The Italian

They thought it was an ambush, and they were armed and ready. They were calm, cool, and collected. Fear is filtering through my bloodstream. Who would want my man harmed, and what the actual fuck is going on around here?

I feel sick.

Enrico reaches forward and tucks his gun back under his seat. He picks up my hand, kisses my fingertips, and rests it down onto his thick thigh.

I watch him in the darkness as he stares straight ahead, unrattled.

Focused.

Who the hell am I in love with?

25

Olivia

Half an hour later, the car pulls into Oliviana.

“We are home,” Enrico says with a soft smile.

I wait in my seat as Maso comes around and opens my door. I get out and look around me. Two other cars have pulled up behind ours. They were obviously following us home. Enrico begins to chat with one of the men in the car behind us, and I watch him converse with them. He chuckles at something someone says, and they all break into chatter.

Totally at ease.

This is his normal. This is his safety net. He turns and notices me standing on the spot, and he comes over to take my hand.

“Come, Olivia.”

He leads me into the house and shuts the door behind us. He puts his arm around me and pulls me close, kissing my temple carefully before we turn and walk through to the kitchen. Antonia is cooking dinner.

She turns to us with a big smile. “Ciao, signorina Olivia.”

“Ciao.” I smile. I’ve been practicing what to say to her. “Grazie per aver cucinato la cena.” Translation: thank you for cooking dinner.

Enrico’s eyes glow with tenderness as he watches us.

“Ha un profumo straodinario,” he says. Translation: it smells amazing.

Her mouth falls open and she claps her hands together. “Signorina Olivia, così bella in italiano.” Translation: Miss Olivia, so beautiful in Italian.

I smile bashfully. “Grazie.”

Enrico goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of wine. He collects two crystal glasses, too, and I watch as he pours us both one.

“Let’s go sit on the terrace,” he says, handing me my glass.

We walk outside and take a seat at the table. He lights the candles in the center.

His eyes watch me as he takes a sip. “You’re very quiet.”

I’m feeling overly emotional—like I might burst into tears at any moment.

I sip my wine.

His eyes stay glued to me. “What is it?”

I shrug, feeling stupid. I knew all this about him. Nothing new has come to light tonight, but for the first time, I’m unsettled. I’m feeling a new emotion.

I’m frightened.