26. Olivia
OLIVIA
“Don’t defy me, Ollie,”Remy calls down the hall. “Give me two more minutes.”
The thought of leaving him at a time like this makes me ill. But it’s nothing when pitted against the shame and humiliation that spurs my legs across the living room. I focus my sights on the elevator, the gentle whir of mechanics confusing me as the doors open before my eyes.
Salvatore strides into the penthouse, pausing in the entry to look back at Lorenzo who shuffles after him with the aid of a walking stick.
I freeze, clutching tight to my cell as I scan my surroundings in panic, for what I’m not sure—a weapon? An alternate escape route? An open window to yeet myself out of?
“Ollie?” Remy yells in the distance.
Salvatore swings toward me, a conniving smirk slowly tilting his lips. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”
My breath clogs in my throat.
“Mind your manners, figlio,” Lorenzo chastises in accented English, his eyes scrutinizing me. “Are you okay, mia cara?”
My mouth dries.
Everything inside me feels like it’s racing, yet my mind is entirely devoid of strategy.
He continues hobbling toward me. “I wasn’t told you were with Remy when the shooting?—”
“I wasn’t.” I swallow. “I ran into him at work. He was injured and refused to go to a hospital so I offered to tend to his wounds. I was just leave?—”
“That’s quite some work uniform you’ve got.” Salvatore gives me a leering once-over. “You might want to readjust those silken boxers. Your lack of morals is showing.”
My cheeks heat.
I can only imagine what I look like. The disheveled hair. The pleasure-stained pajamas. Oh, God, and Remy’s ring. It sits in the crest of my cleavage like a glaring red flag of broken rules.
“Ignore him.” Lorenzo whacks his nephew with the handle of his cane, then jabs it farther into Salvo’s chest. “Hold this for me.”
Salvatore takes the walking aid, still smirking while Lorenzo shuffles toward me.
I turn rigid waiting for the elderly man to threaten me for defying his orders. To hurt me. Maybe kill me.
He stops a few inches in front of me and shucks his jacket. “Here. Take this.” He pauses for a moment of silent permission, then cautiously drapes the tailored material over my shoulders. “Please tell me you’re not leaving on your own at this time of night.”
“I—” My words vanish at Remy’s uneven gait echoing down the hall.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I, um. Thank you for the jacket.” I force a smile. “But I really need to go. I have work tomorrow…” I hesitate, unsure if I need permission, a permit, or a blood bond to get out of here.
But all Lorenzo does is peer at me with gentle consideration.
“Okay.” He inclines his head and retreats a step. “I assume you have a car waiting.”
My lips part, a lie poised on the tip of my tongue.
He raises a brow as if waiting for me to increase the defiance.
I snap my mouth shut.
“You will use my driver.” He pulls a cell from his pants pocket. “He’s already in the parking garage. It’s safer than walking onto the street.”
“Especially looking like that,” Salvatore drawls.
“No. I…” I glance over my shoulder, Remy’s broken footsteps growing louder.
“I insist, mia cara.” Lorenzo pats me reassuringly on the shoulder. At least I hope that’s what the contact means. He could be sizing me up for a casket for all I know.
The problem is, my tattered pride and self-loathing won’t allow me to stick around and weigh the odds.
I need to get out of here.
I nod as Remy enters my periphery, his posture stiffening. “Thank you, Lorenzo.” I maneuver around the lethal monarch and stride for the elevator, ignoring Salvatore’s low-key taunting snicker.
“Ollie,” Remy warns.
My skin prickles as I keep walking. Keep defying.
I can’t look him in the eye again. Not when he’s drunk, distraught, and dangerously determined to make this situation worse.
“Olivia,” he demands.
I flinch at his use of my actual name, and pause momentarily to poke the elevator call button.
This is all on me.
The mistakes. The carnality.
How could I have been so shortsighted? So self-absorbed? And with lust, of all things.
The doors open and I step inside, hoping this is the right choice, and the one with the least amount of disastrous aftermath.
I press the button for the parking garage and hate myself for chancing a glance back into the living room.
Everyone stares at me. Salvatore with his sickening smirk. Lorenzo with his cold, calm concern. And Remy, who scowls with what I assume is seething frustration.
“Don’t forget the antibiotics,” I murmur to fill the awkward silence. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The doors thud shut, trapping me in a confined space full of regret. A few seconds later I reach the parking garage, still barefoot and disgracefully disheveled while wearing a jacket big enough to fit two of me.
