The Italian

Enrico’s nostrils flare as he glares at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so angry. “Ti porto fino a qui e ti trovo con qualcun altro? Che diavolo sta succedendo?” Translation: I bring you all the way here and find you with someone else? What in the fucking hell is going on?

“What are you saying?” I cry. “I don’t understand you.”

“All this time,” he whispers, almost to himself. He shakes his head in disgust as his furious eyes hold mine. “And now I find out you’re just another Tinder whore.”

My face falls.

He turns and pushes out of the foyer and through the front doors, storming outside.

The door bangs as it closes. I watch him leave, in shock. What the hell just happened?

The restaurant door opens in a rush and Franco’s cousin comes into view. “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispers angrily as he peers out the glass doors to see if Enrico gone. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“He was being a jerk,” Franco huffs.

“Do you know who that is?”

“Who?”

“That’s Enrico Ferrara.”

“Who’s that?”

“The biggest crime boss in all of Italy.”

Franco’s face falls. “That was him?”

“What?” I scoff. “That’s ridiculous. Enrico is a policeman.”

Vinnie pulls Franco’s jacket closed and fixes him up. “I don’t know what he told you, lady, but my sister’s old boyfriend used to be a driver for them.”

“What? That’s not true, it’s insane.” I push out of the front door and I look up and down the darkened street. It’s silent, and there is no sight of Enrico.

“I’m going,” I tell them before I hold up my hand and a cab pulls over.

“I’ll call you,” Franco calls out.

“Please don’t.” I slam the door shut. “I’d rather be single.”

My heart is hammering in my chest as the taxi begins to pull away. Shame and adrenaline are pumping through my body.

Who the fuck does Enrico Ferrara think he is?

* * *

It’s funny that the more you tell yourself not to think about something, the more your mind fixates on it.

I’ve been going over and over the things Enrico said on Saturday night.

You’re just another Tinder whore.

Five words have cut me to the bone.

The worst part is, it’s true.

I was never cut out for dating a stranger. How could I possibly think I was?

I keep seeing the sheer disgust on his face. The way he stormed out and left his friends without going back. I didn’t sleep all night for thinking about that look on his face. It will haunt me forever.