Page 6 of Ivory Sins
Tonight, the streets are empty. Only the distant sound of a barking dog punctuates the air. I keep a safe distance, tailing her meticulously, my eyes never leaving her for a moment.
I hide behind a tree and watch her head toward a nearby bank. What's she doing here at this time of night?
Olivia stands at the entrance and turns around, her sharp eyes sweeping across the empty street. I lurk in the shadows, watching her disappear into the bank, which is usually closed by this hour.
What're you up to, Olivia?
I wait behind the tree, my eyes scanning the surrounding area for signs of potential threats. Now and then, I'll check my watch, wondering what's taking so long, what the fuck she’s even doing inside a closed bank at this hour.
A few minutes later, she emerges, her hands clutching a small package. My eyes narrow, trying to make out what she's holding, but I can't.
Her gaze darts around, a flicker of paranoia flickering across her face.
I'm not sure what's going on, but this is deeper than just some stalker's threats. Olivia’s hiding something, and I’ll figure out what it is direct.
4
Olivia
TheBellantifamilydinneris in full swing, the air electric with laughter and the clinking of silverware. The delicious aroma of grilled chicken wafts from the kitchen, mingling with the sweet scent of expensive wines, where the bottles grace the table.
Fine porcelain, sparkling crystal, and intricately folded napkins complete the table as the chandelier lights above illuminate our faces. The setting is formal with white candles, ornate plates and polished silver.
I sit in my chair, a forced smile perched on my lips as I watch the rest of the family laugh and discuss God-knows-what. I'm trying to stay present and enjoy the moment like everyone else, but I can't—my mind keeps wandering here and there. The voices in my head won't be quiet either, and I feel like I'm losing my sanity.
I can see their lips moving but can't hear a word they're saying—I'm too far gone, lost in my own thoughts. I envy the smiles on their faces, anyway, and can't remember the last time I was genuinely happy.
My eyes dart to Marco as he stands sentinel across the dining table, his posture stoic and quite manly. I tear my gaze off him just in time, before buried memories come rushing back.
“Olivia.” Isabella's voice snaps me back to the present.
It's not until I lock eyes with her I realize she's called my name a few times before getting my attention.
Her long dark hair with auburn highlights simmers in the light, and her sharp green eyes narrow. “Are you alright?” she asks.
My gaze shifts across my family members’ faces as they stare at me, awaiting my response. All but Angelo, who's busy with his salad, and is seemingly uninterested in what's going on with me.
He's the youngest Bellanti and has green eyes like Isabella and sharp features like Matteo. Angelo's the life of the party, the financial manager, and the most arrogant of us all.
“She's fine,” Angelo says without taking his eyes off his plate. “She's just shaken about the dolls—the stalker guy.” He raises his head and wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Ha ha, very funny,” I retort, casting him a subtle glare.
He laughs and eats his meal like he hadn't just tried to get under my skin.
“Pay no attention to him,” Lorenzo says to me, smoothing his curly dark hair backwards.
Lorenzo Bellanti is the enforcer of the Bellanti syndicate, the torturer. He has a muscular build and a volatile temper that makes him dangerous, violent, and unpredictable. Lorenzo favors dark clothes and leather jackets that stress his ruggedness.
Just then, a commotion erupts in the kitchen—a shriek that catches everyone's attention. All heads turn toward the noise, except for Angelo, who still seems blissfully unaware of what’s going on around him.
One of the staff members, a young woman with a pale face, rushes into the dining room holding an eerily dressed doll.
I groan. Great, just what I need.
She halts in front of my father and stutters, “Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt. I was clearing the dessert dishes, and I found this…thing on the counter.”
“What's that? Annabel?” Angelo chuckles, a dry amusement dancing in his eyes.
