Page 202 of The Italian


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“You’re either going to be arrested and put in jail… or you will be killed.”

Our eyes are locked.

“Either way, we don’t get a happy ending… do we?”

He drops his head, saddened by my epiphany. “I’m not going anywhere, Olivia. This is who I am, though, and you need to get your head around that. I’ve tried to protect you as much as I can from my working life at Ferrara.”

“I know,” I mutter.

“I just need you to love me—to not ask questions. Let me handle business, and you handle our relationship. Keep me in check when I’m working too much.” He smiles softly. “Keep the two things separate. When I come home, I just want to be happy with my family and forget everything else.”

“How can I keep it separate when we do nothing else?”

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He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“We have no friends outside of Ferrara. Your staff are everywhere I look. I just want a normal Saturday night date with friends and to…” I shrug. God, I don’t even know what I want. “I just want you to be a boring old delivery man and for us to live completely alone.”

He chuckles. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I frown.

“Let’s go and stay in Milan at my apartment for a few days. It’s a lot more private there. I’ll speak to the staff about being more discreet for when we come back home to Lake Como. You have to remember, I have never had a partner. They aren’t used to keeping my woman happy.”

I smile over at him. “Thank you.”

“But I don’t want you worrying yourself sick over me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You need to stop, Olivia. If you begin to think negatively about my line of work, you will drive yourself insane. I am a Ferrara. I can’t change it. I wouldn’t even if I could. This is your life now, and you need to adjust.”

I nod as his words sink in. “I know.”

His eyes hold mine and he gives me a slow, sexy smile.

Butterflies dance in my stomach at the intensity of his gaze, it could start a fire. “What?”

“You are completely delusional if you think anything could drag me away from you.”

I smile softly.

He shrugs casually. “It’s just not happening.”

“You know, for a big, tough guy, you say some pretty romantic things, Mr. Ferrara.”

He pats his lap, and I go to him. “Do you feel better now?” he asks as he slides his hands around to my behind.

“Yes.”

“Do you still wish I was a delivery man?”

I giggle as I get a vision of him driving a delivery truck. “Actually, I do.”

* * *

My back arches, and I wake to the feeling of my toes tingling.

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