House Of Gucci Today

She didn’t do it herself. A queen does not wield the knife. She found her old friend, Pina Auriemma, who found a man—a hitman named Ivano Savioni, who worked at a pizzeria and killed for the price of a used Fiat. The payment was 360,000 Swiss francs. Patrizia wrote a check. In her diary, she simply noted: “Paris. Size 5.” The code for the deed.

He wasn’t the dashing, golden-hued Rodolfo, the actor. He was the other one. Maurizio. Quiet. Bookish. He wore his glasses like a shield and his shyness like a tailor-made suit. Patrizia, the daughter of a trucking magnate with a social-climbing heart, saw not a shy man, but a locked door. And she had been born with a set of golden keys. House of Gucci

Milan, 1978. The air in the Gucci boutique on Via Montenapoleone smelled of opulence: rich leather, cold champagne, and the faint, powdery whisper of wealth. It was here that Patrizia Reggiani, a woman with eyes like cut glass and a laugh that filled every corner, first saw the man who would be her ruin. She didn’t do it herself

The divorce papers arrived on a silver tray in 1991. Patrizia read them three times before the color drained from her face. “He can’t,” she whispered. “I made him.” The payment was 360,000 Swiss francs