The Italian

by T L Swan

  “Why do you think your mother hated the place? Why does your mother prefer to be in Rome?”

  “My mother married my father for love.”

  “Your mother married your father because of his name. She knew he loved another. She always came second to Angelina. She was happy with the arrangement and his money.”

  I drain my scotch and slam my glass down onto the table. I stand in a rush, and without another word, I storm out of the restaurant and around the corner into an alleyway. I’m hot, clammy, and disorientated. I push my hands onto my knees. With the realization that my whole life is a lie, I throw up.

  Olivia

  I stand at the 3D printer and fold my arms in a huff.

  It’s Monday afternoon. I hate this machine. Why does it print so slow? Where is the normal photocopier? Why is it all so technical?

  “How was your weekend?” Martin from accounts asks me.

  “Great. How was yours?” I smile.

  Great doesn’t come close to describing my weekend. I had the most fabulous weekend in history, and I am on a Ferrara high. I’m so high, I can’t even see the ground.

  Rico and I turned the corner in a big way and I just can’t wait to see him tonight. He won’t be back until late, but that’s okay. This will be my new normal.

  My design finally prints, and I make my way back to my seat. My phone on my desk rings.

  “Olivia, this is Torino from reception downstairs.”

  “Hi.” I smile. “How can I help you?”

  “You have someone to see you down here.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Um.” She pauses. “Yes, just go into the conference room on level two—take the elevator,” she says to whoever is waiting. “Olivia will meet you up there.”

  I frown as I wait on.

  “It’s the police,” she whispers.

  “What? And they’re here to see me?”

  “Yes, two of them. They’re detectives. They’re in the conference room waiting for you now.”

  “Shit, okay. Thanks.”

  I make my way to the conference room, and I open the door. Two men are sitting at the table, and they stand as I walk in.

  “Hello, Olivia. We’re Pedro and Michael. We’re detectives, and we’d like to ask you a few questions, please.”

  They’re older and classically cop-like. One is short and bald, while the other looks like a stripper who hired a suit.

  “Okay.” I smile as I shake their hands. I gesture to the table and chairs. “Please, take a seat.”

  We all sit down.

  I cross my legs in front of me as I wait for them to tell my why they’re here. “I’m sorry, you have me at a loss. How can I help you?”

  “We are investigating a missing person.”

  “Okay…”

  “Franco Macheski.”

  “Am I supposed to know who that is?” I ask, confused.

  “You probably should,” Pedro says sarcastically. “You went on a date with him three weeks ago.”

  Oh shit. Mr. Tinder. “Sorry. Mental block there for a moment.” I feel like a total whorebag.

  “He hasn’t been seen since,” he tells me.

  I stare at them. “What?”

  “You were the last person to see Franco alive. Tell us what happened on the night you went out together. We want to know everything.”

  20

  Olivia

  I screw up my face. “What do you mean he hasn’t been seen since? I don’t understand.”

  Pedro replies, “You went on a date with him, and then he vanished into thin air.”

  “Oh. I thought it was weird that he never contacted me again.” I shrug with a subtle shake of my head. “I just assumed he didn’t like me.”

  The men glance at each other. “Tell us what happened that night.”

  “Well…” I pause as I try to remember. “We’d been talking on Tinder for a few weeks and he wanted to meet. We had dinner, and then…”

  Shit… then he had a fight with Rico. Do they know that? My eyes rise to meet theirs as horror dawns. Did Enrico have something to do with this?

  Holy fuck.

  “Go on,” Pedro urges as he takes notes on a small pad of paper.

  Goosebumps scatter up my arms.

  “Umm.” I stare at them as my brain begins to misfire. I can’t lie for shit. I scratch my head. “He wanted me to go back to his house, and I wasn’t really into him, you know?” I look between them guiltily. “We ended up having a fight about it, and he left in a rush.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No.”

  “What restaurant did you have dinner at?”

