The Italian

by T L Swan

  “I guess.”

  “It is random.” she adds.

  “It is random, isn’t it?”

  “Completely.”

  I drag my hand down my face. My imagination is running wild. “Okay, I’m going to go work out and do something useful.”

  “Wash your undies.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, that too. Bye. Call me if you get the job.”

  “Okay, see you.”

  It’s just after 5:00 p.m. when I walk into the house from the backyard. I’ve been keeping myself busy and trying not to imagine someone creeping around our bedroom, dick in hand. I’ve run on the treadmill, done our washing, and now I’m about to cook dinner. Antonia wanted to cook, but I told her I would like to cook.

  Fuck this. I want a home not a football stadium. Things are changing around here.

  I pour myself a glass of wine and take the chicken out of the fridge. I begin to chop it up. On a serious note, I really need to learn how to cook some good Italian food.

  And speak Italian…

  And do every fucking thing in Italian.

  If I prepare dinner now it will give me a chance to freshen up before my man gets home.

  There is so much to do and learn. God, this day is overwhelming.

  The doorbell rings throughout the house.

  I wash my hands, grab a tea towel, and walk out into the living area. It rings again.

  I open the door to see a beautiful woman standing there. She’s wearing a tight camel- colored dress, with sky-high stilettos. Her long dark hair is styled and glamorous. Her rich perfume is overwhelming.

  It’s the woman I saw Enrico with at lunch.

  His madam. Sophia.

  I’m instantly aware that I look like shit, and the blood drains from my face. I’m still in my gym clothes, with a messy bun on top of my head, wearing no makeup and completely barefoot.

  I fake a smile. “Hello.”

  A frown crosses her face as she looks me up and down. “Hello, my name is Sophia.”

  I pull my T-shirt down. “I’m Olivia.” I look down at my damp hands and the tea towel I’m holding. “Can I help you?”

  A trace of a smile tugs at her lips. “I’m here to see Enrico.”

  Her Italian accent is heavenly.

  “Um, he’s not home yet.”

  “Can I wait?”

  “I don’t know how long he’s going to be.”

  She brushes past me into the house. “That’s fine. I don’t mind.”

  I watch her march into the house. Rude. “Or that,” I whisper under my breath.

  I close the door behind her and glance out to see three men leaning up against the parked cars. They are laughing and talking without a care in the world.

  I feel my agitation rise as I walk back into the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee or something?”

  Oh shit, why did I offer her coffee? I don’t know how to work the stupid coffee machine.

  Sophia glances down at my glass of wine. “I’ll have a glass of wine.”

  Will you now? The word is please, bitch.

  Yep, it’s official, this woman annoys me. I take another glass from the cupboard and pour her some wine.

  “Thanks.” She fakes a smile as she looks me up and down.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She frowns. “I’m here to see Enrico, I already told you.”

  “He was in his office in Milan all day.”

  “This is of a personal matter.” She sips her wine.

  “Anything I can help you with?” I smile sweetly.

  Her eyes hold mine. “No.” She fakes a smile. “I need to speak to him… alone.”

  Our eyes are locked.

  Game on, mole. You may be gorgeous, sexy, a Madame, and Italian…

  But he loves me, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

  I pick up the knife and go back to chopping the chicken.

  “You cook?” she asks, amused.

  “Don’t you?”

  “No.” She lifts the wine glass to her lips. “And I most definitely wouldn’t if I had the staff that this house carries.”

  I smirk.

  “What’s that look for?” she asks.

  “You think you’re above cooking?”

  She flicks her hair behind her shoulders and gives a conceited shrug.

  “That’s funny, because in your line of work I would have imagined that you’d be used to getting your hands dirty.” I smile sweetly.

  Shit, did I say that out loud?

  “What do you know about my line of work?” she fires back.

  “Only what Enrico has told me. That you’re a Madame, and you work for him.”

  She smiles. “And what else did Rico tell you about me?”

  My hackles rise at her use of Rico as his name. “Everything,” I lie.

  She lifts her chin in defiance. “So, he told you about the two of us?” She sips her wine and smiles sarcastically.

  I get a vision of myself diving over the counter and strangling this whorebag.

  Our eyes are locked.

  “He did, actually,” I lie.

  I chop the chicken with force, imagining it’s her head on the chopping block.

  Hurry up and get home, fucker.

  I knew he was sleeping with her.

  She smirks. “Can I use the bathroom? I would like to freshen up. Where is it?”

  I’ll freshen you up, bitch. I’ll flush your damn head down the toilet. Lucky for me, I’m in my activewear, because this could be an all-out brawl soon.

  “Behind you to the left.” I point with the knife.

  I continue chopping when she disappears. Hmm, she didn’t know where the bathroom was, which means she hasn’t been here before. Good. This is her first and last visit.

  The front door opens, and I keep chopping. This place is like a fucking airport. Great, probably another woman from his whorebag harem.

  “Hello, my love.” I hear Rico’s deep voice from behind me, and I turn. He drops his briefcase and rushes to take me into his arms. He holds me tight, tighter than usual and it’s clear that he’s upset.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.

