Page 66 of The Italian Obsession

The door bangs as it closes. I watch him leave, in shock.

What the hell just happened?

Franco’s gaze follows Enrico. “What is my cousin doing here?” 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’s gone. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“He was being a jerk, Vinnie,” 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 desperate Tinder girl.

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.

I’m so flat today, and I know it’s stupid. Why on earth would I let an asshole upset me so much? I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me. What does his opinion matter, anyway?

I hate that it does.

“So, we’re nearly done,” Seraphina says, interrupting my thoughts as she looks around her office. She’s wearing a fitted woolen plum dress and knee-high black boots. She’s channeling Sophia Loren today. “What else do you want to know? Have I forgotten to tell you anything?”

I exhale. “Seraphina, can I even do this job?” I whisper. “I’m so nervous about it. What if I mess this up?”