  “Ah.” I snap my fingers as I try and remember the name. I’m beginning to perspire from the pressure. “It’s the one down on the main street, next to the theatre.”

  “Apocalypse?” Michael asks.

  “Yes, that’s it.” I smile awkwardly. “Maybe check the cameras of the parking lot?” I offer.

  “We did. The entire night of security footage has been wiped.”

  “Oh.” My face falls as my heart begins to thump hard. “That’s… weird.”

  “Very,” Pedro replies calmly. “Where are you staying at the moment?” he asks.

  “I’m at a hotel a few blocks down. I just moved here from Australia.”

  They both stare at me, as if they’re waiting for me to slip up. “Where were you all weekend?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Lake Como.”

  “Who with?”

  I have a momentary brain slip. “Alone.”

  What the fuck did I say that for?

  They exchange looks. “You were alone all weekend?”

  I look them straight in the eyes. “Yes, I was.”

  Oh, fuck.

  I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I need to get away from them. “I have no idea where Franco is. Have you searched his Tinder profile? He’s probably shacked up with someone.”

  “Do you have any friends in Italy, Olivia?”

  “Just one, a friend from Australia just moved here.”

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  Our eyes are locked. “No.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “I really have to get back to work.” I stand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more useful. Please let me know when you find him.” I shake their hands.

  Pedro hands me a business card. “If you think of anything, please call us.”

  “I will.” I turn to walk off.

  “Oh, and Olivia.”

  I turn back to face him.

  “Obstructing justice and lying to the police is a criminal offence in Italy, just so you know.”

  I fake a smile. “As it should be. Goodbye, gentlemen.”

  With my heart in my throat, I turn and walk out of the room. Oh, my fucking God, what the hell is going on?

  Three hours later and I’m sitting at my desk with my mind in overdrive.

  Where the fuck is Franco?

  Why would they be asking me, and why did I immediately think that they were suspicious? I know Rici had nothing to do with this, so why did I feel compelled to lie on his behalf?

  With shaky hands, I Google

  Who Is Enrico Ferrara

  Enrico Ferrara is a thirty-four-year-old billionaire. Well known for being hard and driven, this Italian thoroughbred is head of the infamous Ferrara dynasty.

  The CEO of Ferrara Enterprises, Enrico became the sole heir to the company on the death of his father Giuliano, and his grandfather Stefano Ferrara, who were both killed in a tragic car accident near Roma two years ago.

  Known for his striking good looks and womanizing ways, Enrico is fast becoming a global force to be reckoned with, having a sharp intellect and impeccable work ethic. He continues to work unbelievably hard. In the midst of accusation and scandal, he has been forced to find new strength in order to face the accusation of bribery, corruption, and hacking by subsidiary firms.

 
The Ferrara family have been linked to, but not accused of, having deep ties within organized crime throughout Europe.

  I knew all this from when I researched him before.

  Womanizing ways…. hmm, I hate that description. That’s kind of disturbing.

  He’s not a criminal. Just because his family own brothels, it doesn’t mean he’s a criminal. He wouldn’t know where that stupid fucking Franco is. Franco is probably balls-deep in his next Tinder date somewhere.

  I read over the text again.

  Enrico is fast becoming a global force to be reckoned with, having a sharp intellect and impeccable work ethic.

  I smile proudly. That’s my man. Go, baby.

  My phone rings at 5:30 p.m., and the name Lorenzo lights up the screen.

  “Hello,” I answer as I pack up the last of my things and close my computer down.

  “Olivia, is everything all right?”

  “Yes, sorry, I’m coming now.”

  “See you soon.”

  I grab a bunch of swatches for my fabrics appointments tomorrow, and I head toward the elevator. Moments later, I exit my building to see Lorenzo standing next to the black Mercedes. It feels weird being picked up by a stranger.

  “Hey.” I smile as I walk across the road.

  “Ciao, Olivia.” He opens the car door for me. “How was your day?”

