The Italian

“Why would you scare me?”

He steps forward.

I take a step back.

“Rici,” I whisper softly. “It’s me, baby. Olivia.”

“I know who you are.” He takes another slow step toward me. “But, do you know who I am?” he whispers.

Our eyes are locked. “Who are you?” I ask.

He holds his hands out wide. “Let me introduce myself… bella.” His voice is a hushed tone, filled with darkness and despair.

I watch him. Fear is coursing through my veins. He doesn’t even resemble the man I know.

“My name is Enrico Giuliano Ferrara.” He pauses and licks his lips. “The head of the Ferraro underworld.” His eyes are dark. “I run all crime in Italy.” He holds his finger up. “The Don,” he sneers as he staggers to the side. “And the son of a fucking liar.”

21

Olivia

I stare at him, lost for words.

He raises his chin in defiance.

What?

I mean, I had my suspicions, but to have him throw it in my face as if he’s looking for a fight is not something I ever imagined.

“Now, pack your things and leave,” he growls, he turns away from me.

I stare at his back for a while, my mind in freefall. What the hell is going on here? “Why?”

He turns back, curls his lip in disgust, and shakes his head. “I’m no good.”

I stay silent, unsure where he’s going with this.

“This.” He hits his chest with both hands. “This! My story doesn’t end well. Leave while you can.” He sidesteps as he tries to keep upright. “I don’t want this life for you, Olivia.”

My heart breaks.

What’s happened that has upset him so much?

I step forward and take his drunken face in both hands. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

He blinks slowly, trying to focus on me.

“I love you,” I whisper, and I kiss him softly.

“Don’t,” he sighs. “Don’t love me, bella. You can’t love me.”

“Why not?’

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“Until what?”

“My days are numbered.” His haunted eyes hold mine. “Th