13. Ronan
Day 3
Another day, and I’m no closer to the answer I am desperately seeking.
If anything, I feel further away from it.
Rationally, initially I had thought it was Olivia, but some instinct in me kept believing she was innocent. However, every piece of evidence pointed to her.
Right now, I don’t know about anything anymore.
She couldn’t have poisoned herself.
I breathe, remembering her words to me yesterday at the clinic. I need to breathe. She asked me to, and I’ve been doing it for her sake.
I need to get it together so I can get to the root of all of this. I need to find the fucking answer, and it’s like walking in a fucking maze.
It turns out that Pedro was the one who poisoned Olivia. He had just recently replaced our old butler, who had worked for many years for my father, after his sudden death from natural causes.
I found out from the security cameras that it was him when I briefly left Olivia’s side in the clinic to come home, shower and change. I had asked Liam to go through the recordings of the previous days. Pedro knew there were cameras in the compound, and he knew what my line of work was. Nonetheless, I always kept a few cameras hidden from my employees, because you can never be too sure.
In his final moments, just seconds before I ended his life with my own hands, Pedro confessed. He had been spying on me on Ivanov”s orders, infiltrating my clan and waiting for the right moment to strike.
“Something wrong with your hand?” Liam climbs the stairs to me in a dark blue shirt and jeans, holding a file in one hand and his vape in the other.
Nothing is wrong with my hand, but Olivia held and kissed it so much yesterday that I have been staring at it with a new fondness since I woke up this morning.
I miss the feeling of being toned down by her. She was always able to get me to stop spiraling and quiet down the voices in my head.
I fell asleep holding my hand last night at the clinic while keeping watch.
It’s pathetic but I don’t care.
The feelings I had long since buried are rising back up to the surface, and I would be a fucking liar to say I’m not hungry for more.
“You need a doctor?” He asks, moving over to the other side of the staircase and resting against the rail.
“I’m good,” I shake my hand off, pretending to have something wrong with it to keep him from poking further.
“You sure?” He narrows his eyebrows, and I nod once.
“What have you got?” I point with my chin at the file in his hand.
“Not what you would be expecting,” he says. “But still…” he reaches the file to me.
“Let me guess…” I start to say, and he nods before I land.
“It’s not the same poison,” he exhales. I had never wanted poisons to match this much. He tuts. “I was kind of rooting for your girl.”
“She is not my girl,” I clip. Yet.
“Doesn’t seem like it to me,” he shrugs.
“You have always had a bad eye,” I gruff.
“You are one to talk,” he scoffs.
“Liam,” I tsk and he takes the hint, “What kind of poison was used?” Since I never got a chance to ask Cesare about Barbara’s, I might as well find out now.
“Barbara’s wasn’t really a poison,” he comes closer and folds his arms across his chest to lower his head, “It was a laxative…”
“It was? Really?” I want to whoop! Barbara is allergic to any form of laxatives. If that is the case, it means that whoever put it in the frosting knew Barbara well.
“I don’t know what is going on, but whoever is behind this is playing it well,” he says. “I need to run some errands. I will see you later,” he waits for me to say something, but I only nod.
Whoever is behind this is playing it well indeed.
My hopes just got crushed. I was beginning to think that Olivia might be off the hook.
The dots are not connecting. They seem out of place. It’s as if the answer is in front of me but I’m refusing to look.
While I want to confirm that Olivia is innocent, I subconsciously try not to ignore the possibility that she might be behind this.
“We will fix this,” Liam pulls me out of my thoughts.
“You’re still here?” I lift an eyebrow, and he scowls at me before taking the stairs down to his car.
I appreciate what he is doing but it would be hard to get me to say that now. My mind is bent on something else. I need this to be sorted, and fast.
I’m running out of time.
If not Olivia, who?
Names fly through my mind. Most people I know would be capable of this, and they stand to gain the same thing: power from making me and my relationship with the Ferreri clan crumble. But one person stands to gain the most from this.
