Page 172 of The Italian Obsession

I’m not sure if I like having strangers in my house all the time. Especially ones that give me the fucking look.

I’m going to have to talk to Rico. I want some privacy. This is ridiculous.

I watch the scenery fly by as I think about the last twenty-four hours. Enrico’s words from last night come back to me.

The Don, and the son of a fucking liar.

Fuck, does a sentence get any heavier than that? I don’t even know how or where to begin to process it. He said his family have been criminals in the past, and that there are still elements that are seedy. Prostitution, but that’s a legal business. Gambling, also legal. He said there are no drugs anymore. He also said that he’s trying to clean everything up, but it’s going to take time.

I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. Then there’s my poor Rico who really does have the weight of the world on his shoulders. All this staff—staff who lie to him. His father and grandfather left him with this mess, and he feels burdened with such heavy responsibilities.

But I love him, and his burden is my burden.

This isn’t ideal, by any means. I would much prefer him to be a broke policeman in Roma… but he isn’t, and if I want to spend my life with him, I need to get my head around that. I take out my phone to text Natalie.

Oh my God, can we please meet up today?

I have so much to tell you

My finger hovers over the send button. Who am I kidding? I can’t tell Natalie any of this. She can’t keep a secret for shit. I erase my message and type it out again.

Hi, Nat,

How are you?

What time is your job interview?

I wait for a few moments and a text bounces back in.

My interview is at two.

I really hope I get it.

I think I found an apartment.

I smile and text back.

Rico asked me to move in with him.

A reply comes in.

What the fuck?

Are you going to?

I smile at the ridiculousness of my life right now. Am I on Netflix?

I already did.

Apparently, I now live in Lake Como.

I smirk as I wait for her reply.

Oh, get fucked, you’re like Amal Clooney or some shit.

I giggle out loud and Lorenzo’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror to see what I’m laughing at. What I really want to write back is: except for the small fact that she’s a human rights lawyer and married to a movie star, while I’m an Australian nobody, dating a Don.

I won’t, though. I’ll keep that part of Rici Ferrara to myself. I can’t trust anyone with his secrets. It’s my man and me against the world now. When I told him I loved him, I meant it, warts and all… and boy, are there some warts.