The Italian

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 shower?

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.

Perfection.

I grab his face in my hands. “Give it to me,” I moan. “Fuck me.”

He pulls out and slams back in hard. While his eyes are focused on my lips, I watch as his body takes over. Clicking into another gear, a higher level.

Enrico Ferrara was born to fuck.

The harder the better.

Virile and athletic, his body is a well-oiled machine built for female satisfaction.

I bounce as he holds me up against the tiles, and he hits me hard. The air is knocked from my lungs, and his hips are working at speed. The sound of our skin slapping echoes through the bathroom.

His eyes are focused on where our bodies meet. “Fuck me, Olivia,” he growls. “Take it all. My cock is yours. It will only ever be yours.”

Hearing his words tips me over the edge, and my body convulses. I clench and shudder as an orgasm rips through me, making me cry out in pleasure.

He grips my shoulders for leverage and really lets me have it, slamming my body down onto his with such force, I don’t know how I’m not breaking in two.

His mouth hangs slack as he lets out a deep guttural moan. His head tips back, and he holds himself deep. I feel the heat as he fills me full of semen.

He grabs my hair and drags my face to his to kiss me.

Deep, slow, and tender.

“I love you,” he whispers.

My eyes fill with tears, because I really do love him. After the week we have just had, I really needed this connection.

“Ti amo di più,” I murmur against his lips.

I put my head down on his shoulder—his body still deep inside mine. His lips are resting against my temple.

And I know that I’m home.

It’s 7:30 a.m. when I walk into the gym. I came into to Milan early this morning so that I could come before work. I want to try and make this my new routine. That way, my workout is done and dusted before the day begins. It feels like months since I was last here, and so much has happened since then, but it’s good to be back. I know I could use the gym at home, but I really want to keep my independence as much as I can.

“Hello,” the girl on reception says as I walk past her.

“Hi.” I smile.

I put my things into the locker and make my way over to the treadmill. I start it up and it begins to slowly roll. I walk to warm up, and I glance over as Michael and Rocco arrive and head over to the weight section—close enough to watch me but far enough away that I won’t feel crowded. I hate that I have to have them with me, but then I feel safe that they are here, too.

It’s a fine line between the two, and I’m not sure which is the lesser evil.

For ten minutes, I walk as I listen to my Italian audio lesson. I’m determined to master this language. I need to know what the hell is going on around me.

“Ciao… hello. Goodbye… addio. Good morning… buongiorno. Good night… buonanotte.”

In my peripheral vision, I see a girl get onto the treadmill beside me. I give her a smile and keep walking. She has light brown hair that’s up in a high ponytail, and olive skin. She doesn’t look Italian. She fluffs around beside me for a while, pushing the wrong buttons.

I take my earplugs out to help her. “You need to push the workout button,” I say.

“Oh, thanks.” Her treadmill begins to move. I frown at her accent.

“You’re Australian?” I ask in surprise. I haven’t met any other Australians yet.

“Yes.” She smiles. “Just moved here this week. You, too?”

“Yes.” I smile with excitement.

“Have you been here long?”

“About six weeks.”

“How are you liking it?”

“I mean, what’s not to love, right?”

She shrugs. “I’m hoping to get to that stage. I’m so nervous about everything so far. I’ve moved here to be with my boyfriend—he’s Italian. We met when he was travelling in Australia. I don’t know anybody else but him.”

Sounds familiar. “Really?” I smile. “Mine, too.”

“I’m Jennifer,” she introduces herself. “Everyone calls me Jen.”

I lean over and shake her hand. “Hi, Jen. I’m Olivia.”

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.”

We walk in comfortable silence for a while.

“Did you get a program made up?” she asks.

“No, I like doing my own thing.”

She looks over to the girl on reception. “I think I will. I need a structured workout or else I just schmooze around. Do you know how much it is?”

I giggle. “Yeah, I get the schmooze thing, and I’ve no idea about the price, sorry.”

“Do you come in the mornings every day?” she asks.

“I’m hoping to. I’m trying to get into some kind of routine.”

“Me, too.” She hits the stop button. “I’m going to go and ask about a program and their pricing structure.” She gives me a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Olivia. I might see you tomorrow morning.”

“For sure,” I say.

I watch her walk over to the girl on reception. They talk for a while.

Hmm, she seems nice. I put my earphones back in and continue with my lesson while I walk. “Motorbike… motocicletta.”

Enrico

I walk into my office at 9:00 a.m.

“Good morning,” I say to my two receptionists.

Greta looks up and smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Ferrara. Mrs. Ferrara is waiting in your office for you.”

I exhale heavily. My mother is here. Great. Just what I need. “Thank you.” I open the door and find her sitting at my desk.

“Hello, Mamma.”

She stands. “Hello, darling.” She smiles and kisses both my cheeks.

She’s immaculately put together, as always. It’s funny, you know; I didn’t realize that women weren’t always perfect like this. Until I met Olivia, I never knew a woman who was so comfortable in her own skin. So naturally beautiful without all the window dressing.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask as I take a seat opposite her at my desk.

Mother’s eyes hold mine. She holds her hand out and looks at her manicured red nails. It’s something she always does when she’s uncomfortable. “I’m here to talk about the last few days and the things that have come to light.”

Her eyes rise to meet mine, and I raise my chin, angered.

She’s the last person I want to discuss my father’s infidelities with.

I rearrange the papers on my desk to try and distract myself. “Such as?”

