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“You got the job in New York—the first one you applied for.”
“Then why did I end up in Milan?”
“Mr. Ferrara sent for you.” I stare at him, lost for words. “I brought you here at his request.”
“What?” I splutter. Horror dawns. “So, my whole job is a sham?”
“No.” He puts his arm around me. “Darling, you got that position fair and square, and I got them to hold the position in New York for three months in case things don’t work out here.”
I stare at him. “Why would you do that?”
“For Rico.”
“He asked you to send for me?”
“Yes.”
The room spins. “But why?”
He chuckles as he picks up my purse and hands it to me. He links my hand around his arm and leads me toward the door. “Connect the dots, sweetheart. It seems Enrico Ferrara has a tendre for you.”
We walk out of the front door and straight into the back of a waiting cab. I stare out of the window as the taxi pulls out into the street.
“I haven’t seen him for two years, Giorgio.”
“And yet, he hasn’t forgotten you.”
I stare at Giorgio, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion. “He’s an asshole.”
He smiles and puts his arm around me. “They all are, darling.”
* * *
“I can’t believe you’re here already.” I smile across the table at Natalie.
“My boss decided he didn’t want me to work my notice, and then the airline had a half price special for this week only. I had nothing holding me back. May as well get here so I can start looking for work.”
“I’m so excited you’re here.”
“Me, too.”
It’s Saturday night, and in an unexpected turn of events, Natalie has arrived in Milan earlier than we expected. We’re in a cocktail bar and we have just had dinner. We’re going clubbing tonight after this to celebrate.
Natalie frowns. “So, tell me this story again. I’m confused.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” I sip my margarita. “Apparently, Enrico asked for my job to be in Milan instead of New York.”
“How does he have that pull?”
“I don’t know, he’s friends with Giorgio and, well… there are stories about him being the head of the Mafiosi,” I whisper.
“The mafia?” she gasps out loud.
“Shh.” I look at the people around us, hoping nobody heard. “Keep your voice down.”
“What do the stories say?”
I wave my drink in the air as I try to articulate myself. “That the Ferrara family has been linked to Mafiosi, but nothing has ever been proven or any charges laid.” I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s some fucked up shit that I can’t make head nor tails of.”
