7. Ronan
Good enough on the eye.
I check myself out in the mirror beside my bedroom door at the end of the hallway. A low purple light flows into the room, not much brighter than darkness itself. But it does the job.
I don’t like light.
I smooth the front of my black dress shirt and pull out my phone from my pants pocket to check the text I just received.
Liam: I’m outside.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with him being outside fifteen minutes early? This is the thing with Liam. He always shows up too early.
I spin, satisfied with how I look. Leaving yesterday behind me as much as I can, I stalk down the hallway. I am tempted to stop by Olivia’s apartment, but that wouldn’t be wise.
I slipped yesterday. I have to find a way to control myself before I see her again because whatever do, I have to make sure I’m going in with a clear head.
I have ordered for her to be fed regularly and have placed two men outside her door to ensure she doesn’t step out of her room.
She is not here on a vacation. She is my prisoner, and I must not lose sight of that crucial fact.
But fuck it.
I miss her.
The frustration of kissing her and not being able to do more cost me my sleep last night.
And despite the fact that yesterday was my wedding night, my entire being, my body was just screaming for Olivia. I should feel guilty for thinking about fucking another woman when my wife had been dead for a handful of hours. I should, but I don’t that much.
I bounce down the stairs and wave at Pedro as he is turning into the kitchen. He shoots his head out and smiles at me.
“Good morning, boss,” he walks back out, “I made mango extract to go,” he offers my favorite, and I shake my head.
I started eating more fruit in high school because of Olivia. But right now, this fucking mango extract seems like yet another temptation reminding me of the woman in my house.
“No, thanks.” I stride to the main door, and it opens for me to step out. I find Liam at the bottom of the stairs, with a vape between his lips, in a gray two-piece suit and brown dress shoes.
“Isn’t it too early to be smoking that shit?” I walk down to him while fishing for the cigarette in my pocket and my electronic lighter.
“To each their own,” he chimes his best defense whenever I question his preference.
“You can do better,” I take my cigarette to my lips and go to the red car I chose for the occasion.
“I like the blue better,” Liam comes after me.
“To each their own,” I blow through the cigarette between my lips and, while Liam settles into the passenger seat, Ihead to the back whereTim, a lanky redhead with more mustache than I”ve ever seen and not a single strand of beard, is holding open the door for me.
Tim then slides into the driver”s seatand leads us out of the manor, a second vehicle following behind.
I know I”m going to see Cesare, but it”s best to show up and play the game he so fucking loves to play because the man can be vicious when he doesn”t need to be.
In any case, I need him to allow me to investigate and track down the murderer. And I have to do it without giving the impression that I”m interested in Olivia other than the possibility that she”s innocent.
I doubt that part will be possible, especially with a man like Cesare. He sees too much.
We get to the Ferreri estate, and I toss the remaining of my cigarette outside through the window of the moving car as some of his men clear us at the gate.
There are a lot of people prancing around with weapons like they are waiting to be ambushed. His house is the largest building amidst the throws of other bungalows surrounding it.
“Stay here, but remain on guard,” I alight from the car, and Liam does the same.
“How is Riley?” I ask as we make our way to the elevator point.
“She is fine. I drove her to her apartment and made sure she and your mother were safe and tucked in bed…” he responds.
“We can stop by to see them after this,” and Liam nods.
Riley and my mom live just two houses from mine in the main family estate, but I rarely go there.
The elevator we get in and opens into Cesare’s library. The man is smoking from a pipe, sitting on a yellow sofa with his legs crossed, a whiskey glass in hand, but despite all this, he is still wearing his designer pajamas and robe.
It is all about power play.
He knew I would dress to suit the occasion, but he wanted me to think he couldn’t give a fuck about this whole thing even though his favorite child is dead.
I step into the library, instantly loathing the brightness of the space, but not his choice of colors. Yellow and navy blue. I hate bright lights but can’t get enough of bright colors even though I cannot have them in my space.
If I dig further into that, I will find that Olivia is at the core of it. So I don’t.
“Cesare,” I salute and find a place to sit, not waiting to be asked.
“Son,” he sips from his whiskey glass and sets the pipe in his hand down on a center table between the both of us.
“Cesare,” Liam helps himself to sit beside me but on the end of the sofa.
“Liam,” Cesare answers flatly, and Liam nods.
“I’m sorry about your…” I start to offer my condolences, but Cesare waves me off with his whiskey glass.
“It’s our loss. You are going through the pain of losing your beloved wife before you got the chance to enjoy marital bliss,” he sips his whiskey again.
“Concerning the pastry chef,” I act indifferent, “We have no proof she is the killer yet.”
“Do you mean your ex, Ronan?” Cesare clenches his teeth, and I nod, agreeing with his point.
“I want to find the killer; I want to make sure that when I kill the person responsible for this, I’m actually killing the culprit,” I detour, “I don’t want to take this out on her and later find out that she wasn’t to blame.”
Cesare shrugs, “Kill her now and find the culprit later, what difference does it make? She’s irrelevant.”
“To me, she’s not,” I clip.
“Fine,” he sits up. One week, that’s all you got, or I will have her head, and if you try to get in my way, there will be consequences.” He quaffs his whiskey. “It would be a shame to start a war now, just as the merging of our families was to avoid one.” He is referring to the Bratva and their insolence that my marriage to Barbara was supposed to stampede.
“One week is fair,” I don’t know how I will fucking get to it or find any fucking clue, but one week is all I will be needing. At the end of it, I will be delivering the person responsible for Barbara’s death.
“And while you are at it, think of your way forward in my family,” he drops his whiskey glass a little too loudly. “You can’t remain a widower, and you were chosen by the Ferreri family as a son-in-law, not as Barbara’s husband,” he picks up his pipe. “So use this one week to cool off and then we can get back to business.”
I don’t have to ask him to explain further because I already know what he is implying. I have to be married into the clan, and it doesn’t matter to which one of his daughters. The only way out of this fucking deal is death.
I nod, physically agreeing, but my head is elsewhere already. Obsessing over something I consider to be more important than anything else.
Olivia’s safety is paramount, and only then can I consider being miserably married.
I stand before him, and Liam does the same.
“I will see you around, son,” he puffs his pipe, and I nod, exiting the library with Liam beside me.
We stay mute as the elevator takes us down. I can sense Liam has a lot to say, but he manages to keep it in, walking beside me until we get into the car.
“That is not good,” Liam spurts as soon as we settle in.
“We don’t have a choice,” I shrug and fish for another cigarette in my pocket.
“We do, we could have bargained for more time, and the part of you agreeing to marry his other daughter…”
“I did not agree to anything,” I cut him and clip my teeth, “I need to focus on one problem at a time.”
Liam dips his hand into the inner pocket of his suit, brings out his vape, breathes in and out, and then puffs.
“One week to find the killer,” he chimes, and I nod, “Where do we start?”
I shrug, “Something will come up,” I take my cigarette to my lips and run my tongue on the edge, a bad habit of mine.
I need to narrow my thoughts and filter out every form of distraction to be able to help the one distraction I want so fucking badly. Olivia.
There are too many questions going around in my head, yet not one thing that can be called a clue. One week.
I press the button at the bottom of my lighter, and a blue flame pops up.
One week or she dies.
The last time I took matters concerning her fate into my hands, it didn’t end well. This time is different. Last time, I lost her for a decade, but now, if I make a mistake, I will lose her forever.
I throw my head back and pinch the brink of my nose as the car drives us out of the Ferreri estate, into the quaintness of Boston.
One week.