Tilman Fertitta, the U.S. ambassador to Italy, is yet to move into Villa Taverna, according to Italian-media reports. The sumptuous Roman villa—which over the centuries has hosted cardinals, future saints, royal courts, students, and even an army, and since 1933 has served as the residence of the most important diplomat in town—is rumored to have been deemed a dump uninhabitable by the Texas multi-billionaire, who insists it needs major renovation. He has allegedly taken up residence on Boardwalk, his 250-foot-long yacht sailing under the flag of the Cayman Islands and moored in the port of Civitavecchia, some 60 miles north of Rome.
Fertitta’s helicopter commute has quickly become the latest buzz in Rome’s power circles. It was the hottest topic at the July 4 reception that marked his official debut before virtually the entire Meloni government—heels clicking in protocol precision—and a few thousand hamburger-nibbling members of Rome’s elite, and has earned him the reputation of a Martian in Rome, reminiscent of the figure in Ennio Flaiano’s 1954 satirical short story, in which a gentle alien lands in town, causing a media uproar.
Carabinieri clearing the way for Trump’s arrival at Villa Taverna, the U.S. ambassador’s residence in Rome, in 2017.
Raised in Galveston, Texas, Fertitta, the grandson of Italian immigrants, built his fortune with hotels, restaurants, and casinos. In 2017, he bought the Houston Rockets and starred in CNBC’s reality show Billion Dollar Buyer. The multi-brand company Landry’s is the cornerstone of his empire. In his heyday, the ambitious entrepreneur made a name for himself with a style described as “brazen to the point of insolence yet impossible to wave off,” according to a 1997 article in Texas Monthly.
A college dropout, Fertitta nonetheless managed to get appointed to the Board of Regents of the University of Houston System. But under the centuries-old reins of Rome, he’s finding it difficult to fully live by the motto “Take No Out of Your Vocabulary,” one of the “Tilmanisms” listed in his 2019 business book, Shut Up and Listen!
Fertitta with Italian prime minister Giorgia Meloni at a Fourth of July celebration at Villa Taverna.
Fertitta allegedly lobbied hard to obtain permission to land his helicopter in the vast gardens of Villa Taverna, but it was a no-go. The airspace over the city is restricted to everyone except the Pope and the president of the republic, and not even Giorgia Meloni, who leads the most Trump-friendly government in Western Europe, was willing to make an exception. “It was a rare flash of pride from the state,” commented an Italian official.
Where security concerns ended, environmental ones began. To clear space for a private helipad, several centuries-old trees would have had to be cut down—trees deemed more valuable, apparently, than a businessman estimated to be worth $11.1 billion.
While awaiting the completion of the much-anticipated renovations at the villa, Fertitta has been forced to endure the humiliation of landing at the tiny Rome Urbe Airport, after which his motorcade must claw its way through the traffic on the Via Salaria to reach the embassy. Not that stoplights are an issue—he gets a police escort—but, still, he has to share some asphalt with Rome’s plebeians.
The Italian state agencies tasked with ensuring his security are not exactly thrilled. The civilian port of Civitavecchia is now semi-militarized, and Fertitta clearly isn’t in the habit of giving advance notice about his movements. Case in point: last month, just as B-2 bombers were about to strike the Iranian nuclear sites and American personnel worldwide were on maximum alert, he decided—allegedly completely unannounced—to take a boat trip to the World War II Sicily-Rome American Cemetery and Memorial, in the coastal resort town of Nettuno, leaving the security services scrambling to catch up.
Fertitta has long cultivated a wide network of political connections backed by generous bipartisan donations. Once a supporter and friend of Bill Clinton’s, Fertitta has thrived in the Trump-era political atmosphere—unsurprising, given that he had already done business with Trump. In 2011, he purchased the Trump Marina Hotel Casino, in Atlantic City, a troubled property that in the previous decades had brought Trump more headaches than profits. The president rewarded Fertitta’s generous donations with a glamorous position in Europe.
In front of his guests, the ambassador said that of all the diplomatic posts, the only one he would have accepted was the one in Italy—to honor his family’s roots in Sicily. Yet, within just a few months of being sworn in, Fertitta has allegedly complained to Trump about a swarm of self-styled Italian and American emissaries and makeshift middlemen eager to influence relations between Rome and Washington. The ambassador remains firmly anchored in MAGA waters.
“Life on a boat is wonderful,” said a European diplomat. “But maybe he shouldn’t have become an ambassador.”
