Chapter 1
FOUR MONTHS AFTER THE ESCAPE…
MILAN, ITALY
Do you know the good part about being late?
Living next door to work.
Do you know the bad part about being late?
Living next door to work.
Ten minutes.
It was a lot of time.
It was my first time being late since I’d started working at Vicenti Creativi Group three months earlier.
I didn’t like that. Being the daughter of the boss of bosses gave me something extra to prove to myself and, of course, to my coworkers.
I wasn’t looking for bonds, but it wouldn’t be bad to get along with everyone and, as a bonus, earn their respect.
I spent a month in account services, then papà, along with the person responsible for me in that department, Mr. Baroni, decided I would be better off in creative.
There, Angelina Moro, assistant to the art director, Mr. Cavalera, looked me up and down with a stare that told me everything before she spoke.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another intern like any other. I don’t do your work. I don’t bring coffee unless I want to. And you don’t boss me around. Do your part and we won’t have problems. Now that that’s clear, welcome.”
Then she smiled pleasantly, showed me the space, and explained my work.
That was enough.
I didn’t need perks because of who I was.
Well, I won’t deny it, I did have a few small privileges.
Whatever the case, no one looked at me sideways, except Angelina that one time, and they didn’t make a point of getting too close either.
Or maybe I was the one keeping my distance.
I only needed the job and to do it well.
I spent my days wandering around the department, asking one person after another questions whenever possible.
The questions simply never ended, but everyone had always been very helpful.
I loved the contagious energy flowing through the agency.
It was all about creativity and ideas popping at every moment.
If I closed my eyes for a minute, I could hear them sprouting around me.
Being immersed in that and all the daily challenges made me feel more alive than ever. No monotony. There was always something new to handle. I liked my time in account services, but in creative, I was home.
There was something very thrilling about winning people over.
The right campaign would make the target audience buy their own trash.
We planned, created, and sold dreams.
The salary was a little higher than what I assumed was the standard intern wage, but I wasn’t complaining. I was proud, not stupid.
I also knew this was my father’s doing. Another one, actually.
Again, I wasn’t complaining.
I loved working. It wasn’t just about independence and being productive. It was about keeping my thoughts from drifting in the wrong direction and putting my attention where it truly belonged.
The elevator’s double doors opened with an audible beep, and then I jumped out, clicking my heels in a hurry across the cold floor toward a very impatient Angelina.
“You’re late.”
We started walking side by side down the hallway.
“I know. Lucca has been really nauseous since he woke up this morning, and Giulia was late because of yesterday’s storm. Her neighborhood was in bad shape.”
“Tell me about it. The sky fell on Milan yesterday. I don’t know who was more scared, me or my dog. Oh, and Mr. Cavalera called a little while ago saying he’s going to be late.”
I gave her an exasperated look.
She shrugged, her expression turning bored.
“You’re the intern. Someone with balls has to give you a hard time.”
“Ha, ha. So funny! I like you better when you’re smart.”
“Good morning, Antonella.”
“Good morning, Matteo.”
The copywriter passed us with a charming smile.
Angelina nudged me. “He doesn’t fool me.”
I ignored her comment.
“God, I’m wrecked! I swear to you. The day hasn’t even started, and I already feel like I’m at the end of it. I feel like I barely hit the bed before the alarm went off along with Lucca’s screams. Thank God it’s Friday, otherwise I’d hand in my notice.”
“Imagine, then, when you find out the team is planning to work late.”
I stopped dead, my eyes huge as I whispered in fear:
“Don’t fuck with me.”
A devilish smile curved her mouth.
“Clown! You don’t joke about that.”
I started walking again, and she stepped after me. “Girl, you are way too stressed. You sound like someone who needs a huge cup of coffee.”
“A pitcher, please.”
We paused in her office.
“Settle for this.”
I took the warm cup of coffee, drank one sip, then another.
It was true that Angelina had made her point with me when I parachuted into her department, or more precisely into her path as Dante Cavalera’s intern.
But who could blame her?
We were grown, self-possessed women. We were here to do our best, not to compete over who could blow more smoke up the other’s ass.
During the time I’d been here, our relationship had grown closer. Though Angelina was very private about her personal life. But then, so was I.
“A garden is waiting for you,” she said, winking.
