The Italian

“We have reputable businesses now. We do not need that side of the business. Stop thinking with fear. I will not be a lowlife drug dealer. That time is over for Ferrara. We are smarter now.”

“What about the girls? They’re in Sicily with a fucking madman who’s trying to take over our turf. Are you just going to let him?”

I stand and walk over to the window, and I look out at the city below. “Beef up security. Every girl is to be protected and I want to know everything there is to know about this Lucky Lombardi.”

“Yes, sir.” They both stand and leave the room. I sip my scotch as anger begins to seep into my bloodstream.

Nobody hits a Ferrara woman and gets away with it.

Nobody.

* * *

I sit in my car and stare across the street as she walks down the pavement.

I have a new pastime.

Stalking Olivia Reynolds.

Like a drug that I can’t have, I find myself thinking about her night and day.

Day and night.

I’m furious with Sophia, as if this is all somehow her fault. I can’t even talk to her at the moment. She doesn’t have what I need.

My drug has blonde hair, blue eyes, and the morals of a saint.

My drug made me feel worthy of her affection.

My drug is gone.

I watch on as she sits down onto a park bench and takes out her phone to scroll through it. She does this sometimes, as if not wanting to go back to her hotel.

My phone vibrates on the seat beside me, and I look over at the screen and frown.

Olivia Reynolds

It’s her, I scramble to answer it. “Hello, Olivia.”

“Hi,” she says softly. I smile as I watch her across the road. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” I whisper before I turn my mouth to brain filter on. I scrunch my eyes shut… stop it.

She pauses for a moment. “Can we meet up for a coffee sometime?

My heart flips. “Of course.” I smile, she wants to see me. “When. Now?” I offer.

“No, I’m at work now,” she lies.

“I see.” I run my finger along the side of the steering wheel as I watch her. “Tonight?” I ask.

“No. In the daytime is better.”

I clench my jaw, knowing that means it’s platonic. She feels safer in the day. “Okay, tomorrow?”

“Yes. Two o’clock?”