“Ms. Pelosi?” A large, suited man walks toward me from the open back door of a silver Rolls-Royce. “I’ve been told you require a ride.”
I glance from the intimidating stranger, who does well to hide any judgement of my appearance, and take in the shadowed corners of our dimly lit cement jungle. Nobody else is down here. I could disappear and never be seen again.
Given my level of humiliation, maybe that’d be for the best.
“Yes.” I’m too exhausted to keep wondering about threats, intimidation, and death. “A ride would be appreciated.”
I get home shortly before two a.m, the silent thirty-minute car ride giving me a chance to detox the adrenaline but not the disgrace or concern.
I shower, scrubbing my skin of the dirty deeds, then crawl into bed, setting my alarm for a few hours later, only to toss and turn until sunrise.
Having left my car at the funeral home, I’m forced to ride my bike to work, each wiggle against the narrow seat punishing me with reminders of Remy. The way he consumed me. Unraveled me.
I feel like a loose ball of wool as I ride into the parking lot well before business hours, yet Wesley’s Honda Accord is already here.
I enter through the delivery room, the pungent scent of cleaning chemicals poisoning my lungs as I lean my bike against the back wall.
There’s no blood. No evidence of the night before.
From the amount of bleach in the air, I’m confident twenty years’ worth of DNA has been stripped from the building. But I still complete my search for damning evidence, ending the ritual at the retort.
The room is slightly tepid, the machinery lukewarm from Flynn’s cremation.
My heart pangs at the thought of the young man. It threatens to explode when my mind turns to Remy.
“I was told you were here last night,” Wesley murmurs from behind me.
I don’t bother responding.
Even though he’s become a reliable member of the team—one that Ivy and Allison adore—I’ll never be stupid enough to believe he has any loyalty toward me and my father.
“Everything has been cleaned and sterilized. And the temperature in the room is barely noticeable.” His footsteps carry forward. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Except how I gave aid to a criminal.
How I was driving a car that illegally transported a dead body.
And oh, maybe how the head of the East Coast mafia found me with the man I was told to stay away from.
That sounds like an anxiety cocktail to me.
“I plan to tell Ivy and Allison I spilled a bottle of bleach.” He walks into my periphery, cocking his head. “Are you happy to go along with the story?”
“Yeah.” I nod, the lies becoming easier to digest with how frequently they occur.
“Thanks. I’ll leave you to it.” He makes for the door.
“Wait.” I swing around to face him, damning my concern to hell. “Is Remy okay?”
No matter how hard I try I can’t stop thinking about him. His injury. His touch.
He gives a grave smile. “He’ll survive.”
“I meant emotionally as well as physically.”
“So did I.” He continues into the hall, leaving me with building unease.
I ditch my morning routine to help Ivy and Allison with their workload, mainly to distract them from going anywhere near the still-cooling cremator but also as a means of staying occupied.
Only my head doesn’t quit fixating on all things Remy.
I eat lunch upstairs with Dad after he excused himself mid-morning to make some “private business calls”—aka he took a well needed nap.
I expect him to grill me on what happened last night. I’m sure he must’ve heard the commotion. But there are no questions. No unease.
Instead he brings up stories about my childhood, reminding me of the good old days when my life wasn’t a complete mess.
The evening is spent staring at my phone, typing heartfelt messages of concern to a murderer only to delete them before sending because it still hurts to be labelled a mistake.
I arrive early again on Wednesday, wanting extra time to clear my head of all the criminal distractions, only to discover Wesley is already on site for the second day in a row with the cremation room tepid, and the retort warm to the touch.
I check my phone. How could I have missed a text from Remy?
It’s clear the equipment has been used. Only there’s no message. He didn’t contact me.
The low simmer of my concern shifts to weighty apprehension.
This wasn’t what we agreed on.
We had a deal.
But he’s grieving. He’s probably distracted… and I’m still a mistake.
Against the better judgement of the sixth sense tickling the hair on the back of my neck, I let it slide. I carry on with my duties, pretend the disposal didn’t happen, and continue to ignore the red flags even though my thoughts are consumed with them… only to be kicked in the gut when Thursday morning is the same. Tepid room. Lukewarm retort. Wesley hovering.
This time when I pull out my phone, I don’t bother searching for imaginary messages. I call Remy straight away.
He doesn’t answer.
I try texting.
Me
What’s going on? Are you okay?
Five minutes pass with no response.
Me
I thought we had a deal.
No reply.
Me
You lied to me.
