The Italian

“Why do you need a gun then?”

He brushes past me and goes into the bathroom to pack his toiletries.

I storm in after him. “Is Sophia there?”

“Olivia,” he bellows. “Do not fight with me tonight. This has nothing to do with Sophia. Pack your fucking clothes.”

“You don’t have to be an asshole about it!” I snap.

I walk back into the bedroom and begin to throw some clothes into the overnight bag he has gotten out for me. I go into the bathroom and grab my toiletries. I stare at the closed bottom drawer for a moment, and then I snatch the pharmacy bag that I picked up today.

“How long are you going to be?” I ask.

“Not long.”

“Not long, as in one night, or not long, as in eight?” He glares at me. “Bella.”

I purse my lips. “What kind of trouble is it?”

“Just one of the patrons.”

“Can’t someone else handle it? It’s midnight, Enrico.”

“No.” He picks up his packed bag and storms from the room. I run after him. “Is this dangerous?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, his frustration obvious. “God, give me strength, Olivia.” He inhales sharply. “I have to go. Lorenzo is coming for you.”

“This is all very dramatic for something that isn’t dangerous.”

The doorbell sounds, and Enrico looks at the security screen. Lorenzo is waiting in the hall. Enrico buzzes him in.

“Hello,” Rico greets him. “Take Olivia to Ferrara House and don’t leave her side.”

“Yes, sir.”

Enrico picks up his bag, throws it over his shoulder, and lifts my face to his. “I’ll be home soon, my love.” He kisses me softly. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“Okay.” I force a smile. “Please, be careful.”

“Always.” With one last kiss, he walks out of the apartment without looking back. The door clicks quietly behind him.

I drop my shoulders, deflated. “It’s midnight, Lorenzo. It’s rude to go to Bianca’s at this hour. She’ll be fast asleep. Enrico is being dramatic. Why can’t I just stay here?”

“Olivia,” he warns in his best Italian accent. “You will follow his orders.”

* * *

The car pulls into the circular driveway of Bianca’s home.

Ferrara House.

This place is like something from a magazine. It’s over the top luxury like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. More guards are here than anywhere else, and I wonder who assigns them. Is it Enrico’s doing or was it his father’s? My mind goes off on a tangent, and I idly wonder if Angelina has this many guards at her house, too. Which partner gets better protection? More importantly, from what?

Nerves dance in my stomach as I think of Enrico on his way to Sicily.