  I climb into the backseat. “Fine, thanks, how was yours?”

  “No complaints.” He closes the door, and moments later, we pull out onto the busy road.

  I sit in the backseat and twist my hands in front of me on my lap. I feel like I should be making conversation or something, I didn’t even know he spoke English until this morning when he drove me to work. It feels rude just sitting here and being chauffeured around. I don’t want to get into the habit of having to jabber on the entire trip every day, though. I take out my phone and flick through it. There are no missed calls. Rico hasn’t called me at all today. He must be busy down in Sicily.

  “What time is Enrico due home?” I ask Lorenzo.

  “I’m picking them up from the airport at 8:10 tonight.”

  Them? Who did he go with?

  “Who went with him today?” I ask.

  “Maso and Sophia. They met others down there. I believe they had meetings all day.”

  Sophia.

  What the hell? Enrico spent the day with fucking Sophia?

  I clench my jaw and glare out of the window. Lorenzo’s eyes flicker to me in the rearview mirror, as if he’s suddenly realizing that he maybe shouldn’t have told me that. “Sophia is the general manager of that division in Sicily,” he adds.

  “I’m well aware of that,” I reply, annoyed by my petty jealousy. And even more annoyed that Lorenzo can see it upset me.

  For God’s sake, Olivia, can’t you at least act cool?

  I scroll aimlessly through my phone, and my mind goes back to the police who visited me today looking for Franco. Where is Franco?

  I download the Tinder app again and try to find his profile. I search his name and find him, although he’s changed his profile pic since I last looked.

  Hmm, okay.

  I scroll through the info, but I can’t see where it shows when he was last active.

  Can I even see that info in here? I click on every damn button I can find with no clue as to when he was on last. Stupid, useless app. I click out of it in disgust and go back to staring out of the window.

  My mind goes to that night and how aggressive Franco was to Enrico—how he kept telling him to fuck off, and then how Enrico punched him.

  Oh, jeez, this is all one big mess.

  But I do know for certain that Rico has no idea where Franco is, either. He has a lot bigger things on his plate than that fool.

  He’s with Sophia… right now.

  Stop it, they work together.

  The annoying little voice from my subconscious whispers… yeah, and they fuck.

  Gah!

  I’m so insecure about her, I can’t stand it.

  She’s a prostitute. She’ll be well experienced in pleasing men.

  If he wanted her, he would be with her, I remind myself.

  I pull my cardigan around myself, lean back, and close my eyes. I’m having a really shitty day today. I’m going to sleep to try and forget that my boyfriend may or may not be in the Italian mafia, and that he may or may not have done something to a weirdo date of mine… and he may or may not be fucking his private whorebag general manager on a desk in Sicily right now.

  Who, I might add, is fucking Italian—something I will never be, no matter how hard I try.

  Why can’t he just be a normal policeman in Roma? An average broke man with a motorbike and no ex-girlfriends? I would love him just the same… maybe even more.

  But he has an entourage, houses, staff, questionable businesses, and beautiful whores who work for him.

  It’s damn annoying.

  “How long till we get there, Lorenzo” I ask.

  “Forty-five minutes, Olivia, go to sleep. I’ll wake you once we arrive.”

  It’s 9:30 p.m. now, and I’m sitting on the window seat in the spare bedroom, staring out at the dark driveway below. I have this uneasy feeling in my stomach that won’t go away. Where is he?

  Lorenzo said his plane landed at eight. How far is the airport from here?

  I try to call Rico’s phone and it goes straight to voicemail… again.

  Maybe I should call Lorenzo.

  No, I don’t want to be the crazy girlfriend, even though I know I am one.

  My mind is going crazy with thoughts of Enrico and Sophia. I’m sick with jealousy.

  Did they have lunch together today? Did he kiss her hello? Did she look as gorgeous as I know she is? Do they talk? Laugh?