The three dots of an impending reply blink on the screen.
Remy
I’ve never lied to you.
Bullshit. He said I’d be notified whenever he disposed of a body. He told me I’d be kept in the loop.
Me
You broke a promise.
The three dots flash on screen then disappear. Flash then disappear.
I stand staring at the screen, waiting, apprehensive anticipation chomping at my insides. But no new message pops up.
I’m left on read.
Me
We need to talk.
I fixate on the screen, impatient, restless.
He doesn’t even read the message.
“Goddamn you.” I smack my cell down on the transport gurney with a heavy thunk.
“Bad morning?” Ivy questions from the hall.
Shit.
“Hey.” I swing around to face her. “I didn’t know you were in already.”
“Yeah.” She eyes me dubiously. “Your dad has me doing some extra training so I wanted to get highly caffeinated before we start. What’s with the colorful blasphemy?”
I school the guilt from my features. “Nothing major. I just forgot to get meat out of the freezer.”
“How admirably domesticated of you.” She chuckles. “I mean, at least it would’ve been if you hadn’t forgotten. Want coffee?”
“Make me a double espresso and I’ll give you my firstborn.”
I have high hopes on Friday, because hope is all I have with the current radio silence. Problem is, as soon as I reach the parking lot and see Wesley’s car I know the retort will be warm.
“Why isn’t he returning my texts?” I announce loudly to the empty reception area.
Footsteps carry down the hall, Remy’s lap dog walking into the room a few seconds later. “Did you say something?”
I clench my teeth. He knows exactly what I said. “You’re obviously in direct communication with him.”
“I’m only doing what I’m told.”
“And what were you told, Wesley?”
He shrugs. “He said to come in early every morning and double check things were in order because it was going to be a big week.”
A big week?
“That’s it?” I scowl. “There was nothing else?”
Nothing about how I’ve been ostracized?
“He suggested I keep an eye on you. He mentioned you might be pissed.”
“Smart man,” I snip. “You might want to remind him that being kept in the dark doesn’t work well for me. I won’t stand for it.”
“No?” He cocks his hip against Allison’s desk. “Should I tell him you plan on doing something stupid?”
“Of course not,” I seethe. “But I want answers. We had a deal.”
I text Remy again.
Me
Call me.
After five minutes, the status doesn’t change from delivered.
I call him. It goes straight to voicemail. Each call every hour on the hour thereafter has the same outcome.
I spend the in between moments embalming a grandmother of five who passed from an aneurysm. Lunch goes by. The afternoon hours stretch. Allison and Ivy give me their usual farewells at closing time, and I still remain there, my annoyance at Remy growing, my paranoia returning to the amped levels I rode before he agreed to grant me transparency.
I sleep in the break room. Then curse a blue streak when I wake the next morning without the Grim Reaper making an appearance.
I call his apartment building, but the concierge won’t put me through. And nobody picks up when I dial the number for Smoke Mirrors.
I don’t know what else to do.
I can’t bring myself to talk to my dad about it because that would mean informing him of my updated agreement, and his health is temperamental enough due to the chemo without adding stress to the mix.
It’s by sheer coincidence that I’m still at work two hours after closing the following Monday evening when the sound of a car pulls into the parking lot.
I yank off my face shield and mask and rush from my prep room. I cross the reception, catching a tiny glimpse of an unfamiliar black sports car as it drives into the parking lot.
I shove through the front door, trying to ignore how unprofessional it is to leave Mr. Armistead splayed on my prep bench as I jog around to the back of the building, my plastic clothes shield rustling between my legs.
Then there he is, stealing my breath through the darkness as he climbs from a sleek Aston Martin, his limp slightly noticeable on his walk toward my father’s stairs illuminated by the second-story light.
“Hey,” I call out, suddenly caught up on what to say. How to act.
He keeps walking, not bothering to glance in my direction.
God, it stings.
“Remy.” I raise my voice. “Are you seriously ignoring me?”
I’m making more mistakes. Calling his name out loud. Creating too much noise. But I can’t help it. I need to know what’s going on. Why I suddenly no longer exist.
I run faster, my tiny heels clapping against the cement. I cut him off at the bottom step, blocking his path. “This is bullshit.” I lower my voice. “You don’t get to ignore me after I stapled your ass back together.”
Hard eyes meet mine. “It was my leg—not my ass.”
I balk at his venom, completely caught off-guard. “Don’t be smart with me.”
