4. Olivia
Olivia
T he Bellanti family dinner is in full swing, the air electric with laughter and the clinking of silverware. The delicious aroma of grilled chicken wafts from the kitchen, mingling with the sweet scent of expensive wines, where the bottles grace the table.
Fine porcelain, sparkling crystal, and intricately folded napkins complete the table as the chandelier lights above illuminate our faces. The setting is formal with white candles, ornate plates and polished silver.
I sit in my chair, a forced smile perched on my lips as I watch the rest of the family laugh and discuss God-knows-what.
I'm trying to stay present and enjoy the moment like everyone else, but I can't—my mind keeps wandering here and there.
The voices in my head won't be quiet either, and I feel like I'm losing my sanity.
I can see their lips moving but can't hear a word they're saying—I'm too far gone, lost in my own thoughts. I envy the smiles on their faces, anyway, and can't remember the last time I was genuinely happy.
My eyes dart to Marco as he stands sentinel across the dining table, his posture stoic and quite manly. I tear my gaze off him just in time, before buried memories come rushing back.
“Olivia.” Isabella's voice snaps me back to the present.
It's not until I lock eyes with her I realize she's called my name a few times before getting my attention.
Her long dark hair with auburn highlights simmers in the light, and her sharp green eyes narrow. “Are you alright?” she asks.
My gaze shifts across my family members’ faces as they stare at me, awaiting my response. All but Angelo, who's busy with his salad, and is seemingly uninterested in what's going on with me.
He's the youngest Bellanti and has green eyes like Isabella and sharp features like Matteo. Angelo's the life of the party, the financial manager, and the most arrogant of us all.
“She's fine,” Angelo says without taking his eyes off his plate. “She's just shaken about the dolls—the stalker guy.” He raises his head and wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Ha ha, very funny,” I retort, casting him a subtle glare.
He laughs and eats his meal like he hadn't just tried to get under my skin.
“Pay no attention to him,” Lorenzo says to me, smoothing his curly dark hair backwards.
Lorenzo Bellanti is the enforcer of the Bellanti syndicate, the torturer. He has a muscular build and a volatile temper that makes him dangerous, violent, and unpredictable. Lorenzo favors dark clothes and leather jackets that stress his ruggedness.
Just then, a commotion erupts in the kitchen—a shriek that catches everyone's attention. All heads turn toward the noise, except for Angelo, who still seems blissfully unaware of what’s going on around him.
One of the staff members, a young woman with a pale face, rushes into the dining room holding an eerily dressed doll.
I groan. Great, just what I need.
She halts in front of my father and stutters, “Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt. I was clearing the dessert dishes, and I found this…thing on the counter.”
“What's that? Annabel?” Angelo chuckles, a dry amusement dancing in his eyes.
The room falls silent as all eyes turn to the doll and then back to me. Someone dressed the stupid thing in a miniature replica of my college graduation dress, complete with delicate lace and the same intricate embroidery. On the dress are some red stains.
My pulse quickens and I can feel my blood pressure rising as my eyes fall on the key chain, with a tiny red plastic car attached to it, wrapped around the doll's waist.
It's clearly a message to me, and I know exactly what it means. Cold sweat dampens my forehead, and heat waves spread across my body.
My hands start to tremble, memories long buried come flooding back into my mind, flashing horrifying images in my head. I breathe raggedly and my legs shake as I struggle to stay composed.
I can hear Father complaining about how this is getting out of hand, but my mind is wandering again. Matteo and the others are speculating about how the stalker got inside the house…and their voices are fading into the background.
The world around me fades further away. I hide my trembling hands under the table so nobody sees just how shaken I am.
Too late, someone already did. I jerk my head and meet Marco's gaze, a glint of suspicion dancing in his narrowing eyes.
He knows I'm hiding something, his look says it all, and I can only hope that he can't see right through me.
___________
The following day, I set out for work, my mind still reeling from what happened last night. But I can't let it weigh me down. I have to at least pretend that all is well with me.
