Chapter 2 - I Thought My Best Friend Stole My Fiancé—Then the Mafia Boss Found the Contract Proving She Had Been Paid to Keep Me in Love With Him Until I Signed Away a $186 Million InheritanceGabriel DeLuca lived above Manhattan.
Not figuratively.
His penthouse occupied the top three floors of a limestone tower overlooking Central Park.
I expected black marble and armed men.
There were armed men.
The marble was cream.
What I didn't expect were books.
Thousands.
History.
Architecture.
Law.
Poetry.
A grand piano stood beside the windows.
“You play?”
Gabriel removed his coat.
“Badly.”
“You admit to doing something badly?”
“Don't tell anyone.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Then remembered someone had shot at me.
The smile disappeared.
Gabriel noticed.
“You're safe here.”
“You can't promise that.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“But I can make it extremely inconvenient for anyone trying otherwise.”
That was probably the most Gabriel DeLuca reassurance possible.
His security chief, Marco, arrived with information.
Sophie and Ryan had never boarded the flight to Paris.
Their luggage had.
The tickets were used by two assistants.
“Why fake leaving?” I asked.
Gabriel answered.
“To make you think the story ended.”
Marco placed photographs on the table.
Sophie entering Whitmore Capital.
Ryan's father, Charles Whitmore, meeting her.
Ryan arriving separately.
“They're together.”
I stared.
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“The prenup,” Gabriel said.
“And?”
“Anything connected to Bellamy.”
I turned to him.
“Tell me everything.”
“About?”
“Your family.”
He became still.
“That's broad.”
“My grandfather went into business with yours.”
“Yes.”
“Ryan's family may have stolen my share.”
“Yes.”
“You've known Ryan since childhood.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow you conveniently discovered all of this before my wedding.”
“Yes.”
I crossed my arms.
“Why were you really his best man?”
Gabriel didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
“You weren't there for Ryan.”
“No.”
“You were there for me.”
“Yes.”
Anger returned.
“Why?”
“Because I expected Whitmore to move against you once you were legally married.”
“So you stood there to watch it happen?”
“To stop it.”
“After?”
“If necessary.”
I stared.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because eight months ago you loved him.”
“I thought I did.”
“You wouldn't have believed me.”
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
He accepted the correction.
“I assumed.”
“Men keep doing that.”
“Yes.”
His willingness to admit fault was deeply inconvenient.
I paced.
“Did you know about the Bellamy property before Ryan?”
“I knew my family had a third.”
“Did you know my family did?”
“Not until eight months ago.”
“What happened then?”
“Ryan requested a loan against the property.”
My head snapped up.
“He tried borrowing against all of it?”
“Yes.”
“But he didn't own all of it.”
“He claimed Whitmore controlled two-thirds.”
“You checked.”
“I check everything.”
“Apparently except whether your best friend is cheating on his fiancée.”
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
“Fair.”
I stopped.
“Why do you call Ryan your best friend?”
“I don't.”
“You were his best man.”
“Our fathers expected it.”
“At forty-one?”
“Old obligations die slowly.”
There was something behind that answer.
“Did you ever like him?”
“As children.”
“And now?”
“No.”
“Then why maintain the relationship?”
Gabriel looked toward the windows.
“Because sometimes keeping an enemy close is more useful than admitting he became one.”
That sentence should have frightened me.
Instead, it made sense.
Maybe I was adapting too quickly.
The next morning, I woke in a guest room larger than my first apartment.
There were clothes in the closet.
My size.
I marched downstairs.
Gabriel sat at the kitchen island reading financial reports.
“You bought me clothes?”
He looked up.
“My assistant did.”
“You know my size?”
“No.”
“She does.”
“That's somehow worse.”
“I can have them removed.”
I stared.
Then sighed.
“No. Thank you.”
His eyebrow rose.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
He slid coffee toward me.
I stopped.
Oat milk.
One sugar.
Exactly how I drank it.
“How do you know?”
“You ordered it at Ryan's engagement party.”
“That was eleven months ago.”
“Yes.”
“You remember my coffee order from eleven months ago?”
Gabriel seemed to realize he'd revealed something.
“Apparently.”
I sat.
Dangerous territory.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why did you notice me?”
He looked down at his coffee.
“Because everyone else at that party was trying to impress someone.”
“And?”
“You spent twenty minutes helping a waitress clean champagne off the floor after Ryan's cousin knocked over a tray.”
I remembered.
“That's it?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“You told Ryan to stop mocking the valet's accent.”