  He holds my face in his hands, and his lips take mine. “It’s been a long day,” he eventually murmurs against my lips.

  “Hello, Enrico,” Sophia says from behind us.

  Rico jumps back from me in surprise, and his face falls.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he growls.

  Oh shit. My eyes widen as I look between them both.

  “I… I came to see you,” she stammers, shocked by his obvious anger.

  He glares at her like a hunter. “Get out,” he orders through gritted teeth.

  “Rico,” I say quietly. God, this is a bit extreme.

  “How dare you come here?” he cries.

  “I wanted to see if you were all right,” she says.

  “Liar. You came here to intimidate my fiancée. Tell the fucking truth.”

  My eyes widen. Holy shit. He’s nailed it; that’s exactly what she’s doing.

  “I was at my office all day. If you wanted to see me in regards to work, you come there. Do not ever fucking step foot into one of my homes again.” He grabs her by the arm and begins to drag her out.

  “Rico!” I cry. Oh shit, what’s he going to do? “Calm down, will you?”

  He marches her to the front door. “You come near Olivia again and see what happens to you.” He pushes her out of the door. “This is your first and last warning.”

  “Rico,” she cries. “You’ve gone crazy. You’re pushing away everyone who cares about you.”

  “With friends like you, who needs enemies?” he bellows.

  He slams the door so hard in her face, it nearly comes off the hinges. He glares at me, and without a word, he marches upstairs and I hear the shower start.

  Oh hell, that was unexpected. Although, if I’m honest, I’m kind of glad he did it.

  I go back to the kit
chen to continue chopping the chicken with my heart racing in my chest. I’ll give him a moment to calm down before I go up and see him.

  I wait for ten minutes, and then I hear the shower turn off.

  The doorbell rings again.

  Damn that doorbell! He’s going to go postal if she’s come back.

  I walk out into the living area and see a blonde woman at the door.

  He must know her, or the guards wouldn’t have let her in.

  I open the door. “Hello.” I smile, relieved that it isn’t that whorebag Sophia.

  The woman is in her fifties at a guess. She’s naturally pretty. She twists her hands in front of her nervously.

  “Hello,” she says softly. “My name is Angelina.”

  Someone with manners, at last. “What a beautiful name.” I shake her hand. “Hello, my name is Olivia.”

  Her eyes dart into the house. “I was wondering if Enrico is home.”

  “Um.” I frown. “Yes. He is.”

  “Could…?” She pauses before finding her bravery. “Can I see him, please? We need to talk.”

  “No!” Rico snaps from behind me. “Leave,” he barks.

  Her face falls.

  “E-Enrico,” I stammer as I turn toward him, shocked by his rudeness.

  “Please, we need to talk, Enrico,” she says softly.

  He glares at her with such contempt. “I want nothing to do with you. You or your bastard son.”

  23

  Olivia

  He steps in front of me and slams the door shut in her face, and then he storms back up the stairs.

  Oh my god.

  Horrified, I open the door back up in a rush.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t know what’s come over him today. This is just a really bad time.” I glance up the stairs. “Shall I get him to call you or something?” I ask, looking back at her.

  Tears well in her eyes, and she nods. “Thank you.” She steps back and turns to Lorenzo who’s standing at the bottom of the steps. His face is solemn, and he shakes his head, angered by Enrico’s rudeness.

  “Come, Angelina, I’ll take you home,” he tells her.

  Visibly upset, she walks down the stairs. Lorenzo puts his comforting arm around her, and they walk out to one of the cars before they get in and drive away.

  Bastard son…

  What did he mean by that?

  My eyes widen as I connect the dots. Holy shit, that’s her! His dad’s lover.

  I glare up the stairs to where he’s disappeared. I’m suddenly furious. What is his fucking problem today, anyway? How dare he take his anger out on her? This isn’t her fault. She never lied to him. That was his prick-faced womanizing father. Angelina’s only crime was to love someone too much for her own good.

  I take the stairs two at a time, eventually finding him in his wardrobe slamming things around.

  I march in. “You know what?” I snap. “You’re a judgmental bastard, and a fucking hypocrite.” I storm into the bathroom. “Do not be so rude to people in my house!” I yell as I slam the door. I turn the shower on, take my shirt off, and the bathroom door bangs open.

  “How the fuck am I a hypocrite?” he growls.

  “Are you kidding me?” I throw my hands up in disgust. “Was that her? Your dad’s mistress? Was that her?”

  He glares at me, and I know for certain it was.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I sneer. “You hate her for being a mistress, when not three fucking weeks ago you asked the same thing of me?”

  “That’s different.”

  “It’s exactly the same.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You think there’s one set of rules for you, and one set for everyone else, and quite frankly, this spoilt brat attitude you have going on is fucking pathetic.”

  “Fucking pathetic?” he gasps.

  “You wanted me on the side.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did.” I get under the hot water, and then I remember something. “And why didn’t you tell me that you were sleeping with Sophia? I felt like a fucking idiot downstairs before.”

  He trips on the bathmat and kicks it with force across the bathroom. “Fuck off.” He snarls to it.