He releases a frustrated breath, acting as if I’m the most annoying inconvenience he’s ever faced. Like he didn’t touch me in the most intimate of ways. “I never asked you to stitch me up.”
He inflicts the rejection with spectacular ease. It’s top-tier excruciating. But I don’t buy it. Not after all those guttural things he admitted in his penthouse.
Fuck, Ollie. You have no idea what you do to me.
“That’s what you’re running with?” I sidestep when he attempts to maneuver past me. “Well, do you remember what you did ask of me?” I lower my tone to a caustic whisper. “You asked me to tell you how it felt to have your fingers inside me.” He scowls, but I ignore the warning. “You told me to come on your hand, and now you can’t even return my texts?”
“You’re the one who walked out on me when I begged you to stay.”
“Begged? In what world?”
His nostrils flare.
“You didn’t beg for anything, Remy. You demanded I take a driver you trusted after you called me a mistake.”
His jaw tightens. “I didn’t say you were a mistake. What I did to you was.”
I glare. “I’m sorry, there’s no nuance to the situation that makes your comment any less harsh.”
“Then I guess we’re done here.” He grabs my waist, picks me up like I weigh nothing, and dumps me to the side of the steps.
Is he serious?
“Do you know how many times I’ve called you?” I remain in place as he labors up the staircase.
“No,” he states simply. “I blocked your number.”
My jaw unhinges as he continues upward, disappearing inside my father’s apartment as if he didn’t swing me a death blow.
We’re sonot done here.
Not even close…I just need to take care of Mr. Armistead before I can get to the bottom of what the hell is going on.
I run back inside the building, cover the decedent, and wheel him into the cooler, then remove the rest of my protective gear, grab my things, and lock up.
I expect to have to wait a while, but as I stalk around the corner of the building Remy is already halfway down the stairs, guiding my father to take cautious steps by his side.
“What’s going on?” I increase my pace.
Remy shoots me a warning glower.
“Why are you still here, fragolina?” Dad’s smile is tight. “You’re spending too much time at work.”
“I had a few loose ends I wanted to tie up. Where are you going?”
My dad focuses on his feet, taking each step with deliberate care.
“Dad?” I stop at the bottom of the stairs. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
He takes another step and another. “Remy’s taking me for a drive. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”
Dread swallows me whole. “A drive? Where?”
He doesn’t answer.
“A drive where, Remy?” I demand.
The sinful man continues to glower at me. “We’ve got a meeting.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Is this because of me? Because I got caught at his penthouse?
“It’s nothing to be concerned about.” My dad grunts and groans his way down the final steps, then leans toward me, planting a smacking kiss to my forehead. “We’ll be back soon.”
Remy leads the way to his car.
Dad follows, slower, each step accompanied with a wince.
“Are you taking him to Lorenzo?” I ask.
Nobody answers.
“Please,” I plead. “Remy, can’t you see he’s struggling? He doesn’t have the energy.”
Remy reaches the passenger side and opens the door. “The meeting isn’t with Lorenzo.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Liv, it’s okay.” My father pauses at Remy’s side and glances over his shoulder at me. “We won’t be long.”
I don’t believe him either—not when our relationship has become a breeding ground for lies.
“I’ll come with you.”
“Maybe next time.” Dad descends into the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Remy closes the door as I approach, then starts for the back of the vehicle. I’m about to pass him when he swings an arm out, grabbing me around the waist to haul me behind the car.
“Get your hands off me,” I snarl. “You’re not taking him anywhere.”
“Control yourself,” he sneers against my ear, tightening his hold.
“Or what?” I shove at his chest, hating how my body instinctively molds to his. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Pyro. You know what I’m capable of.”
I should listen to the warning. But my body treats it like a thrill, awakening my limbs in a wash of tingling goose bumps.
“He’s watching,” he mutters. “Don’t make this harder for him.”
“Make what harder? Is your uncle threatening him? Why can’t you take me instead?”
He grabs my chin, forcing me to hold his gaze. “I promise you, this isn’t about Lorenzo.”
I don’t want to believe him, but those eyes, they charm me despite their ruthlessness. “Your words don’t mean much these days.”
“Jesus Christ, Ollie.” Something flickers in his features. Something softer. Something real. “I’m trying my best to do right by you, and you’re making it fucking difficult.”
Do right by me?
My heart skips a beat. “What do you?—”
“Listen.” He releases my chin and steps back. “This isn’t about Lorenzo and has nothing to do with our arrangement. I can’t waste time placating you on this. I need to go.”
