Page 191 of My Italian Love Affair

"Yeah," I say, swallowing thickly. "I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like he's just -on me.All the time. But Richard..."

I pause to catch my breath.

"He’s my editor, back in London. Richard told me that Mark's been taking credit for my work. That he's been telling everyone the reason my articles are performing so well is because he’s having to take time away from his own work to help me draft mine, since I don’t have a clue what I’m talking about."

Matteo's eyes blaze with fury.

“And then, today, Mark said that there’s only one reason he can think of why my articles are doing well.”

“And what was that reason?” Matteo asks, sounding as though he’s talking through gritted teeth.

I clear my throat before I answer, willing my voice not to tremble.

“He said I must be sleeping with either you, or Richard.”

He surges to his feet - apparently no longer comfortable in the chair - and I watch as he begins pacing my small living room like a predator trapped in a cage.

"Thatfuck," he mutters, voice low and lethal. "That pathetic, lying, cowardly piece of shit."

"Matteo -"

"Let me just - make sure I’m getting this right.” he says. “He threatened you, harassed you, tried to humiliate you, and now he's taking credit for your work?”

I nod.

“He warned you off me just to mess with your head, andthenhe said -"

His nostrils flare as he remembers the final part.

"He said you were sleeping with me or your editor?"

I nod again, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks.

"Yeah."

Matteo runs both hands through his dark hair before he pulls his phone from his back pocket. His chest heaves as he scrolls through his contacts, thumb moving with rapid intent.

"Che cazzo," he growls under his breath. "Figlio di puttana..."

"What are you doing?" I ask, voice shaky as I watch him typefuriously on his phone.

"Figuring out who I need to call to destroy thisprick," Matteo spits out. "Believe me, he won't get another job in this industry when I'm done."

"Matteo, you can't -"

"Watch me."

His thumb stops, and he stares at a contact name with cold, hard eyes.

"Nobody gets to intimidatemy girl."

Despite myself, my breath catches at those words.

Hisgirl.

"Nobody gets to humiliate you, make you cry like this. Not while I’m here. Not while I can do something about it."

He dials a number, pacing the room as the call rings.

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