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I want to let my regret for my foolishness take over, but then he mentions Ruth’s name, and it clicks. I have seen him before at Barbara and Ronan’s wedding. He was the man Ronan was talking to before Barbara slumped.
He knows Ruth.
I scream as best as I can through my taped mouth, and he stops talking to shoot fireballs at me. I don’t stop. Instead, I keep screaming, burning my eyes and lungs.
He looms over me and crouches as if to comfort me, but instead, his hand smacks across my face so hard I fear I might lose a tooth.
I grit, the pain so intense I have no control over the tears that slip past my eyes. But I don’t let him win as I continue screaming in his face.
“Ruth?” He curls his upper lip, and I scream some more. “She poisoned the cakes, but,” he lifts a finger, “she didn’t have a clue about Barbara’s allergies,” he stands. “I, on the other hand, did. I needed to ruin Ronan Gallagher’s alliance with the Ferreris, because that nonsense is going to cost me,” he struts away, smoothing out his suit.
I hate his accent. I hate his confidence. I hate his scent. I hate him.
“Ronan is too daring for his own good,” he clicks his teeth, and I get the hint that he would stop at nothing to accomplish his plan.
He must be the they Ruth was referring to. He is the enemy—the mastermind behind it all.
“Oh, naive little girl,” he purrs. “It’s such a pity you won’t be able to tell any of this to anyone.” He lifts and drops his chin in a menacing, dry smile. “You won’t be seeing Ronan ever again.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
RONAN
Fucking Damien Ivanov.
I stare at the screen of my phone, impatiently waiting for Liam to show up. If Cesare weren’t being such an arse about our new deal, I would be marching to the Bratva headquarters right this minute to get my woman.
I need his help, but he blatantly refused, calling Olivia an irrelevant baker. He couldn’t fucking care less about her. Soon, though, he will have no choice but to accord her the respect she is due when she becomes my wife.
A car drives to a stop beside mine, and Liam jumps out of the passenger seat.
“Damien Ivanov?” He hurries to me, “What the fuck is wrong with the Russian?”
“The fuck do I know,” I climb into my car, and he climbs in the passenger seat.
“Why would he take your girl?” He slips on his seatbelt, and for the first time, I can agree with my expression that Olivia is my girl.
How did he know he would find her at the Ferreri estate? I didn’t notice any car following us, and that van was not exactly something easy to miss.
“Are we going to your place?” Liam asks, and I nod.
“We need to come up with something, anything at all,” I need a solution, and I need one fast.
“Did Cesare offer to help?” Liam prods, and I shake my head in response.
When I called him, the bastard made up some lame excuse to get himself out of it.
Cesare is the fucking least of my problems. He can sulk all he wants about our new deal. I don’t fucking care about the old man right now.
“Olivia, Bratva,” Liam swings his fingers side by side, “it’s simple. Ruth, the intern…”
“What about her?”
“I found her on Bratva territory, and now we handed her to the cops…”
That’s the missing link.
Ruth.
