The Italian
Page 159
With my heart in my throat, I turn and walk out of the room. Oh, my fucking God, what the hell is going on?
* * *
Three hours later and I’m sitting at my desk with my mind in overdrive.
Where the fuck is Franco?
Why would they be asking me, and why did I immediately think that they were suspicious? I know Rici had nothing to do with this, so why did I feel compelled to lie on his behalf?
With shaky hands, I Google
Who Is Enrico Ferrara
Enrico Ferrara is a thirty-four-year-old billionaire. Well known for being hard and driven, this Italian thoroughbred is head of the infamous Ferrara dynasty.
The CEO of Ferrara Enterprises, Enrico became the sole heir to the company on the death of his father Giuliano, and his grandfather Stefano Ferrara, who were both killed in a tragic car accident near Roma two years ago.
Known for his striking good looks and womanizing ways, Enrico is fast becoming a global force to be reckoned with, having a sharp intellect and impeccable work ethic. He continues to work unbelievably hard. In the midst of accusation and scandal, he has been forced to find new strength in order to face the accusation of bribery, corruption, and hacking by subsidiary firms.
The Ferrara family have been linked to, but not accused of, having deep ties within organized crime throughout Europe.
I knew all this from when I researched him before.
Womanizing ways…. hmm, I hate that description. That’s kind of disturbing.
He’s not a criminal. Just because his family own brothels, it doesn’t mean he’s a criminal. He wouldn’t know where that stupid fucking Franco is. Franco is probably balls-deep in his next Tinder date somewhere.
I read over the text again.
Enrico is fast becoming a global force to be reckoned with, having a sharp intellect and impeccable work ethic.
I smile proudly. That’s my man. Go, baby.
* * *
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.