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It’s pathetic but I don’t care.
The feelings I had long since buried are rising back up to the surface, and I would be a fucking liar to say I’m not hungry for more.
“You need a doctor?” He asks, moving over to the other side of the staircase and resting against the rail.
“I’m good,” I shake my hand off, pretending to have something wrong with it to keep him from poking further.
“You sure?” He narrows his eyebrows, and I nod once.
“What have you got?” I point with my chin at the file in his hand.
“Not what you would be expecting,” he says. “But still…” he reaches the file to me.
“Let me guess…” I start to say, and he nods before I land.
“It’s not the same poison,” he exhales. I had never wanted poisons to match this much. He tuts. “I was kind of rooting for your girl.”
“She is not my girl,” I clip. Yet.
“Doesn’t seem like it to me,” he shrugs.
“You have always had a bad eye,” I gruff.
“You are one to talk,” he scoffs.
“Liam,” I tsk and he takes the hint, “What kind of poison was used?” Since I never got a chance to ask Cesare about Barbara’s, I might as well find out now.
“Barbara’s wasn’t really a poison,” he comes closer and folds his arms across his chest to lower his head, “It was a laxative…”
“It was? Really?” I want to whoop! Barbara is allergic to any form of laxatives. If that is the case, it means that whoever put it in the frosting knew Barbara well.
“I don’t know what is going on, but whoever is behind this is playing it well,” he says. “I need to run some errands. I will see you later,” he waits for me to say something, but I only nod.
Whoever is behind this is playing it well indeed.
My hopes just got crushed. I was beginning to think that Olivia might be off the hook.
The dots are not connecting. They seem out of place. It’s as if the answer is in front of me but I’m refusing to look.
While I want to confirm that Olivia is innocent, I subconsciously try not to ignore the possibility that she might be behind this.
“We will fix this,” Liam pulls me out of my thoughts.
“You’re still here?” I lift an eyebrow, and he scowls at me before taking the stairs down to his car.
I appreciate what he is doing but it would be hard to get me to say that now. My mind is bent on something else. I need this to be sorted, and fast.
I’m running out of time.
If not Olivia, who?
Names fly through my mind. Most people I know would be capable of this, and they stand to gain the same thing: power from making me and my relationship with the Ferreri clan crumble. But one person stands to gain the most from this.
Damien Ivanov.
I slip my hand into my hair and pull at the strands while my mind begins a furious zapping between all the stressful matters crowding my head.
Olivia just got back this morning from the clinic. She is pale, her usually radiant skin lacking its shine.
