OLIVIA
What is she doing here?
The last place I would expect to see my cheating, lying, betrayal of a best friend would be in my home and on my couch, helping herself to a meal no doubt gotten from my kitchen.
She had a key to the house.
She had either used that or my father had let her in.
She rose to her feet as soon as she saw me.
"Can we talk?" she asked as soon as I approached.
"There is nothing I want to say to you, Emily, and I do not know how you got in, but show yourself out before I call the cops."
I brushed past her and reached for the stairs, but she followed after me.
"Come on, Olivia… it wasn't anything serious. He and I—"
"Emily!" I spun around.
She wasn't sorry, I thought. She had a smirk on her face.
The only reason she was here was if someone put her up to it, and I could guess that someone was no doubt Liam, whom I had made a point of avoiding these past few days.
"You sent me that photo, did you not?" I asked.
She said nothing, but the look in her eyes was enough of an answer.
"What were you hoping to achieve? And you can cut the crap about feeling sorry because we both know that you do not have one sympathetic bone in your body."
She chortled at this.
I watched her face transform, her eyes glittering with so much hate that it shocked me.
"You did not possibly think that someone like Liam would want, or be in love with, someone like you. You know, Liv… for someone as smart as you are, you are so fucking dumb."
I felt my heart break as she spoke.
"Liam wants the company. Surely, you know that your father is an ass who will not make you his heir, and so the plan was for Liam to marry you and take over. The marriage would be a front until he acquires the company totally in his name, then voila… you are out in the dust."
I felt visibly sick as she recounted this with such glee on her face.
"Then you sent me that photo."
"I know. It was a moment of weakness on my part. I felt like I wasn't in control, and so I set out to ruin the plan." She sighed, as if she wanted to change what she had done, before she shrugged her shoulders in acceptance.
"It doesn't matter anyways," she smiled brightly. "Congratulations on your fucking wedding, girl. I did not think you had it in you, and you went for Enrique Garcia? Good job."
"Leave, Emily," I snapped.
The smile dropped from her face, replaced by a snarl.
"Do you know the man you fucking married?" she asked.
What the hell did that mean? I thought.
She began laughing, tears pooling in her eyes.
"Oh, my dear, dear, dumb friend."
"Get out of my house!" I snapped at her.
"You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into."
She blew me an air kiss, turned around, and left while I watched, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
Do you know who you fucking married?
What the fuck was she on about?
There was no way I was going to believe a word that came out of her mouth, but as I flew up the stairs, I grabbed my laptop, flipped it open, and searched for Enrique Garcia.
A picture of him flooded the screen, hitching the breath in my lungs.
I cleared my throat and scrolled.
There were newspaper articles about him, but the one that caught my eye was written in bold letters:
CONNECTION WITH THE GALICIAN MAFIA… TRUE OR FALSE?
I knew what the Galician Mafia was, and I knew they were not to be messed with at all.
What connection would Enrique have with them?
I clicked on the headline, unable to hear my thoughts against the loud roar in my ears.
There were newspaper clippings of blurry pictures of some men—sometimes two men and other times more than two—but in compromising positions and always with them in a conversation.
I paused when I happened upon one.
It wasn't clear either, but there was no mistaking Enrique with his arm around the shoulder of a woman and standing with one of the men from the other photos.
The Galician Mafia were involved in drugs, illegal gun trading, sexual trafficking, prostitution, assassinations—you name it.
They were the guys you would go to if you wanted the President of the United States dead, and trust me when I tell you he would be.
If Enrique was even remotely connected to them, then—
I leaned backward, feeling the beginning of a headache.
There had to be an explanation.
My phone trilled, and when I picked it up, my heart did a double flip, and my fingers shook.
It was Enrique.
"Hey," I stuttered.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" I breathed, trying so hard to calm myself.
"Nothing really. You just sound funny."
"Oh yes, I am packing stuff, so physical exertion, I guess," I lied.
"Of course. Ask the receptionist for the key to my suite when you arrive so you do not have to wait out for me."
"Where will you be?" I asked, making sure I did not sound overly curious.
"Just rounding up business," he responded vaguely.
Business that no doubt involved the Mafia.
Was he even a true businessman, or was his a front to transport and smuggle things into the country?
"Olivia?"
I jolted.
"Sorry, come again?" I gritted my teeth.
"I was saying I will see you later tonight, then?"
"Yes, of course."
He bid me goodbye, and I held my breath until the phone pinged before I let it out in a long rush.
My eyes went to the screen of my laptop again, to his face.
He was smiling, but there was also something there, and there was a feeling that I could not quite pinpoint.
I had gotten married to the fucking Mafia.
One would think I would not make a mistake twice, but it would seem mistakes were a girl's best friend.
What do I do? I thought.
I could obviously not go to the cops. There was no proof besides a few pictures on the net about him, and if I asked for a divorce, he would know something was wrong.
One year, I reminded myself.
It was only for a year.
Until I could get myself in order and have my father trust me to be able to take over his business.
Right now, he would die before he sells the company to Enrique, so I was his only option.
I can do this, I muttered, even as terror ricocheted up and down my spine.