I smiled.
“He was being rude.”
“Yes.”
“You liked that?”
“I noticed it.”
“That's not an answer.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“It is the answer I'm giving.”
Before I could push, Marco entered.
“We have Sophie.”
My chair scraped back.
“Where?”
“She's requesting a meeting.”
“With whom?”
“You.”
Gabriel immediately said:
“No.”
I looked at him.
He closed his eyes.
“Right. Asking.”
“Learning.”
“Slowly.”
Sophie chose a church.
Public.
Security cameras.
No weapons.
Gabriel came.
He sat three pews behind us.
Far enough to give privacy.
Close enough to reach me.
Sophie looked terrible.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
Dark circles.
I felt nothing.
Then everything.
“How could you?”
She started crying.
“Olivia—”
“No. You had seven months to cry.”
“I never slept with Ryan.”
I stared.
“What?”
“The affair was fake.”
“You kissed him?”
“Yes.”
“You stayed in hotels?”
“We booked rooms. I left afterward.”
“You let me believe—”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
Sophie reached into her bag.
Gabriel stood immediately.
She froze.
“Documents.”
I nodded.
She removed an envelope.
Inside was a contract.
Her name.
Whitmore Strategic Consulting.
$600,000.
My stomach turned.
“What were you paid to do?”
“Stay close to you.”
I laughed once.
“You were already my best friend.”
“That was why Charles chose me.”
My heart cracked.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
Three years.
Not seven months.
Three years.
“Everything?”
“No.”
“Don't lie.”
“Our friendship was real before that.”
“Before?”
“He approached me after your engagement.”
“So the bridal shower?”
“Real.”
“The dress shopping?”
“Real.”
“The nights you slept at my apartment?”
She cried.
“Real.”
“The advice about the prenup?”
Silence.
There.
“What did you tell me?”
“That Ryan loved you and signing it would prove you trusted him.”
“Were you paid to say that?”
“Yes.”
I stood.
Gabriel moved forward.
I raised one hand.
He stopped.
I looked down at Sophie.
“You knew what was in it?”
“Not at first.”
“When did you learn?”
“Three weeks ago.”
The same time Gabriel discovered the affair.
“What did it do?”
Sophie swallowed.
“It assigned any undisclosed inherited business interests obtained during the marriage into a marital holding company controlled by Ryan.”
I closed my eyes.
Bellamy.
If I discovered my grandfather's ownership after marrying Ryan, the prenup would help him seize control.
“Why ruin the wedding?”
“Because I found out.”
She cried harder.
“I tried telling you.”
“When?”
“The night of your rehearsal dinner.”
“You told me you were nervous.”
“I couldn't get you alone.”
“You had years.”
“I know.”
“Why the fake affair?”
“Ryan suggested it.”
My eyes opened.
“He agreed to humiliate himself?”
“He thought it was safer than you discovering Bellamy.”
I understood.
If Ryan simply canceled the wedding, questions would come.
If he left for my best friend, everyone would see scandal.
Not finance.
Not fraud.
Not inheritance.
An affair.
Perfect distraction.
“But why involve Gabriel?”
Sophie looked behind me.
“Because Charles was terrified of him.”
Gabriel's expression hardened.
“Why?”
Sophie whispered:
“Because Bellamy wasn't stolen by the Whitmores alone.”
Silence.
I slowly turned toward Gabriel.
His face had changed.
Sophie continued.
“The original transfer has four signatures.”
Gabriel stared.
“Four?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Samuel Bennett. Anthony Whitmore. Vittorio DeLuca.”
“And?”
Sophie looked at me.
“Gabriel's father.”
Gabriel stopped breathing.
Dominic DeLuca.
Dead twelve years.
The man Gabriel had spent half his life defending.
Gabriel sat.
For the first time since I'd known him, he looked shaken.
Sophie handed me another paper.
A photocopy.
Dominic's signature.
Gabriel recognized it immediately.
“My father helped steal it.”
I said nothing.
He looked at me.
“I didn't know.”
I believed him.
That scared me.
Sophie continued.
“Charles found the original documents eight months ago. He knew if Gabriel discovered his father was involved, DeLuca Holdings could face claims too.”
“How much?” I asked.
Gabriel answered.
“If my father profited from the fraudulent transfer?”
“Yes.”
“Tens of millions.”
Sophie whispered:
“More.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“How much?”
“Bellamy paid DeLuca-controlled companies for twenty years.”
His face went cold.
