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“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.
Chapter Eight
OLIVIA
Day 1
I feel drained and weightless.
I’m sure my brain is about to have a seizure from the stress it has been put through from when I got here.
I haven’t had much rest, the sleep I’m just waking up from is not nearly enough to lower the heaviness in my head or get rid of chainsaw drilling through my system.
Barbara died after she ate the cake I made for her wedding.
And as if that wasn’t enough, I’m here in Ronan’s house as a prisoner.
What was I thinking when I kissed him right after he lost his wife?
I should have at least waited Why is it so hard to get it together with Ronan?
Why does he still have that effect on me?
It was like we had never been separated. The feeling, the rush, the urgency, the desire—everything was as it once was, if not even more mature and defined.
In the years we’ve been apart, I have dated men, but none has ever been able to set me on fire like Ronan effortlessly does. No hookups or friends with benefits have ever been able to even come close. Nothing has ever been as satisfying.
I was his.
And when he wasn’t there anymore, I had to focus on my career. There was hardly any time to think about Ronan, love, or men.
Except at night, alone in my bed, when the thoughts and longing came back with force. I even began baking in the middle of the night to distract myself, and it worked for a while.
Then last week, I realized that all I had been doing was avoiding the truth and the gnawing emptiness.