“Enrico. Stop it.”

“What do you want me to say, Mamma?” I get out of my chair in a rush and walk to the window to stare out over Milan. “That my father was a great man?”

“Your father was a great man,” she replies calmly.

“Who I now have zero respect for.”

“Stop it!” she snaps, and she stands in a rush. “Don’t you dare disrespect my husband.”

I look her up and down and give a subtle shake of my head.

“What’s that look for?”

I put my hands into my suit pockets. “Just looking at you in your widow wear. Two years is a long time to wear black for a man who treated you with nothing but disrespect.”

The sharp sting of her hand burns my face, and the slap echoes throughout the room.

“How dare you?” she whispers. “How dare you judge him… or me? You know nothing about our relationship, and you will never understand. You couldn’t possibly.”

Adrenaline floods my body. That is the first time in my entire life that my mother has raised her hand to me.

“Oh, I understand,” I sneer as my anger escalates to a dangerously high level. “I understand that my father has cut both my brothers out of his will completely. That one day, a bastard child of his will lead Ferrara Industries. Tell me mother… when Giuliano is announced as a Ferrara, how are you going to explain this to Francesca?”

Her eyes hold mine.

“How do you explain to a sixteen-year-old girl that her father had two women pregnant within a year of each other?”

“Stop it,” she whispers angrily. “Stop being vile.”

My eyebrows rise in surprise. “Vile? You think the truth is vile?” I give her a slow smile. “Funny, because that’s my point.” I walk over with renewed purpose and sit down at my desk. “I’m letting some of the staff go. Ferrara is starting afresh.”

“You will do nothing of the sort. Your father worked incredibly hard to recruit the staff that you have. Your gripe with him is not their fault.”

I sit back in my chair. “You see, if you were left in charge, that would be your decision to make… but you weren’t.”

She squares her shoulders. “Lorenzo has been nothing but loyal to our family. He’s staying.”

“Oh, Lorenzo,” I scoff in disgust. “Lorenzo is nothing but a fucking liar.”

“Do not curse in front of me. It’s disrespectful.”

“You think cursing is disrespectful?”

She raises her chin in defiance.

I glare at her. “I’ll tell you what’s disrespectful, Mamma: leaving two sons out of a family business as if they don’t exist. Leaving three sons a letter after your death, but not one for your only daughter.” My voice rises along with my anger. “Lying to your children for their whole fucking life about who you really are.”

“Enrico,” she whispers. “He had his reasons.”

I slam my hand onto the desk, causing her to jump. “Do not defend him to me!” I yell.

She stares at me through her tears. “You fire anyone you want, get rid of the whole damn company, but if you care for me at all, Lorenzo stays. He’s in his sixties now, and after thirty-five years of loyalty to Ferrara, this is how you are going to repay him? He is too old to get another job, Enrico, you know that.”

“It’s a business decision.” My eyes hold hers. “You’ll have no say.”

“I’ll never forgive you if you do this. I would mourn the breakdown of our relationship,” she whispers. “Please don’t do this.”

My eyes hold hers. “Would you wear your widow blacks for me? Or is that a privilege saved for lying bastards?”

“You’ve gone insane.”

“No. I’m defending my brothers’ rights. This company is as much theirs as it is mine.”

“They don’t want it,” she whispers through tears. “Have you lost your mind, Enrico? This isn’t about your brothers, and you know that. This is about the deception, and I promise you, they only did it to protect you at your father’s insistence. I understand why you are angry with him, but for God’s sake, don’t make your staff pay for his mistakes.”

I glare at her, my anger rising dangerously close to the surface. “Giuliano and Stefano Ferrara are dead. I’m in charge now.”

We stare at each other in a battle of the wills. For the first time in my life, I’ve seen a fiery side of my mother I didn’t know existed.

“Why?” I ask. “Why did you stay married to him when you knew he loved another?”

She wipes away a tear, and guilt fills me. I hate that I’m upsetting her.

“Because, out of all the men in the world, nobody loved you and your brothers as much as your father did. He would have died in an instant to save your life.”

This time, it’s my eyes that glaze over.

“And I know that you feel betrayed, Enrico,” she whispers, “but one day, when you have a son, you will feel the love that he had for you. You will understand that everything he did was only ever to protect you.”

We stare at each other. So much hurt and regret swirls between us.

“It’s true, your father and I didn’t have the marriage you thought we did. Our love was unconditional. We adored each other until the day he died. He was, and still is, my best friend. He never lied to me, Enrico. Not once. I knew where he was during every minute of every day. He loved another, yes, but that wasn’t his fault. You can’t choose who you love. But he chose to stand by me—to honor our vows and care for his sons. Our relationship was special because we both knew what he sacrificed to have it.”

Her silhouette blurs, and I blink to hide my tears. She stands, and with one last, lingering look, she walks quietly from the room.

I stare at the door to which she has just left through.

My heart hammers hard in my chest, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Regret hits me hard. I’ve never been angry with my mother, but how can I not be? She’s lied, covered up the truth, and chosen to protect him over us. We shouldn’t have learned those things from a letter. She should have told us herself. Once again, she put his needs before anyone else’s, including her own.

I stare straight ahead, and contempt runs through my blood like poison. I can feel its tentacles taking a hold of my soul, purging the last of the good memories from the part of my heart where my father lived for so long.

I’ve never despised him more than I do at this moment.

I hate that he’s hurt me so deeply.

I hope he’s rotting in Hell.