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 look 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!”