Chapter Forty
Miranda
“So when does your residency start at Chicago Memorial?” Oliver asked, settling into the seat beside me as Milo navigated the busy streets toward downtown Chicago. The city’s energy buzzed past the windows, but a gentle anticipation hung between us in the car.
The morning had begun unexpectedly when Massimo had informed me, almost offhandedly, that he’d arranged a lunch date with Oliver at Fratelli’s Deli.
According to him, I needed a break—a chance to escape, if only for a little while, from the confinement and constant scrutiny of life inside the Vitale compound.
I hadn’t asked what had prompted this sudden gesture of kindness from Massimo.
Maybe he sensed my restlessness, or perhaps it was something else entirely.
Either way, I wasn’t about to question it.
Sometimes, it was best to simply accept a small reprieve when it came, to enjoy the opportunity for normalcy without overanalyzing the intentions behind it.
“October first,” I replied, my voice trailing off as I double-checked the date on my phone. The reality of how little time remained settled between us, and for a moment, the familiar comfort of our friendship was tinged with the ache of impending change.
Oli, never one to hide his feelings, let out a dramatic groan.
“So we’ve got two months before I never see you again.
” His complaint was half-serious, half-teasing, but the underlying disappointment was clear in his tone.
“Why couldn’t you be a history teacher or something?
At least then you’d have weekends free.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his suggestion, shaking my head at the thought.
“Because I hate history, and you know it. Besides, you know I will always make time for you.” I tried to reassure him, hoping my words would ease the tension, even as I silently wondered what the future would hold for us both.
“Whatever,” Oli muttered, but I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even as uncertainty loomed, our friendship remained a steady anchor—one I hoped would last no matter where life took us. “Oh my God!” he gasped.
“What?”
Oliver’s eyes were wide as he scanned his phone, barely able to get the words out. “Professor Delgato was found dead in his apartment.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “What?” I shouted, leaning in as Oliver turned his phone toward me.
My heart pounded as he continued, “Holy shit. The article says that when the police searched his apartment, they found evidence of coercion and blackmail. They found videotapes of him having sex with students. Wasn’t he one of your medical professors?”
A cold dread swept through me. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling as memories of that unsettling time in his office flashed through my mind—how he’d propositioned me, how uncomfortable I’d felt.
Even now, the thought sent a shiver down my spine.
I swallowed, trying to steady myself. “Does it say how he died?”
Oliver’s expression darkened. “Sick bastard killed himself. Gunshot to the head,” he said, his voice low. “Maybe he felt guilty?”
“Not likely,” I murmured, unable to shake the chill that had settled over me as I wondered what truly happened to the man.
Oliver leaned back, a sly smirk on his face.
“Well, good riddance, I say. One less asshole to worry about.” He glanced at me, his tone shifting to one of playful annoyance.
“Speaking of assholes, what’s yours doing today?
It’s not like him to let you out of his sight.
” Oliver’s comment, half-joking and half-serious, made it clear he was trying to lighten the mood, even as the weight of the news still hung between us.
“All I know is he said he had some business to attend to and wouldn’t be home until late tonight.” I admitted, my voice carrying a hint of uncertainty as I recalled the brief conversation from earlier.
Oliver raised an eyebrow, a skeptical look crossing his face. “Sounds ominous to me,” he remarked, unable to hide his disapproval.
“You would think that because you don’t like him,” I replied, a gentle teasing in my tone as I nudged him lightly, fully aware of his longstanding feelings.
“Nope,” my best friend quickly admitted, his response immediate and unwavering. “And I never will.”
“Seriously, Oli,” I groaned, exasperation and affection mingling in my voice. “You have to get over it. I married him. He’s my husband. He’s not going anywhere.”
Oliver grumbled again, his resistance as strong as ever. “Doesn’t mean I have to like him, Savy.”
Leaning close, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his cheek, offering a small gesture of reassurance. “But for me you’ll try, right?” I asked softly, my eyes searching his for any sign of compromise.
Shaking his head, Oliver finally allowed a genuine smile to crack through his stubborn facade. The tension in the back of the SUV softened just a bit. “If you tell your yummy driver I want his number,” he teased, his tone playfully conspiratorial.
“Milo?” I asked, amused by the sudden shift in subject.
A mischievous grin spread across Oliver’s face as he licked his lips, clearly enjoying his own joke. “Oh yeah,” he replied, eyes glinting with playful intent. “That man needs to cross over to the dark side, and I’ll have no problem being his tour guide.”
I couldn’t help but burst into laughter, playfully swatting Oliver’s shoulder as I shook my head in disbelief. “Not everyone is gay, Oliver,” I teased, unable to mask my amusement at his persistent assumptions.
Oliver waggled his eyebrows, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, but he is or wants to be,” he replied confidently. “My radar has never let me down once.”
I rolled my eyes, unable to stifle a grin. “Your radar has a questionable track record at best,” I shot back, amusement bubbling in my chest. “Remember that waiter at Stefano’s? You were so sure, and then he introduced us to his fiancée five minutes later.”
Oliver clutched his chest dramatically, feigning deep offense.
