Page 38 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘I’m still mad, Erica. But I don’t like your methods. I like to deal with my cards on the table, you know that.’

‘So, what are you saying? I’m some sort of thug?’

‘Of course not. But you always manage to get yourself into these predicaments and I always have to pull you out, some way or another.’

Which had, of course, been true in the past. But I was angry now and anger fueled me better than fear. It made me lucid. Like a sniper on a rooftop, ready to strike.

‘Just let me deal with it, Julian. I know what to do.’

‘Erica, no. I know you.’

‘And I know the hotel business. Trust me.’

Julian heaved a sigh. ‘I don’t know. You’re just asking for trouble. Let Laura deal with it.’

Oof, again with the fancy-pants lawyer. Julian was holding out on me because he didn’t want to offend our neighbors, Marco and Renata. Better for me to change tactics.

‘Just let me give it a shot, Julian. Please?’

Silence, and then a groan. ‘OK. One shot. After that, you leave it to her. OK?’

Aargh…

‘OK?’ he insisted.

Laura Magri wasn’t interested in doing the job properly. All she wanted was fast and good money.

‘Erica?’

‘Yes, Julian.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Dinner’s in the oven. Kiss the kids for me.’

A sigh. ‘Right…’

‘Now, will you please pass me to Paul?’

Julian groaned, but I heard him mumbling, ‘She wants to talk to you. Convince her to come back home. I sure as hell can’t.’

‘Sunshine,’ Paul said, and I automatically grinned. My partner in crime.

‘Paulie,’ I said. ‘Pack an overnight bag and have Julian drive you to the bus station. I’ll meet you in San Gimignano.’

And as I hung up without giving him a chance to argue, I saw it, down in the valley – Tasting bloody Tuscany, its sign very similar to our own logo: four blue cypress trees on a green hill, while ours was three green cypress trees on a blue hill. They’d even copied that. I looked around, fuming, like an angry bull before a taunting red cape.

Seen from afar, even the structure looked similar. Of course they’d think they could get away with our pictures on their website! Because they hadn’t yet met angry Erica Cantelli, former manager of a luxury hotel. This was one of the meanest businesses around and I was geared for blood. Pools and pools of it. And speaking of…

‘And this is your idea of an evening out?’ Paul hissed as, two hours later, we huddled in the dark on the ground beneath the bushes separating the swimming pool from the patio at Tasting Tuscany, The Enemy’s reign. We’d checked in, me wearing a blonde wig (not that it could hide my big butt), had dinner and were now taking our evening stroll as I reached into a massive handbag.

‘As I said, this is war. Hold this jar.’

‘What’s in it?’

I scrambled to my feet, surprisingly nimble for one with a back like mine, but you know determination moves in mysterious ways. I poured the red liquid into the pool with a relish that was beyond gleeful. It was sinister. Malevolent, even. But they had it coming.

‘Dye,’ I rasped as if issuing a command and unscrewed the first lid.

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