Page 47 of The Italian Obsession

It’s probably on its way to Antarctica or some shit. Ugh, this is typical.

Another round of bags roll out, and I finally see mine. Oh, thank God. False alarm. I drag it off the carousel, pop the handle up, and make my way outside to the cab line.

“Excuse me, signora,” a voice says.

I turn toward him. “Yes?”

“Is this your suitcase?” He gestures to my luggage. He has a very strong accent—so strong that I can hardly understand him.

I frown as I look down at it. Don’t tell me I picked up the wrong bag. I quickly check the luggage tag.

Olivia Reynolds

“Yes, this is my bag,” I say.

He exchanges looks with a man. “Come with me, please.”

“What?” I glance up to see that I am surrounded by airport security. There are five of them in total. “Why?”

“Come into the office.” He picks my bag up and begins to wheel it back into the airport.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I ask. “I don’t have time. I have to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he tells me.

“What? Why not?”

A strong hand grabs my elbow. “Into the security office… now.”

“W-what’s going on?” I stammer as I look between them. They all remain silent as the men on either side of me pulls me along. “I don’t understand. Do you speak English?” I ask, desperate for answers. We walk past a woman on the help desk. “Excuse me!” I call to her. “Do you speak English? What’s going on here?”

Her sympathy-filled eyes hold mine, and in that moment, I know something’s wrong.

“What’s going on?” I demand as they lead me into the office. One of the men puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me down into a seat.

He takes my passport, and then sits down opposite me. “Are you aware it is a federal offense to transport drugs?”

I frown. What the fuck is he talking about? “Yes.”

“And are you aware that the imprisonment for such an offense carries a minimum of twenty years of imprisonment?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He lifts the cover of a trolley that I didn’t see in the corner to expose five big bags of white powder. “Explain to me why this was in your bag? Twenty-five kilograms of cocaine, with a street value of approximately nine million euro.” He picks up the bags and counts them one by one.

My face falls. This can’t be happening…

Oh my fucking God.

“What?” I gasp. “That was not in my bag.”

“It was, and we have footage of the moment it was discovered.”

My heart begins to race, and I look between them all in a panic. Why didn’t I put the locks on my bag?

“This is a mistake, I don’t.—” I begin to shake my head. “That’s not mine. I swear to you, that’s not mine.”

“Do you have any more drugs on your body?”