“One out of ten is still a passing grade, thank you very much.” He stuck his tongue out at me; his playful antics did little to disguise the genuine warmth between us.
I just shook my head, laughter threatening to spill over again, grateful for the comfort of his familiar banter.
By the time we reached the little bakery with its checkered tablecloths and the smell of espresso hanging in the air, the earlier tension had faded into the background. Sunlight spilled through the windows, painting golden stripes across Oliver’s face as he eyed the dessert display hungrily.
“God, I love this place,” I moaned as I bit into a fresh cannoli. “Say what you want about my husband, Oliver, but the Italians sure know how to cook.”
“Yeah, but the one thing I want isn’t on the menu,” he said drolly as he turned to look at Milo, who was standing at the door, his back to us. “Would you look at that ass? It’s delicious.”
I shrugged, taking another bite of my cannoli as I walked over to one of the tables.
We settled into the cozy corner, laughter still echoing between us.
Outside, the city bustled on, but in that little bakery, it felt as if time had paused just for this moment.
The simple joy of sharing pastries and teasing banter made everything else fade away.
“So, while we are alone, there is something I need to talk to you about?”
Looking up at Oliver, I frowned. “That sounds ominous.”
He shrugged. “Depends on how you look at things.”
“Oli, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Remember Kendrick?”
“The asshole who broke your heart and kicked you to the curb?”
“That’s the one.” Oliver nodded. “Well, he’s blackmailing me.”
“What? How? Why?” I gasped. “What do you mean?”
Oliver’s voice dropped to a whisper, thick with regret.
“I mean, I may have agreed to something I shouldn’t, and now he wants me to pay him to keep quiet, or he’s going to the papers and will tell them everything.
” Shame flickered across his face as he buried it in his hands.
“God, Savy, I screwed up big time, and when my parents learn what I did, they are going to cut me off for sure.”
I reached across the table, my tone soft and reassuring.
“Hey, we’ll figure this out together, okay?
No matter what you did, you’re not alone in this.
” The tension in Oliver’s eyes eased ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, the chaos outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the quiet strength of our friendship.
I squeezed his hand gently. “Now tell me everything.”
Sitting quietly in the back seat of the SUV, my thoughts kept circling back to the conversation with Oliver at the deli.
His confession weighed heavily on my mind, and no matter how much I tried to come up with a solution, every option seemed to lead back to involving the police—something I was certain Oliver wanted to avoid at all costs.
I was so lost in my worries that I didn’t even notice the vehicle had come to a stop until Milo, the driver, turned around and addressed me gently, “Signora Vitale. We are home.”
Startled from my reverie, I blinked and turned toward him. “Milo, can I ask you a question?”
He nodded with his usual calm. “Anything, ma’am.”
I hesitated, then asked, “If someone were blackmailing you, what would you do?”
Milo’s brow furrowed with concern as he considered my question. “Depends,” he replied. “Is someone blackmailing you?”
I quickly shook my head, eager to ease his concern. “Oh, no!” I assured him. “Not me.”
Milo waited patiently for me to elaborate, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.
I hesitated, the weight of Oliver’s predicament making my heart pound.
Even though it wasn’t happening to me, I couldn’t shake the responsibility I felt to help my friend navigate this mess.
“It’s someone I care about,” I mumbled, hoping Milo’s wisdom might offer a new perspective.
“And I just don’t know what the right move is. ”
Milo looked thoughtful, his fingers tapping gently on the steering wheel as he weighed his words.
“If I were that person,” he began, “I’d make sure to document everything.
Keep a record of the threats, the demands—anything that could help if things got worse.
And I’d reach out to someone I trust, even if I was scared to.
Trying to handle it alone is dangerous.” He paused, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Sometimes the fear of what might happen is worse than the truth coming out.”
His words hung in the air between us, filling the quiet interior of the car with an uneasy tension.
I could feel a knot of anxiety tightening inside me, but there was also a faint glimmer of hope—a sense that maybe, just maybe, there was a solution that wouldn’t make things spiral even further out of control.
Milo’s steady presence was oddly comforting, and for the first time since Oliver’s confession, I didn’t feel quite so alone in this mess.
He glanced over at me, his tone gentle but direct.
“Ma’am, if I can be so bold, is this about your friend Oliver Thorpe? ”
I hesitated, then nodded slowly, unable to meet his eyes. The admission felt heavy, but there was relief in finally sharing the truth, even if only with Milo. “There’s a video,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
Milo’s expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped, edged with concern and a simmering anger. “Of a sexual nature?” he asked, searching my face for confirmation.
Shame and worry churned in my stomach as I nodded again. “And his former boyfriend has it and is blackmailing Oli for his trust fund,” I explained quietly. Speaking the words out loud made the situation feel even more real—and even more impossible.
A low growl escaped Milo, his hands flexing tightly around the steering wheel. Without another word, he exited the vehicle and walked around to open my door. As he helped me out, he said in a voice that brooked no argument, “Consider the matter settled.”
The finality in his tone sent a shiver down my spine, and I wondered if I had just made things worse for Oliver.