Page 192 of The Italian Obsession

“It’s a pleasure loaning you sensible work heels so you can look hot for your new boss.”

She giggles. “Oh my God, you should see this guy.”

“I can’t wait to.” I glance up and see Maso on the phone. His eyes meet mine across the bar, and I know Enrico is here. “Got to go.” I give my friend a hug and a kiss and make my way out of the bar.

________

Maso and Marley fall in beside me. We walk out and see the black Mercedes wagon parked in the loading bay. Maso opens the back door, and there he sits. My man is wearing a navy suit and a white shirt. With his black, curly hair and the most perfect chiseled jawline in all of history, it’s a sight to behold. His big brown eyes meet mine.

“Hello, my darling,” he says softly.

My heart stops… knowing that I am the only person who gets this side of him.

Enrico Ferrara hates most of the world… but he loves me. With all of his heart, he loves me.

I have to stop myself from diving across the seat to him. “Hi.” I get into the car and shimmy across the backseat to kiss him softly. He glances at the rearview mirror, reminding me we are not alone. Annoyed, I go back to my seat and put my seat belt on. He smiles and his eyes linger on my face. He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it as the car pulls out into the traffic.

“How is your friend?” he asks.

“Good,” I breathe. I’ve missed him today. “How was your day?”

“Average.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Better now.”

My eyes search his. I try to send him a telepathic message telling him how much I’ve missed him. I wish these damn men in the front seat weren’t with us all the time.

“Me, too,” he whispers.

My heart somersaults. He understood what I wanted to tell him. I put my head back onto the headrest and smile dreamily.

With our entwined hands resting on his thigh, we drive through the night, back to Lake Como.

He falls silent as he stares out the window, deep in thought. I watch him. What was it like to grow up in these conditions? To never have the freedom to say what you want, when you want. My thoughts go to his mother. She would have been guarded around the clock, too. How did she feel when her husband left her to go see another woman? I mean, it’s bad enough that she knew where he was, but to have all these spectators bear witness to it must have only magnified the horror.

God… I feel sorry for her. That poor, poor woman.

Everyone says that Enrico is the vision of his father—like him in personality, too. I can’t imagine loving him like I do, while he loved another. To have him leave me every week to go to her would remove a piece of my heart every time he left.

It seems like the slowest, cruelest form of torture.

“Ay, ay, what’s this?” Maso asks.

Lights flash on the road ahead, and we look up to see a man with an orange roadworks flag pulling cars over. He directs us to pull to the side, and the men in the front all shuffle about in their jackets.

Enrico immediately bends and rustles around under the seat. He takes a gun out and tucks it into his suit jacket.

My eyes widen. What the fuck? What’s he doing? Is something happening right now?

I hold my breath as my heart begins to thump hard in my chest. The man comes up to the window, and Maso smiles casually as he winds it down. “Buonasera, agente.” Translation: Good evening, officer.

The officer nods and looks into the car with a torch. He shines it in everyone’s faces.

“Qual è il problema?” Maso asks. Translation: What seems to be the problem?

“Ha un documento d’identità?” Translation: Do you have identification?

Maso takes his license out and passes it over. The officer studies it.

“Apra il bagagliaio.” Translation: Open the trunk.