Chapter 42 War
Chapter forty-two
War
The whiskey burns down my throat, but it doesn’t touch the hollow inside me. Curtains drawn, leaving the penthouse in heavy, self-made darkness. I sit slumped on the couch, glass loose in my hand, staring at nothing.
The elevator pings.
My heart jolts, wild and stupid. Olivia.
I shove upright, hope pounding in my chest.
The light clicks on.
Not her.
“Damn,” Wilder says with a chuckle, taking in the scene. “This is what you’re doing?”
“Go away, Wilder.” My voice is raw, sharper than I mean it to be.
He steps further in, rolling his eyes. “I just got back from Cali. Went to the office. Heard you haven’t been in for a week. What’s going on? This still about Livvy?”
“Don’t call her that.”
Wilder snorts. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Get the fuck up and go get her.”
I scoff, sinking back against the couch. “I don’t even know where she is.”
“Yeah, you do.” He smirks, all sharp edges. “She’s back home.”
I sit up, pulse hammering. “She’s home?”
“Not here, dumbass. Back home. In her little podunk life.”
The glass flies from my hand before I think. Wilder ducks, and it smashes against the wall.
“Shards scatter across the hardwood, glittering.
“Throw shit at me again, War, and I’ll kick your ass.”
I laugh, bitter. “You’d only win because I’ve been drinking.”
Wilder digs in his jacket pocket, pulls out a folded sheet of paper, and tosses it onto the coffee table. “She gave her resignation. She’s not coming back.”
I snatch it up, scanning fast. Professional. Clean. Final.
Gone.
“No,” I growl. “I’m not accepting it.”
“She didn’t send it to you,” Wilder says easily. “She sent it to me.”
I freeze. “Why the fuck would she send it to you? She works for me.”
“Maybe because you wouldn’t accept it. And if she sent it to Wes, he’d have asked you first, and you still wouldn’t accept it. Me? Technically also her boss. She knew I’d approve it.”
Fury rips through me. I surge to my feet, fists clenched. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, but I did.” Wilder’s smirk is razor-sharp. “Let her go. You’re not good enough for her anyway.”
Red clouds my vision. I lunge.
We crash to the floor, fists flying, grunts filling the penthouse. A jab to his ribs, his elbow digging into my shoulder, my knuckles cracking against his jaw.
“You had no right!” I snarl, teeth bared.
Wilder laughs, grappling, stronger than he looks. “I don’t know what you did, but she deserves better.”
I grit my teeth, twisting, shoving hard until I gain the upper hand. Fury fuels me. “Damn, you’re strong angry,” Wilder mutters through a strained laugh.
The fight drains out of me all at once. I shove off him, collapsing back onto the floor, chest heaving. My hands drag down my face.
“I paid for her family’s inn,” I rasp. “I furnished her apartment. I don’t know what I did wrong.” My voice cracks, breaking me open. Eyes stinging. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Wilder sits up, rubbing his jaw, and sighs. Then he claps me on the shoulder, solid and brotherly despite the bruises.
“Get cleaned up. Get some sleep. Call your girl in the morning.”
I sit up, the fury draining into exhaustion. The glass shards glitter on the floor beside us.
Morning feels a million miles away.
But Olivia…
She’s even further.
***
The office smells like burnt coffee and ink. I sit behind my desk, phone in hand, staring at my it like it might blink first.
I should just call her.
Beg her to come back to me.
Ask her what I did wrong.
Tell her I’m sorry.
A harsh breath tears out of me. I drag a hand through my hair, jaw tight.
But I’m not sorry.
I took care of her. Gave her everything she needed. Made sure she had more than enough.
Why the fuck is she angry?
The phone slams down against the desk, rattling the papers scattered there. The sound is sharp, final—until it starts buzzing in my hand.
Unknown number.
I answer anyway. “War Beaumont.”
A steady, gruff voice: “Mr. Beaumont, this is Logan Baker. Olivia Baker’s eldest brother.”
I freeze, blood turning to ice. The first thought in my head, something’s happened to her. “Is she okay?”
“She’s not your concern,” Logan grunts. Then, after a beat, “But I’m about to be.”
The warning in his tone grates. I sit up straighter, every nerve on edge. “What can I do for you, Mr. Baker?”
“I’m calling to thank you for paying for the rest of the year at the Inn,” he says flatly. “But we’ve got it from here. We’ve got Olivia, from here.”
My jaw locks. “She wasn’t some kind of payment to keep your Inn afloat. I love her.”
Logan doesn’t flinch. “Then prove it. You come here, face us, and make it right.”
I scoff, sharp and bitter. “Face you? Listen, Logan, the only person I’ll ever explain myself to is Olivia. And I don’t know what she told you, but—”
He cuts in, voice iron steady. “I’ll level with you. How long did you plan on paying off the Amatos for us? A year at a time? Forever? For as long as you and Olivia stayed together?”
The name slams into me like a freight train. The Amatos?
My grip tightens. “The Amatos are who you pay for the Inn?”
“You didn’t know?” Logan’s voice is flat, edged with disbelief.
“No.” My pulse spikes. “How? How the hell did your family get tangled with them?”
“It’s been generations,” he says. “Ronnie is who we deal with. He takes quarterly payments. They used to use the place as a hideout back in the day. Now it’s our curse, passed down. Always has been.”
My chest hammers. That’s why Olivia was secretive. That’s why she hid it. She knows how I feel about the Amatos.
“I’ll handle it,” I snap, cutting him off. I hang up before he can say another word.
The silence after the call feels heavier.
I start listing my options.
Call my lawyer?
A lawyer against the mob? What the fuck would I even do with that? Draft a contract that says let my fiancée’s family go? They’d laugh me out of the room.
A harsh breath tears out of me. Fiancée. I never even got to ask her. Never put the ring on her finger. She just… left.
The memory slices through me. She was hesitant sometimes, just a flicker, quick, like she didn’t quite trust the ground under her feet. I told myself it was nerves, told myself she’d settle into me, into us.
She listened so well. Always so fucking good for me. But maybe… maybe she only listened because I forced it. Maybe she didn’t really want any of it.
The thought rips at me, jagged, unbearable. I shake my head hard, rejecting it. No. That’s not true. She wanted me. She was mine.
Was.
I grip the edge of the desk until my knuckles go white. There’s only one way to handle this.
In person.
But which Amato?
My stomach turns, fury and disgust burning up my throat. I don’t want to deal with either fucker.
Both brothers are pieces of shit.
But if Olivia’s family is tied to them, if they’re the reason she slipped through my fingers—
Then I’ll face whichever bastard I have to.