Page 64
Story: That's Amore
“You’re lying.” I was trembling.
“Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not lying, and if you weren’t so insecure, you’d be able to see that.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Name-calling? Really, Elyssa, you’re going to?—"
Before he could finish, I grabbed his glass of wine and flung the contents at him.
The red liquid splashed across his face, staining his white shirt and dripping down his jaw. I felt my entire staff still, all eyes on us, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of satisfaction. But it didn’t last because he did something that completely disarmed me.
He laughed.
Not a polite chuckle or a nervous laugh. A deep, genuine laugh that lit up his face and made him look like a completely different man.
“Diamine!” He wiped his face with a napkin, his grin wide and unbothered. “Next time, I’ll remember not to wear white when I come here to eat.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “What’s wrong with you?”
“So many things,mi leoncina.” He dabbed at hisshirt. “But I don’t think throwing wine at me is going to fix any of them.”
This wasn’t the Dante I knew. The Dante I knew would’ve been furious, his pride wounded, his anger barely contained. But this man, this version of him, was utterly foreign to me. And I hated that a small part of me found it...endearing, and him…charming.
TWENTY-ONE
Dante
“Idon’t understand.” Lucia looked baffled when I told her about the changes I was making in the organization. The Giordano Hotel Group had decided to hire outside counsel instead of keeping an in-house legal team.
After what Lucia had said to Elysa and the way she had behaved with me, I knew the situation was untenable—both professionally and personally. Someone who lied the way Lucia had wasn’t someone I wanted in my life in any capacity.
I had met with Ferdinando Fontana of Fontana & Moretti Legal Advisors, one of the most discreet and reputable law firms in Rome, right after I came back from Piedmont. He had been highly recommended by colleagues who praised his expertise in employment law and high-stakes corporate restructuring.
At a meeting in his office overlookingPiazza Barberini, Ferdinando listened carefully as I detailed my concerns about Lucia—her behavior, her overreach with my wife, and the strain her continued presence was putting on both my professional and personal life.
His advice had been clear and concise:
“Terminate her contract, but do it by the book. Draft a generous severance package to avoid any potential lawsuits, and make sure all formalities are documented. Give her a graceful exit—frame it as part of a company-wide restructuring rather than targeting her directly. This will protect you from claims of personal bias or retaliation.”
He even suggested offering Lucia a glowing recommendation for future opportunities and including a non-disparagement clause in her severance agreement, prohibiting her from speaking negatively about the company—or me—once she was gone.
It was an elegant solution.
But Lucia wasn’t stupid. She was a lawyer, after all, and she knew exactly how these things worked.
This was how a senior executive was removed—quietly, without drama, minimizing the risk of a lawsuit.
“Tell me why you’re doing this to me?” she asked stiffly, but her voice held both desperation and disbelief, as if she couldn’t fathom that I’d turned on her.
She may have been an excellent lawyer, but she was not a perceptive human being if she thought lyingto Elysa about sleeping with me would come without consequences.
We were in my office, seated at the conference table. I was at the head of the table, and Lucia was to my left. Also seated at the table at the far end was Clara Bianchi, the executive assistant of our head of HR. To keep the meeting non-confrontational, we’d decided that it would, for all practical purposes, be a private meeting between Lucia and me—with a witness whose presence meant that every word spoken in this meeting would be documented.
“This isn’t personal, Lucia.” I looked at her emotionlessly. This wasn’t the first time I was letting someone go, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “It’s a business decision. We’re bringing in fresh perspectives, consolidating roles, and streamlining our legal needs.”
“Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not lying, and if you weren’t so insecure, you’d be able to see that.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Name-calling? Really, Elyssa, you’re going to?—"
Before he could finish, I grabbed his glass of wine and flung the contents at him.
The red liquid splashed across his face, staining his white shirt and dripping down his jaw. I felt my entire staff still, all eyes on us, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of satisfaction. But it didn’t last because he did something that completely disarmed me.
He laughed.
Not a polite chuckle or a nervous laugh. A deep, genuine laugh that lit up his face and made him look like a completely different man.
“Diamine!” He wiped his face with a napkin, his grin wide and unbothered. “Next time, I’ll remember not to wear white when I come here to eat.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “What’s wrong with you?”
“So many things,mi leoncina.” He dabbed at hisshirt. “But I don’t think throwing wine at me is going to fix any of them.”
This wasn’t the Dante I knew. The Dante I knew would’ve been furious, his pride wounded, his anger barely contained. But this man, this version of him, was utterly foreign to me. And I hated that a small part of me found it...endearing, and him…charming.
TWENTY-ONE
Dante
“Idon’t understand.” Lucia looked baffled when I told her about the changes I was making in the organization. The Giordano Hotel Group had decided to hire outside counsel instead of keeping an in-house legal team.
After what Lucia had said to Elysa and the way she had behaved with me, I knew the situation was untenable—both professionally and personally. Someone who lied the way Lucia had wasn’t someone I wanted in my life in any capacity.
I had met with Ferdinando Fontana of Fontana & Moretti Legal Advisors, one of the most discreet and reputable law firms in Rome, right after I came back from Piedmont. He had been highly recommended by colleagues who praised his expertise in employment law and high-stakes corporate restructuring.
At a meeting in his office overlookingPiazza Barberini, Ferdinando listened carefully as I detailed my concerns about Lucia—her behavior, her overreach with my wife, and the strain her continued presence was putting on both my professional and personal life.
His advice had been clear and concise:
“Terminate her contract, but do it by the book. Draft a generous severance package to avoid any potential lawsuits, and make sure all formalities are documented. Give her a graceful exit—frame it as part of a company-wide restructuring rather than targeting her directly. This will protect you from claims of personal bias or retaliation.”
He even suggested offering Lucia a glowing recommendation for future opportunities and including a non-disparagement clause in her severance agreement, prohibiting her from speaking negatively about the company—or me—once she was gone.
It was an elegant solution.
But Lucia wasn’t stupid. She was a lawyer, after all, and she knew exactly how these things worked.
This was how a senior executive was removed—quietly, without drama, minimizing the risk of a lawsuit.
“Tell me why you’re doing this to me?” she asked stiffly, but her voice held both desperation and disbelief, as if she couldn’t fathom that I’d turned on her.
She may have been an excellent lawyer, but she was not a perceptive human being if she thought lyingto Elysa about sleeping with me would come without consequences.
We were in my office, seated at the conference table. I was at the head of the table, and Lucia was to my left. Also seated at the table at the far end was Clara Bianchi, the executive assistant of our head of HR. To keep the meeting non-confrontational, we’d decided that it would, for all practical purposes, be a private meeting between Lucia and me—with a witness whose presence meant that every word spoken in this meeting would be documented.
“This isn’t personal, Lucia.” I looked at her emotionlessly. This wasn’t the first time I was letting someone go, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “It’s a business decision. We’re bringing in fresh perspectives, consolidating roles, and streamlining our legal needs.”
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