Damien Ivanov.
I slip my hand into my hair and pull at the strands while my mind begins a furious zapping between all the stressful matters crowding my head.
Olivia just got back this morning from the clinic. She is pale, her usually radiant skin lacking its shine.
I spin toward her bedroom, bouncing the thought of going in or straight to mine. I need to rest. Rest gives my brain a reboot, and I need one right now. But I also need to get some things off my chest so that I can get a proper rest when it’s time.
I knock on her door tenderly, not wanting to use the button that will set a buzzer off in case she is asleep. Waking her up like that wouldn’t be good for her health right now.
I knock again, waiting. No reply. Could she be ill again? I have to check on her.
I press my thumb on the spot to unlock it. I gently twist the doorknob and open the door to poke my head. She is sitting on the bed, staring at a cart of food.
I watch her watch the food, and then she lifts her eyes from the cart to my face, sensing my presence. She sits straighter and clears her throat.
I askedLiam to get her a few outfits with Riley”s assistance, and I really like the green jumpsuit she”s wearing. It”s simple, but it stands out against her pale skin and makes her eyes sparkle.
I can”t wait for her to be as vivacious as she usually is.
She moves over to the edge of the bed, and I walk into the room. Although she is not speaking, the way she is fidgeting with her hands suggeststhat she is not feeling well mentally.
Considering what happened, maybe this place, this bedroom, is not good for her.Perhaps she needs a change of scenery.
“Hi,” she gulps, “How was your… your night was at the clinic?” She chuckles to herself lightly, shaking her head.
“Hi,” I step further in and stop before her.
“You don’t look happy to see me,” she drops her eyes back to her twiddling.
“I could say the same about you,” I crouch. “What is it?”
“I feel tired, maybe it’s the meds they gave me.”
“I’m sorry,” I clear my throat, wondering about the best way to tell her that the poisons did not match, effectively bringing her back to being a suspect—a major one and, currently, our only one.
“What is it?” She leans forward and lowers her body, “I know something is wrong. What is it, Ronan?”
“It wasn’t the same poison, Olivia. This is your last chance to tell me the name of the poison that you used to kill Barbara,” I spurt, but the words taste bitter on my tongue. I hate that I’m causing her pain, because the instant the words leave my lips, she crumbles.
“That I used?” She stutters. “What do you mean?”
“That you are back to being the…”
“I know, and honestly, I don’t care about that right now,” she clips, “I almost died, Ronan. I have no idea! Are you going to kill me or what? If that’s what you want, please get on with it.”
“Okay, I’ll arrange for your disposal later tonight,” I shrug.
Her eyes spread. “D-disposal? You can’t be… You are not serious, are you?”
I shrug, “You said you would confess to anything, which means you have accepted that you’re guilty.”
“I have not, and I am not!” She tries to keep her tone down. “I swear to God, I know nothing about any of this; what can I do to make you believe me?”
This is what I wanted to hear.
I hadn’t known I wanted to hear this until she spoke those simple words.
I was hoping to hear something that would give me more reason to believe that she hadn”t killed Barbara. And even though I may keep probing her and showing her that I don”t believe her, deep down, I do.
It is everything and everyone pointing at her that I don’t believe.
“You can check my bakery or my home for proof, I’m not lying,” her eyes light up a little, “If I used any kind of poison, some proof should be lying around somewhere, shouldn’t it?”
She has a point, and yet she doesn’t because it is possible to dispose of the evidence immediately. Still, I will do her a favor because of how hopeful she looks—as if she has found a way to redeem herself.
“Alright, I will think about it,” I stand. “Eat now, and I never want to hear you talk about me killing you again,” I clip, and she nods.
“I’m sorry.”
“Make sure you rest.” I want to hold her, feed her, and make sure she rests, but it’s all just too much for me to bear at the moment.
This shit is gnawing at my sanity the longer I think about it.
I need to reboot.
I stalk out of the bedroom and slam the door for effect, the same way I wish I could slam everything out of my head.