  I feel like an insecure fool, and this is not who I am.

  We’ve been back together for one day, and already I feel like I’m going crazy.

  I am the one he has asked to move in. I am the one who is waiting at his home for him. He’ll be here soon…

  Please be here soon.

  I head to the bathroom and run myself a steamy hot bath.

  Stop thinking crazy thoughts, Olivia.

  He’ll be home soon.

  It’s 12:30 a.m. and I’m pacing in the kitchen.

  What the hell is going on?

  I’m sick with worry. What if his plane crashed? This isn’t like him. He’s never not called me before.

  I hear car doors slam, and then a commotion outside. I run to the front window.

  There are three cars, all in a line, and three men are dragging Enrico out of the back car by his arms. He climbs out, staggers, and falls to the side. They all rush to catch him.

  He’s blind drunk.

  What the hell?

  I open the door in a rush to hear his deep, slurred voice as he tears his arms from their grip. “Get away from me.”

  The men are fussing around him. “Rico, Rico.”

  “Take me home,” he growls.

  “You are home,” Lorenzo tells him. “Calm down.”

  He takes a swing at one of the men, and they all struggle as they try to contain him. “Olivia!” Enrico bellows as he looks up at the house. “Olivia!”

  I wrap my dressing gown around me. Oh, jeez, I’m not really dressed for this.

  “I’m here!” I call from my place at the front door.

  The men each turn toward me, and Lorenzo’s face falls. “Go inside, Olivia. We’ll take care of him.”

  “Olivia!” Enrico bellows again, oblivious that I’m standing right here.

  “What’s happened?” I ask.

  “He’s had a bad day,” Lorenzo sighs. “Too much to drink on an empty stomach.”

  “Olivia!” Enrico bellows again. His deep voice is angry—almost frightening.

  “I’m here.” I rush to him, and his face immediately softens. He wraps his arm around me. “Il mio amore.” He buries his head in my neck. He holds me tight, and the men all lo
ok on as if unsure what to do.

  “I love you,” he slurs with a drunken smile.

  “Shh Rici,” I whisper.

  Oh, jeez. This isn’t quiet the romantic first I love you that I had in mind.

  “I love this woman,” he tells all the men. “But not you,” he cries, as if he’s suddenly outraged at something. He breaks free from my grip. “You can all go to Hell. Traitors!” he sneers in disgust. “How many lies have you told me today?” He leans forward and pushes one of the men hard in the chest.

  “Jesus Christ,” Maso groans as he drags his hand down his face in disgust.

  I grab Enrico’s hands in mine. “What’s happened?” I ask.

  “I hate these bastards,” he slurs. “Go!” He throws his hand up in disgust. “Fucking liars. Get out of my house!”

  “Come inside,” I whisper softly, I put his arm around my shoulder and I begin to lead him into the house. The men follow behind us. Enrico staggers and sways as I try to keep him upright. He trips up the step and stumbles. The men all jump in to catch him and help me lead him inside to the couch, where he falls spectacularly onto his back.

  He laughs up at me and grabs his dick. “I got something for you, bella.”

  I try to hold a straight face. He couldn’t have sex right now if his life depended on it. The men shake their heads in disgust. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so drunk.

  He reaches up, grabs my hand, and pulls me down on top of him.

  “Stay here, my love,” he slurs.

  “I’m here,” I say, knowing he’s restless and agitated.

  The men begin to quietly converse in Italian as they walk into the kitchen so that we can’t hear them.

  “Shh.” I rub Rico’s face as I try to calm him. “I’m here, baby,” I whisper, watching as his heavy eyes close. I push his hair back from his forehead and see him fall into a deep sleep.

  God, he smells like a brewery. It’s as if someone has poured straight sambuca all over his clothes. After a while, once I know he’s asleep, I get up, take his shoes off, and drape a blanket over him.

  Lorenzo and Maso walk back into the room. “What happened?” I ask.