I can sense Marco's willingness to talk, to address our elephant in the room, but I'm not so willing. He's been watching me with a suspicious gaze, and that he might be up to something makes my pulse race.
We're on the street, going to get a cup of coffee from my favorite shop, and he's walking way too close to me. Marco's imposing height and ruggedness seems to intimidate the men who dare look at me twice, scare them even.
I can feel the eyes on me, and it's making my skin prickle. Why are they staring at me like that today? Is it me, or is it because Marco’s tailing me? Whatever the case, I didn't like it.
I stop in my tracks and turn to face him, my head jerking upward. “You know what? I think you should wait out here while I go inside and grab my coffee.”
“I'm supposed to follow you everywhere you go,” he says, his voice smooth.
“Look, your presence is suffocating me, okay? And besides, I don't know what it is about you that's drawing so much attention, but I don't want it,” the words jump out of my mouth.
He pauses, his eyes leaving mine for a second as he scans the surrounding area. Marco lets out a sigh and says, “Fine, have it your way, then.”
Without a word, I walk away and disappear into the coffee shop. The tiny bells on the door jingle as I step inside, into the soft lighting. There's a line ahead, but I don’t mind waiting. I’m happy about the time away from Marco.
When it's my turn, I exchange pleasantries with Josie, the girl behind the counter. She makes my usual and hands it over to me with a warm smile.
“Have a nice day,” she says, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Thanks, Josie.” I take the thermos and head out.
As the door opens, I accidentally bump into someone.
“Oh, my God, I'm so sorry,” I say immediately, raising my head to look at the stranger.
“Uh, it's nothing,” he replies, his brown eyes sparkling as he stares at me.
He’s medium height with fine dark hair that frames his chiseled face. His smile broadens, and he exudes a charming aura.
I look closely at him, trying to figure out where I've seen him. He looks really familiar but I can’t place him.
“I’ll be damned.” The man chuckles, his eyes fixed on me. “Olivia Bellanti. My God, it is you.”
“Uh…” I go speechless immediately.
“You don't remember me, do you?” His brows knit together, his smile kept.
“I'm sorry.” I chuckle, a little nervous and embarrassed. “You look really familiar, but I'm struggling to remember you.”
“That's okay,” he says, tucking a hand into the pocket of his jeans pants. His eyes rove over me and he seems to flirt with me. “You look even more stunning now than you did back then in college.”
“Wait, you know me from college?”
“Yeah,” he says, his lips curling into a smile. “I know a lot about what you did back then.” His tone is casual, even and mild, but the sinister implications of his seemingly harmless statement are not lost on me.
My heart skips a beat and my smile fades away as I stare at him, wondering what exactly he means.
He says nothing else, but I can feel the tension growing between us and my chest is constricting. He keeps his smile, playing lost, but I’d bet that he knew exactly what he said.
Luckily, Marco’s timing is impeccable, and he intervenes at the perfect time.
“Uh, I was just catching up with an old friend,” the man answers, breaking eye contact to look at Marco.
Marco's gaze intensifies, but the man doesn't flinch, unfazed by the glare in Marco's eyes.
He looks back at me and adds, “Red really was your color back then, wasn't it?”
I freeze on the spot, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. I try to speak, but I can't seem to find the right words. I'm numb, physically and mentally.
“Well.” He exhales sharply. “I'll see you around, Livvy-loo.” He walks away, mingling with the crowd.
My heart sinks into my stomach and I swing into having a full-blown panic attack, my body almost dropping to the floor.
“Ollie!” Marco rushes to catch me before my knees hit the ground. “Are you okay?” he asks, his tone laced with concern and urgency.
“I'm fine,” I say, struggling back to my feet, leaning against him for support.
“You don't look fine,” he says, trying to catch my eyes. “Ollie, who was that?”
“I don't know,” I reply honestly, my chest rising and falling.
Whoever he was, he called me Livvy-loo, a name that only people close to me back in college called me.
This man knew too much, and that can't be a coincidence.
Fuck.