“Remy.” I grab his arm before he can leave.“We need to talk.”
He stiffens. “This isn’t the time or place.” He shakes off my grip. “I’ll get him to call you once he’s back home.”
I stand stunned. Hollow.
I hate that I believe him. Hate even more that through all the confusion I still trust him to bring home the man I care most about.
It’s Lorenzo I have a problem with. “I’ll be waiting here for his return.”
Remy doesn’t respond. Instead, he continues around the car with his uneven gait.
I pull out my cell and set a timer. “If you’re not back in an hour I’m calling the cops.”
He pauses in the middle of opening the driver’s door, pinning me with a warning scowl. “Make it two.”
I nod and retreat toward the building.
He climbs into the sports car, slams the door, and pulls from the parking lot, my father giving me a placating wave of farewell as they depart.
It’s so stupid that my concern battles with an overwhelming sense of heartbreak. That Remy’s cold shoulder is somehow in the same ballpark of consideration as my father’s safety.
Then again, none of my reactions to that ruthless man have been filled with sanity.
I suppose I’m right on brand.
I sit on the stairs with my phone in hand. It doesn’t fill me with giddy glee to navigate to the tracker app and revert to stalking again. But desperate times and all that.
I watch the little dot move away from the funeral home and across town to stop in the city.
I zoom in on the map, the sun slowly setting around me while I investigate their location—The Grand Windsor.
Why? What could they possibly be doing at a five-star hotel?
It takes two minutes of the dot idling for me to push from the stairs to pace. Another two minutes of manic contemplation before I go back inside and busy myself with work, my cell propped on my tool tray so I can constantly refresh the tracker.
They leave the hotel after half an hour. Make a detour on their return, the twenty-minute pause at a nearby suburban home. Then finally, they travel toward me.
I’m already waiting outside under the sensor light which beams down on the stairs, when the sports car pulls in, my father still in the passenger seat, a little red hatchback following them with a middle-aged woman behind the wheel.
They park side by side, Remy not glancing in my direction when he gets out and rounds the Aston Martin.
His expression lacks the harsh lines it did earlier. It’s as if he’s deliberately schooling his features. Not giving anything away.
I stride toward them, still eyeing Remy, waiting for him to give me a clue as to what’s going on, but he remains focused on helping my dad to his feet.
“What happened?” I grasp Dad’s elbow, my heart breaking at how much he leans against me for support.
“Nothing, fragolina.” He pats my fingers and then shuffles to the end of the car while Remy hangs back. “But there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
The woman stands in wait, her kind eyes taking me in with gentle appraisal.
“Liv, this is Lucy.” My dad waves a tired hand between us. “Lucy, my daughter, Olivia.”
The lines around the woman’s eyes crinkle with warmth. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”
“Umm…you too?” I attempt to sound enthusiastic only for my tone to fall flat.
It’s late evening, my father is clearly struggling, and this unfamiliar woman is lingering like she’s got a job to do.
“Lucy will be hanging around for a while.” Dad makes slow progress across the parking lot while I follow at his side. “Remy’s been talking about getting me a home-care nurse for weeks, and I finally caved.”
I stop, my heart halting along with my movement.
“It’s okay, Liv.” He pauses beside me. “I’ve been tired lately. The apartment is turning into a mess, and finding the energy to make dinner at the end of the day is becoming a struggle. She’s here to?—”
“Why didn’t you ask me?” I turn into him, making sure he can see the pain his isolation inflicts. “I can make you dinner. I can clean.”
“You’re busy enough.” Dad hobbles around me. “Luce, why don’t you help me upstairs, and I can show you around before my body clocks off for the day.”
“That sounds great.” The woman takes my position, guiding her arm around my father’s waist. “Don’t worry, Olivia. I’ll take great care of him.”
I stand lost as they cross the parking lot without me and climb the stairs at a sloth’s pace.
When’s this going to end?
How long will I remain in the goddamn dark?
I peer over my shoulder to Remy who leans against the back of the Aston Martin, his indifference increasing my frustration.
I swing around to face him, ready to lash out, needing to fight.
“Don’t,” he warns under his breath.
The scolding riles me. Infuriates me.
Everything about this situation is one swift uppercut after another.
I only comply for my father’s sake, biting my tongue until Dad blows me a kiss from the top step before disappearing inside.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I suck in a deep breath, ready to let loose the fury poised on the tip of my tongue.
“Get in the car.” Remy cuts in before I get the chance. “We need to talk.”