As had been happening for almost a month, the small room adjacent to Angelina’s office, which I occupied, was packed with flowers, vases and more vases of red tulips scattered through every corner of the already tiny room.
Each day had been a different color. They were my favorites.
I had no idea who sent them. There was never a card.
Which had sparked not only my curiosity, but that of my female coworkers and the whole department, and that, of course, had led them to place bets on who the knight in shining armor was.
There were a few guesses circulating, but I never paid attention to them.
I was only open to one relationship: my son.
My suspicious gaze fell on the lone arrangement of blue tulips.
“Did you read the card?” Angelina stuck her head through the doorway.
I looked to the side, my eyebrow rising.
“There’s a card?”
She smiled broadly and stepped inside, almost bouncing.
“We’re finally going to find out who Don Juan is.”
“No way?”
Curiosity got the better of me.
I hadn’t noticed any lingering looks in my direction, though Angelina sometimes liked to say Matteo lost a few minutes staring at me.
“In the blue tulips. Aren’t they gorgeous? If you don’t take them home, I will.”
I picked up the card.
“So, what does it say?”
“I’ll know when I read it.”
“And what are you waiting for? Come on, girl! Open it.”
I looked at her. She folded her arms and pretended to check her nails with an I-don’t-care look.
“Curiosity kills, and I’m not ready to die yet.”
“It’s private,” I pointed out, though I was teasing.
“Uh-huh… I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me.”
“Actually, I can.”
“What? Are you pulling the daughter-of-the-big-boss card?”
I shrugged.
“Maybe.”
Angelina planted her hands on her hips and scowled. “Consider yourself excluded from my social circles. No happy hour for you, young lady.”
I huffed, moving around her.
“As if I ever go to one.”
I sat behind my tiny desk. Everything about my space was tiny. The flowers made it even smaller. Not that it bothered me.
“I’m being visionary here,” Angelina said.
Smiling, I brushed my hair back, then pulled out the card and read.
The color drained from my face, leaving me frozen like cement as I kept staring at the single word written in a very familiar cursive hand.
My heart suddenly grew heavy.
“So?” Angelina asked after a while.
Everything in me was tense and unyielding.
Hot, dense, poisonous anger seeped into my rigid nerves. My fingers tightened so hard on the paper I felt it tear a little. I shoved it into my purse in a rush. I glanced up, still keeping my frozen smile, which now looked wrong on my face. I sucked in a breath and forced a softer expression.
“I’m going to take advantage of Mr. Dante being late to finish yesterday’s report. He was kind enough to let me finish it today. I don’t want to abuse that. Thanks for the coffee.”
I was almost pleased that my voice sounded pleasant.
“Is there a problem?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? You’re pale.”
“I’m just tired.”
She didn’t believe me.
“I’m fine,” I reinforced.
“Want to share what was written on the card?”
“No.”
Angelina opened her mouth, but closed it as if thinking better of it.
“I’ll be in the room next door.”
After she left, I lost a good few minutes with my murderous stare locked on my purse on the desk.
I couldn’t identify the feeling swelling inside me like a vicious mass, but it wasn’t good.
The longer I looked, the heavier my breathing became and the harder I felt, going to a place that wasn’t healthy, nor pleasant to be in.
I couldn’t go there without infecting myself.
I gave myself a mental shake when I thought I was going to explode if I looked at it any longer, then shoved it into the drawer.
I had work to do, and that was what I did.
I threw myself headfirst into work and policed my thoughts so they wouldn’t wander into improper territory.
Hours later, close to my quitting time, I decided I would work overtime. I called Giulia to let her know, then focused on the meeting with Matteo and his team.
Papà appeared and invited me to dinner with him and mamma. I accepted right away.
“Overtime?” he asked when we got into his Bentley.
“Matteo invited me to sit in on the meeting, and I thought it would be good to stay. It was nice to see up close how he and his team work, so I have an idea of what to expect when I work with them. Everyone was excited about choosing the copy that will be used in the T-Bikes campaign.”
Papà nodded, but said nothing.
He drove to my apartment and then to his mansion on the shores of Lake Como in Bellagio. Mamma practically jumped out of her skin with happiness when she saw us.
Without work to distract me, I lost the battle for control, and my thoughts crawled back to the excruciating ground I’d promised myself I would never set foot on again.