What does his opinion matter, anyway?

  I hate that it does.

  “So, we’re nearly done,” Seraphina says, interrupting my thoughts as she looks around her office. She’s wearing a fitted woolen plum dress and knee-high black boots. She’s channeling Sophia Loren today. “What else do you want to know? Have I forgotten to tell you anything?”

  I exhale. “Seraphina, can I even do this job?” I whisper. “I’m so nervous about it. What if I mess this up?”

  She smiles at me and takes my hands in hers. “Listen to me, Olivia. You are going to be wonderful at this. You know what you’re doing, I’ve been watching you.”

  Seraphina has been a big surprise. She’s smart, kind, and supportive—not at all like the sex kitten I had her pegged as.

  “I wish you weren’t leaving.” I sigh. “You’re the only person I like around here.”

  She giggles as she begins to pack up her desk. “I know but love calls. When in Rome and all that.”

  I watch her for a moment, wondering if it’s him. Is her fiancé Enrico? I bet it is. I bet it’s a strange coincidence that has been sent to test my sanity. Why wouldn’t he fall madly in love with her? She’s all kinds of wonderful.

  Just ask her. “What’s your fiancé’s name?”

  “You’ll meet him in a minute. He’s collecting me from downstairs.”

  I stare at her. “He’s coming… here?”

  “Yes, so grab that box and carry it down for me.”

  I feel faint. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Everyone else has already gone. Let’s go.” She smiles as she takes one last look around.

  I pick up one of her boxes with my heart hammering in my chest. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see him with her.

  We get into the elevator, and she smiles and talks, while I stare at her, crippled by fear.

  Please don’t be him, please don’t be him, I begin to chant in my head.

  The doors open, and we walk out into the foyer. My heart drops. Two men are standing with their backs to us.

  I follow Seraphina over to them, and then she turns to me. “Olivia, this is Johnathan my fiancé, and his brother Marcus.”

  I look up at Marcus and he smiles and shakes my hand. “Hello, Olivia.”

  “Hi.” I smile, grateful as he takes the box from me.

  It’s not him.

  Seraphina kisses my cheek. “Good luck, I’ll call you Monday morning.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodbye!” they call as Seraphina, her fiancé, and his brother disappear out of the front doors.

  I slump against the wall. Thank God.

  “Olivia!” I turn to see Giorgio, my boss. He’s wearing black business pants and a cream shirt with the top few buttons undone at the top. His honey hair is perfectly styled. He really is lovely.

  “Oh, hello.” I smile.

  He has his briefcase with him. “How about we grab that glass of wine?”

  “What… now?” I fr
own.

  “Why not? Do you have other plans?”

  “No.” I stare at him for a moment. Why is he being so friendly? Seraphina said this is very uncharacteristic for him. “Yes, okay, sure.” I shrug. “Why not?”

  He holds his arm out and I stare at it for a moment. Is he asking me out on a date?

  “Oh, darling.” he scoffs, as if reading my mind. He grabs my hand and puts it around his arm. “You are the wrong sex for me. This is completely platonic.”

  I smile, embarrassed that he just saw the fear on my face. “Thank goodness for that. I’ve had more than enough bad dates for one week.”

  He laughs, and we walk out into the street with my hand linked around his arm. “So, tell me… how are you settling in?”

  “Good. It will take a little time to get used to everything.”

  He gestures to a bar and we walk in. “Is everyone being good to you at work?”

  “Uh-huh.” I smile, even though that bitch Rosalie on reception is a rude pig.

  “Shall we just sit at the bar?”

  “Okay.” I smile as we go to take our seats there.

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “Maybe some Prosecco?”

  “Great choice. Can we have two glasses of Prosecco, please? Vorremmo anche degli antipasti, per favore,” he tells the bartender. Translation: We will have some starters too, please.

  “How is your hotel?” Giorgio turns back to me.

  “Great.” I look around the beautiful bar. It’s dark and moody, and I’ll have to remember to come back to this place. “I’m going to start looking for an apartment this weekend.”

  He rests his chin on his hand and smiles over at me.

  “What?” I smirk.

  “You’ve been to Italy before?”

  “Yes, Rome and The Amalfi Coast.”

  “When was that?”

  “Two years ago.”

  Our glasses of Prosecco are put down in front of us. Giorgio picks his up. “Two years. That’s a long time.”

  I get the feeling he’s asking me these questions for a reason. “Why are you asking?”

  He sips his wine. “No reason. Just curious.”

  “Do you live around here?”

  “In Milan. I’m originally from Sicily but have been here for ten years.”