The Italian

“Takes one to know one.”

* * *

The afternoon sun flickers through the branches of the tree overhead. It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m lying on the daybed next to the pool. I’m wearing a white bikini, and my man is half asleep next to me in board shorts, his beautiful olive skin on display. He’s calm; more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. We haven’t left the house today. I made us breakfast and then he worked out in the gym on the grounds while I explored the garden some more. I did some washing and we ate lunch. I get why he loves it here. It has a real holiday feel to it, and it’s so far removed from the hustle and bustle of Milan due to the sounds of the water lapping and the birds flying overhead. The wind in the trees and the distant sound of a boat engine on the lake help, too. It’s a sensory cleanse. If peace had a sound, this would be it.

Seeing my man so happy and relaxed makes me appreciate his affinity with this place. The hour to travel to and from work each day is a small price to pay.

I sit up to lean on my elbows as I look out over the lake and catch sight of someone in the boathouse.

Security.

I know they’re always around, but somehow Rico seems to make it all seem normal. Like he said, they keep their distance, so I need to forget that they’re here.

It will take me a while to get used to, I’m not going to lie.

I think back to the security shutters.

What in the hell is all that about? Who the fuck would shoot through the windows, anyway? Why would an

yone need that in their home? It just doesn’t make sense.

A little voice from deep within me whispers, Mafiosi.

Rici reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh. I roll onto my side to face him. I push his hair back from his face. The shadows are flickering over him as the sun moves through the trees.

“You’re sleepy today, baby,” I whisper.

“Hmm.” He smiles with his eyes closed.

“Do you want a drink or anything?”

He pulls me closer and snuggles into my neck. “No, I want you to sleep here with me.”

“That, I can do.”

My lips dust his temple, and I listen as his breathing slowly returns to a regulated pattern. He’s drifted back off.

I stare back out over the water and come to the conclusion that it doesn’t get much better than this.

I’ve found him.

It’s not Lake Como that brings me peace. It’s Rici Ferrara.

* * *

Enrico stands in the bathroom mirror and ties his tie. Gone is my relaxed Rici from yesterday. The businessman is back. Enrico. He’s wearing a navy blue, perfectly fitted suit, with a crisp white shirt, and a stupidly expensive Rolex watch. It’s 5:30 a.m. and he’s getting ready for work while organizing me left right and center.

“Lorenzo is going to collect you in two hours to drive you to work,” he says as he stares into the mirror.

“Okay.”

“I’m flying to Sicily today. I have an issue down there I have to take care of. I’m flying out of the airport from here, so Lorenzo will collect you after work, too. I’ll meet you at home.”

“Oh.” I pause. “I wanted to go the gym after work in Milan.”

“You have your own gym here now. You don’t need to go to a public gym.”

“I know, but I want to. I’m going to go with Natalie. She’s just moved here for me, and I can’t abandon her. I want to include her in my life. She’s my best friend.”