26. Ronan
The only thing I want to do is to go after Olivia. But I cannot. Not yet. Certainly not before finding a way to settle this matter with Cesare. I can’t offer Olivia empty-handed apologies. I need something concrete.
Cesare is a stubborn man; when he wants something, he must get it at all costs. Not to mention, I gave him my word. As a man of honor, I am expected to keep that.
But circumstances have changed now.
I can’t keep my word, and it is not just because I want to be happy, although that in itself could be considered a worthy cause.
“I’m sure we can come to a satisfying agreement,” I rest my elbows on my knees, seeing how I’m not the only one who wants out of this arrangement, but I seem to be the only one permitted to speak, “I have a lot to offer, just name your price.”
“And what do you think I might need from you or your family that I do not have myself?” Cesare grits.
“You tell me.”
“A marriage alliance is the strongest form of alliance. It is what was agreed on, and it is what I will be getting from your family,” Cesare is unwavering, and I nod, thinking of another way to get through to him.
“I will make another contract as solid as this one…”
“War, Ronan, war, that’s what you are asking for,” he hollers.
I hate this man. Fuck it.
I don’t need war—too many things at stake. Too many people would die. And knowing Cesare, he would start from the very people I want so badly to protect: Olivia, my sister, my mother, and Liam. And if I were to agree to marry Sofia, I know Cesare would not stop until he is sure Olivia is dead and out of the picture.
“No contract is worth it if there is no marriage to strengthen the alliance,” Cesare continues. He doesn’t spare one glance at his own daughter, Sofia, who is one step away from peeling off her skin.
Barbara never acted that way with me. Sofia, on the other hand, looks like the kind of bride who would leave someone on the altar and take her life rather than be married to a man she has no affection towards.
I drag my hand through my hair, not liking the smug smirk on Cesare’s face. There has to be a way out of this. He wants a marriage, and I should be able to grant it… And then it hits me.
“How old is your son, Pietro?” I sit up straighter now.
“Twenty-five,” Cesare mumbles.
“If marriage between our families is what you want, I have a sister he could marry,” a sister that will kill me when she finds out what I’ve done.
“How old is she?” He seems uninterested, but he, of all people, should know that the rules can be tweaked. No one said I had to be the one getting married.
“She is nineteen,” I answer, needing a bottle of scotch to wash down the sting of betrayal in my chest. I’m stealing her chance at choosing the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with.
I love my sister. But Olivia is in too deep, and not even me getting married to Sofia will keep her safe. Her bakery is in the Ferreri territory, and she just got mixed up in our dirt. It’s hard to ever wash such dirt off. Making her my wife is the only way to keep her safe.
Cesare grinds his teeth loudly, but I take it as a yes, “She will do,” he grunts and sips down his vodka with a straight face like he is sipping a glass of water.
“I’m glad we could finally come to an agreement. I will see you around.”
“Whatever,” Cesare waves me off, and I nod, using that as a cue to exit.
I stomp down the stairs, gloating about the new deal struck with Ferreri, while I head for my car, where I expect Olivia to be waiting for me. I can’t wait to share the news with her. I look around, and when I find no traces of her, I open the door to look inside.
She couldn’t have gone anywhere because she didn’t know where to go.
I reach for my phone in the pocket of my dress pants and dial her number.
I hear it ring, and then the call ends. I look at the screen, lost for a moment. I know I should have told her something about Sofia, but I didn’t, and it shouldn’t matter now because I have resolved that.
I dial again, but it goes straight to voicemail.
I dial again, and now it’s switched off.
I head back to the patio to look through the surveillance cameras’ tapes.
Where did Olivia go? I don’t care that she’s pissed at me. I need to find her.
“Cesare,” I intrude on a conversation he is having with an unhappy Sofia, “I need access to the security footage of your estate’s gates. Olivia is gone, and I have to find her.”
“The petty baker?” He clicks his tongue, “What is she doing lobbying around my estate?”
“I will get her off your estate quickly if you grant me access,” I’m fully aware the man hates Olivia, but I won’t take no for an answer.
He retrieves his phone from the coffee table beside him, taps on something, and then hands it to me.
I take the phone, and on the screen, I see Olivia walking past the car and turning left.
“That’s the way out of the estate,” he sips his vodka, “She is wise to get off my property.”
“Can I see which way she went after the gate?” I pass the phone back to him, and he reluctantly takes it. Then, he schemes around the phone before handing it back to me.
“You will need to hurry,” he snorts.
I look at the screen and zoom in, my heart spinning as I see Olivia being thrown into a van by a hound of men. I see the trademark tattoo on the wrist of one of the men as she fights to get free. They get in and drive off.
That mark. That’s the trademark of the Ivanov family.
They are Damien Ivanov’s men. And they took my woman.