The Italian

“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?”