Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
It’s time.
They frown in question.
“I need to do this.”
They nod, realizing exactly what it means.
I walk over to Lorenzo. “Can I have a moment?”
“Yes, son.”
My eyes hold his. “I want it to be painful,” I whisper. “I want them to suffer.”
He smiles darkly. “You have my word.”
“Bring their hearts to me in a box.”
He clenches his jaw and nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Start the fucking war.”
7
Olivia
Six days later
I pace back and forth on my balcony, listening to the phone ring.
“Pick up, pick up,” I whisper.
The call is cut off and my heart drops. Rico rejected it. He usually just doesn’t answer but today he actually rejected it—me.
My Italian Stallion is an asshole. He’s the kind that is too gutless to let me down like an adult. Instead, he’s going to pretend nothing happened between us, which makes him the worst kind of fucking asshole.
Weak.
I throw my phone onto the couch and drop down onto the bed.
How could I have been so gullible? There I was, opening my heart and telling him he’s my sun, falling to my knees and sucking his dick as a goodbye present, and he doesn’t even want to talk to me now.
I fell for his act hook, line, and sinker. I really thought we had something.
I feel stupid that my feelings are hurt, and if this is what the world of casual sex is like, count me out. I want nothing to fucking do with it.
I’m not heartbroken because I really didn’t know him, and it was very early days.
But disappointed? Yes. Hell, yes.
My ego has taken a massive hit. I mean, if Rico didn’t call me after the chemistry we shared, what chance do I ever have of hearing from someone who I share mediocre chemistry with?
I gave him my best and did all that I could. I was totally myself and still, it wasn’t enough. Maybe there really is something wrong with me.
I get a vision of Rico and I laughing and riding around on the bike. I see us making love—fucking like rabbits. It felt so real and raw at the time.
I’m getting angry now.
Screw you, Italian Stallion. I’m too good for you, anyway.
I would rather be single than made to feel like a worthless piece of meat.
You know what? I’m just going to see it for what it was: a great weekend.
It didn’t work out. So what?
Maybe something has happened to him…
God, Olivia, can you hear yourself right now? Stop being pathetic.
He hasn’t called.
He doesn’t care. Onward and upward.
Enrico Ferrara who?
I stand at the luggage carousal in Rome and wait for my suitcase. I watch as, one by one, the travelers collect their belongings and make their way out of the airport.
Why is mine taking so long?
Damn it, I knew I should have changed my flight and flew home from Sorrento. It was going to cost me an extra thousand dollars. I need to get on top of my finances, and putting a thousand dollars onto my credit card just because I didn’t want to accidently run into a man seemed so stupid at the time.
Now, not so much.
I find myself keep looking around, scared that I’m going to see him.
I’m embarrassed that I kept calling him. I was sure something must have been wrong for him not to call me. It didn’t occur to me that he just didn’t want to speak to me until I had already called him six times. Then it was too late to take them back.
What a loser I am.
I stare at the rotating carousal. For fuck’s sake, where is my bag? I’m not in the mood for this shit. It’s going around empty now. Have they lost it?
It’s probably on its way to Antarctica or some shit.
Ugg, 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 rank.
“Excuse me, signore,” 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 man 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?”