  I rub the soap across my shoulders. “How about this? Before you throw a tantrum and start being a rude prick, you stop and think about how you treat people around you, Enrico?”

  The veins are popping out of his forehead now. “Do not dare tell me how to treat people in my own fucking house, Olivia.”

  “This is supposed to be my house, too.” I lose the last of my patience. “Angelina deserves your respect. Your father did what he thought he had to do.” I wash my arms with vigor. “I don’t know why you’re taking this so personally.”

  His eyes bulge. “You don’t know why I am taking this so personally?” he yells. “You want to know why I came back to you, Olivia?”

  I roll my eyes, unaffected or intimidated by his angry outburst. So dramatic.

  “Let me tell you right now, it wasn’t because I wanted to marry an Australian.” His face is furious. “I still don’t want to do that.”

  What the hell?

  “Then don’t!” I scream. I hurl a bar of soap at him. Good God, he’s a bastard. “Just get out.”

  “I came back to you because, if I were to marry another woman and had children with her…” He pauses, trying to calm himself down enough to say what he wants to say. “I knew that every time I would look at those kids, I would only see the reasons why I can’t be with you.” His nostrils flare. “And I would fucking despise my own flesh and blood,” he whispers.

  Oh…

  My eyes fill with tears.

  “So, excuse me for being devastated,” he blinks away his own tears, “for now knowing that that’s how my father saw me.” His voice cracks, betraying him. “I was the reason he couldn’t have the life he wanted.” He hits his chest. “I was the reason he wasn’t happy. I am the Italian child he was forced to have.”

  My heart drops.

  Seeing such a powerful man reduced to feeling like an insignificant child.

  “Oh, Rici.” I step out of the shower and take him into my arms. His breath quivers, and I know he’s on the edge, trying to hold it together. “Shh.” I hold him tight as I try to calm him down. I’m wet and water is dripping everywhere, but I don’t care. I hold him for a long time. We stay silent, and with every breath, his arms tighten around me.

  I don’t know what to say, because I know that I’ll probably say the wrong thing. He’s thought much deeper into this than I had realized. He thinks he knows how his father would have felt about a child with a woman he didn’t love. Although, I’m sure it’s not as black and white as he sees it, I know for certain that he was loved dearly.

  “Rici. Let it go. Let all this anger go. Let’s concentrate on our life together and how we’re going to do things. We have so much to look forward to. Don’t let your father’s mistakes cloud your judgement or make you unhappy. Make a conscious decision to let it go.” His eyes search mine, and I take his face in my hands. “It’s time for us to move forward. For you to bring Ferrara into the next phase. For me and you to love each other our way.”

  “I don’t know how to be anything other than angry,” he whispers.

  “You talk to me about it and we figure this out together. That’s what partners do. They’re a sounding board for each other. Firing everyone and going crazy is not going to bring him back so you can have your final say. Getting new staff is only going to make your life harder, not easier. You haven’t made the same mistakes your father did. He would be so proud of you.”

  He pulls me closer. What I just said meant a lot to him, I can tell.

  I search my mind for something I can I say that will make him feel better.

  Wait, how do I say it?

  “Puoi lavarmi la faccia sotto la doccia?” I ask Translation: can you wash my face in the show
er?

  He pulls back, his eyes search mine, and he smiles softly.

  “Laverò non solo il tuo viso, bella ragazza,” he whispers back.

  I stare at him, confused. I don’t understand his reply.

  Typical.

  He tilts my jaw up so that he has full access to my lips, and he kisses me. His face has softened, and my sweet Rici is back.

  “I’ll wash more than your face, my beautiful woman.”

  I frown in question. “My face?”

  He breaks into a broad smile and my heart melts. I haven’t seen that smile in a long time.

  “I wanted you to wash my back.” How do you mix up the words face and back?

  He takes his shirt off over his head. “I can wash that, too, my love,” he says softly.

  I smile, hopeful that I’ve made him feel even the tiniest bit better.

  “Ti amo.”

  “Ti amo di più,” he whispers as he kisses me.

  I smile against his lips. He said he loves me more. I understood.

  Suddenly, the anger that’s been raging around inside of him all week is gone.

  It’s just him, me, and what we have between us.

  He slides his shorts down his legs and leads me into the shower. The hot water makes my skin tingle. I run my hands up over his broad chest as he stares down at me with tenderness.

  We just had a moment—a defining moment in our relationship. I think from the way he is looking at me that I got it right.

  His hands go to my behind, and he pulls my hips closer. I can feel him hardening against my stomach, and his kiss holds a hunger that tell me he needs to be fed. His hands go to my breasts and he begins to knead them as his cock begins to slide between the lips of my sex. His kiss becomes desperate—hungry.

  God, I love him like this when I can feel the physical need he has for me.

  Every inch of his being becomes focused on one thing… the need to fuck.

  He grabs a handful of my hair at the nape of my neck, and he drags my head back, granting himself access. His teeth begin to nip and bite my skin as his animal instincts take over. He nudges my opening, and then in one sharp movement, he lifts me and pins me to the wall as he slides in deep.

  Our mouths fall open as we stare at each other. No matter how many times we have sex, that first moment of entry is always out of this world.