4. Ronan
My bride dropping to the floor on our wedding day is certainly unexpected.
Barbara is the most composed person I know, aside from my mother.
“Barbara,” I stroke her cheek tenderly, playing the part of the loving husband.
“It must be the stress,” Damien, the skanky-looking Bratva boss who annoys me more than any living being ever created, gives his unwanted suggestion about the situation.
I breathe and observe Barbara a little longer, then reach out for her pulse. I want to tell everyone that she is fine and just needs to rest.
But my breath catches in my throat.
No pulse.
That’s impossible.
I reach out again, placing two fingers on the left side of her neck. I use one hand to lift her head, resting it on my thigh.
No pulse.
I swallow air. I”m not sure what to make of this yet, but I already know what this means.
“What is wrong with her?” Cesare barks, and the crowd around disperses, letting him approach the scene.
“Is she alright?” Sofia asks, kneeling beside me. Her voice is as low as it can be, making me strain to hear her amidst all the chaos.
“Stop the damn music,” Pietro hollers at the disc jockey, and the music immediately stops.
Pietro lowers himself on Barbara’s other side, in front of me, and I ponder how to break the news to everyone.
My bride is dead. On our wedding day.
“Does she have any health complications I wasn’t aware of?” I dart between Pietro and Sofia, deliberately avoiding the brooding Cesare.
“Here,” Liam, my cousin, underboss and a plague, stretches a glass of water to me, then takes off his charcoal suit with his free hand to kneel beside me. “What’s the situation? I called 911.” I shake my head at him and meet his hazel eyes, communicating silently the hopelessness of the situation.
Liam runs a hand through his hair and slips to sit on the floor, going into a trance.
“Why are they taking so long to get here?” Sofia shrieks, her nervousness slipping in. “Why is there no doctor to help?” She stands, spinning, and searches amongst the crowd for anyone who can do something.
“She is breathing, right?” Pietro lowers his voice as if he knows she is not.
“She is…” I clear my throat and suck it up. I have lost my father, and I wasn’t this moved by his death, and that is not because I did not care about him, but because certain don’t really move me.
This is different.
Barbara’s death complicates things for me. It puts me in a spot I do not want to be in with her family. It brings up so many questions I doubt they would give me answers to.
“She is dead, isn’t she?” It is Cesare”s cold voice that booms as the messenger of doom.
The hall goes silent.
Everyone is waiting for me to confirm. Everybody’s eyes are on me and on Barbara’s lifeless body resting on my lap.
“Dad, she cannot be…” Sofia stands, goes over to her father, and then comes back to me. “Is she…” She goes to her brother. “Pietro, do you think…” Her voice cracks now, and Pietro holds her even as he is trembling and breaking apart.
“Answer me, Ronan,” Cesare clicks his teeth.
“Big brother,” Riley comes to my side and throws her arm across my chest, trying to be the one person who cares enough to think this might be affecting me deeply. “Is she dead?” She whispers.
“Ronan,” My mother’s voice slinks in, and I nod once.
“She is dead,” I nod again.
Soft gasps and fill the atmosphere. Then, some people start to step back as if they cannot stand to watch anymore, while others stick around as if they cannot get their fill.
“No, please, no,” Sofia crawls to Barbara’s body still on my thigh. “No,” she shakes her head. “She can’t be dead,” she takes Barbara’s body from me and hugs her. “My sister cannot die, not today, not like that…”
As she clamps Barbara to her chest and I tilt my eyes to meet my sister’s, I catch what might have been the cause of Barbara’s death.
I saw Olivia rushing towards her and stepped back when her eyes spotted something.
I see the frosting on Barbara’s fingers now and a stain at the corner of her mouth that I must have missed.
This can’t be fucking happening.
It can’t be real.
Olivia is incapable of murder. I mean, I haven’t seen her in years…
My eyes stay on Barbara’s fingers as Cesare comes down to our level to lift Barbara’s hand.
“Poison.” His face goes blank as he looks at the cake a little away from us.
I saw Barbara scoop some frosting from the cake earlier. I know she has a sweet tooth, and that information came as a shock, considering how obsessed she is with her image.
I was playing the kind host with Damien when she collapsed.I had totally missed that she had slipped away to secretly pick at the cake.
I refuse to accept the possibility that Olivia poisoned my bride, I refuse to connect the dots and conclude that the cake is the reason behind her death.But she does have the motive. That day in her pantry,she wanted me to kiss her. And I wanted it, too.
I stand, and Riley follows suit, plastering herself to my side like I need the comfort. She is the one who needs to be comforted because I know her enough to know that things like this break her very easily.
