The Italian

“Hello, Olivia.”

“Hi.” I smile and hold the bottle up. “Want some?”

“Hmm.” He walks past me to the cupboard and takes out a bottle of blue label scotch. After he pours a glass, he immediately lifts it to his lips.

“Don’t I get a kiss hello?” I frown, this is unlike him.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He sighs as he takes me into his arms and kisses me.

“Rough day?” I frown up at him as I run my fingers through his hair.

A trace of a smile crosses his lips. “You could say that.” He steps back from me while holding my hand in the air. “You look breathtaking.”

I perform a little curtsy on the spot. “Thanks. This hot guy bought it for me.” I wiggle my hips.

He chuckles, and then tips his head back to drain the glass.

Jeez.

He pours another glass immediately.

He’s going to be drunk before we even get there. “Everything all right?” I ask.

“Yeah, give me ten minutes to get ready.” He picks up the scotch and drains the glass again.

“Okay, you’d better hurry. We are supposed to be there now.” I pick up the scotch bottle, secure the lid back on it, and put it back in the cupboard. He takes the hint and disappears into the bathroom.

His phone beeps on the kitchen counter and I pick it up. It’s a text from Sophia.

I’m going to need you to come to Sicily.

I can’t calm the girls. They need to see you.

Huh?

What the hell does that mean?

What girls need to see him? My blood begins to boil. That fucking bitch, demanding he go to Sicily with her so she can try and get her hooks back into him. And who are the girls?

How many of them has he fucked?

I get a vision of him in the luxurious brothels, and the beautiful girls all lining up to try and get picked to have sex with him.

What a prize he would be among them all. Enrico Ferrara a badge of honor. Is that what Sophia was? His favorite girl? That one he always took home because she was just so good in bed?

How many times did they fuck? How many times did she please my man?

Because I know for sure that he would have pleased her.

An ugly vision of her on her knees, sucking his dick comes to me, and I pick up the wine bottle to pour another glass so fast that it sloshes over the side. I sip it with a shaky hand.

Anger pumps through my blood.

Stop it. Stop being a hormonal bitch.

I know what I’m doing. I can feel myself being moody and insecure. I know I need to turn it off. I inhale deeply as I try to not think about it. Bringing that shit up when I’m feeling this crazy will never end well.

Right now, I feel like taking his phone and flushing it down the toilet so Sophia can never call or message him again.