“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’spredicament 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 outloud 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.
Chapter Forty-One
Massimo
The house was cloaked in an unsettling silence, each creak of the floorboards amplified by the darkness that pressed in from every corner. I moved quietly, slipping in through the back door, careful not to disturb the stillness. Every instinct told me I didn’t belong here. The urge to finish quickly and return to the comfort of my wife was strong, and all I wanted was to complete the task at hand and leave this place behind as soon as possible.
I had spent countless hours stationed outside the imposing residence, my attention fixed on every shadow and movement. I watched, waiting for any sign of Barbari, his men, or anyone at all—something to indicate that the house was still in use. But throughout my vigil, no one entered or exited; the place seemed utterly deserted, as if its occupants had vanished without a trace. The silence wore on me, eroding my patience until frustration gnawed at every thought. I despised being here, forced to dwell on the reasons that brought me to this place. The anxiety pressed in, twisting my stomach until every breath felt labored.