“Liam?” I take Riley by the wrist and lead her over to him. “Stay with her and make sure she doesn’t eat anything.” He doesn’t need me to emphasize the importance of that part; still, I do.
I’m not about to take my chances.
I stride to the cake, ridding myself of the bow tie around my neck and tossing it away. Cesare looms behind me, and we both confirm what we suspect when we see the marks at the back of the cake.
“She killed my daughter,” Cesare growls.
If this is true, he will kill Olivia.
“We cannot be sure until it’s proven,” I say, observing the magnificent cake. Beautiful, yet deadly. Just like the baker.
“Not sure?” Cesare barks, and I shrug.
He doesn’t faze me. I was trained by his kind. And whatever authority he thinks he possesses, I do too, in my own right as the leader of my clan.
“For now,” I move away from the cake as a medic team in blue scrubs rushes in and, amidst the mild chaos and wailing of Sofia, gets Barbara on the stretcher, wheeling her out of the hall.
Sofia and Pietro follow them. Riley is about to do the same, but Liam, and the glare from my mother, hold her back.
“In that case, I will get confirmation,” Cesare shoves a hand into his pocket. “But consider her dead if I find out she is behind this,” he stomps away. He quickly gives a trembling Olivia a death glare, and she shrinks into the corner.
I know Cesare is going to the clinic to get the information himself. And I bet the autopsy will confirm it. Olivia did it. She has the right motive. Jealousy or perhaps wanting to get back at me. And the way she looks, she knows the worst is yet to happen.
What was she thinking poisoning my bride on my fucking wedding day? And messing with a family like the Ferreris?
I step down from the platform of the cake, hating her for making me go through with the whole fucking wedding only to have Barbara killed. Admittedly, I never fucking wanted any of this, but killing my bride was never on the table.
I start striding towards Olivia, but Damien intercepts me.
“My condolences,” he offers without really meaning it, not in his eyes or his tone, but I nod, accepting it as if he does.
“Thank you,” I snap.
Something is offsetting about him. I know we each have our own shades of evil and are capable of great damage, but Damien has always felt like a different breed of demonic to me.
I”m not fooled by his polished appearance, neatly styled hair,and trimmed beard, or those deep brown eyes hidden beneath thosebulky frames. He wears his nature like a second skin, so I doubt he can foolanyone. When he steps into a room, the atmosphere changes.
“She was poisoned by your ex,” he chuckles. His eyes light up in excitement, “The problem with not letting women know their place,” he drags out his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and offers it to me. “If you need me to step in…” I politely refuse the tissue, so he puts it back into his pocket, “… I can clean this up,” he tilts his head in Olivia’s direction. My stomach twists, “Consider it a wedding gift from me.”
I remain silent, glaring at him with restrained wrath.
“See you around,” Damien tips his head in his usual courtesy bow.
While most of the people here would want to kill her for this because of their loyalty to the Ferreris, they also know that they can’t take matters into their own hands because this is the kind of situation in which you let the scorned dole out their revenge as they want to.
So, for now, she is safe. But why do I even care?
Because for me, it has always been her, and my heart would naturally choose to stand by her side.
“Take Riley home,” I throw at Liam. “Not now, Mother,” I throw at my mother as she tries to come close to me, the tail of her emerald dress in one hand and her pronounced ruby stoned pouch in the other. “Go home, please,” I spare her a quick look, seeing an older version of Riley in her before looking away and grabbing Olivia by the upper arm, and taking her without stopping to the far end of the hall.
“You are hurting m-”
“Shut your mouth, Olivia,” I spin her to stand before me.
“I know what this looks like,” she shakes her head, fumbling with a jotter and pen in her hands, “I… I couldn’t have…” She keeps stuttering, fighting to get the right words out, but I’m seeing through her bullshit, or I’m trying to stay fucking rational.
“I told you to behave, Olivia, did I not?” I get closer now, and she backs away, but a chair behind her stops her from moving farther away.
She whimpers and nods.
She had to fucking mess this up for me.
“Ronan,” Liam comes up behind me, and I stiffen because I hadn’t noticed any other movement aside from Olivia’s heaving chest, blinking wet lashes, and trembling lips.
“What?”
“Cesare called,” he leans closer, “I will take Riley and your mother home,” he swallows, and I detest the sound of it because I know what will come after that. “It was the cake,” he draws back.
I can’t describe what the confirmation does to my mood, but I know it’s a conflicting feeling. I want to rip Olivia apart for what she has done, but I also want to protect her because so fucking far, I still will not allow myself to accept that Olivia Delgado is capable of murder. Not my Olivia.
I’m not sure who that makes me.
But it doesn’t look good on the outside.