“How much?”
“Seventy-three million.”
Silence.
I should have been furious.
Instead, I watched Gabriel absorb the fact that his family's wealth was partly built on money stolen from mine.
Then he stood.
“Marco.”
“Yes?”
“Freeze every Bellamy-related DeLuca account.”
Marco stared.
“All of them?”
“All.”
“Gabriel—”
“Now.”
Marco left.
I followed Gabriel outside.
“Where are you going?”
“To my attorneys.”
“Why?”
“To calculate what my family owes yours.”
I stared.
“You don't have to do that today.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't steal it.”
“My father did.”
“That isn't the same.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“But benefiting from something after learning it was stolen becomes a choice.”
That sentence stayed with me.
For the first time since my wedding, someone wasn't asking how much truth would cost them before deciding whether to tell it.
That someone was a Mafia boss.
Life had become ridiculous.
The financial investigation lasted weeks.
Ryan returned publicly.
He gave interviews.
He called me vindictive.
Charles Whitmore accused Gabriel of manipulating a vulnerable abandoned bride.
Sophie disappeared into protective custody after agreeing to testify.
I returned to Whitmore Events and discovered my office locked.
Ryan had fired me.
So I started my own company.
Bennett House Events.
Gabriel offered money.
I refused.
He offered office space.
I refused.
He offered contacts.
I refused.
Finally he asked:
“What am I allowed to do?”
“Buy a ticket when I host something.”
He stared.
“That's it?”
“Yes.”
“Can it be expensive?”
“Very.”
“Good.”
Three months later, Bennett House hosted its first major charity gala.
Gabriel bought a table for $100,000.
“You're showing off,” I told him.
“Yes.”
At least he admitted it.
We grew closer.
Slowly.
Coffee.
Late-night financial meetings.
Arguments.
One evening, he cooked pasta.
It was terrible.
“You're a billionaire.”
“Allegedly.”
“You own restaurants.”
“Yes.”
“And this is what you made?”
“You said you wanted something normal.”
“I didn't say poisonous.”
He laughed.
I'd never heard Gabriel DeLuca laugh fully before.
It changed him.
Then he kissed me.
Or almost did.
We stood in his kitchen.
His hand lifted toward my face.
Stopped.
“Olivia.”
My heart pounded.
“Yes?”
“I want to kiss you.”
“That's surprisingly direct.”
“I've learned subtlety causes problems around you.”
I smiled.
Then the memory of Ryan hit.
Wedding.
Sophie.
Betrayal.
I stepped back.
“I can't.”
Gabriel lowered his hand.
“Okay.”
No anger.
No persuasion.
No wounded pride.
Just okay.
That nearly made me cry.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“Yes.”
The honesty startled me.
“But disappointment isn't permission.”
I stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, I kissed his cheek.
Gabriel closed his eyes.
“That's worse.”
I laughed.
“Goodnight.”
“Cruel woman.”
Two weeks later, Ryan struck back.
Bennett House's accounts were frozen after Whitmore Capital filed a lawsuit accusing me of stealing client lists and trade secrets.
My employees panicked.
Vendors threatened cancellation.
Ryan called.
“Come meet me.”
“No.”
“I'll drop the lawsuit.”
“For what?”
“Sign away Bellamy.”
I laughed.
“So there it is.”
“Olivia, you don't understand what you're doing.”
“I understand exactly.”
“You'll destroy both families.”
“No.”
I looked through the window of my new office.
“You're afraid I'll expose them.”
Ryan became quiet.
Then:
“Gabriel will abandon you when his own money is threatened.”
I thought about the frozen DeLuca accounts.
“No.”
“You barely know him.”
“I knew you for six years.”
Silence.
“That argument isn't as strong as you think.”
I hung up.
That evening, Gabriel arrived carrying documents.
“My attorneys finished the audit.”
He placed them down.
The DeLuca family owed the Bennett estate $91.4 million including profits and interest.
I stared.
“You're admitting this?”
“Yes.”
“You could fight it.”
“Yes.”
“You'd probably win part of it.”
“Probably.”
“Why aren't you?”
He looked at me.
“Because it's yours.”
Simple.
Terrifyingly simple.
“Gabriel.”
“What?”
“Ninety-one million dollars.”
“I can count.”
“You're giving it away.”
“No.”
He leaned closer.
“I'm returning it.”
My eyes burned.
Ryan had spent years teaching me that love came with accounting.
Gabriel was teaching me something else.
Then Marco burst through the door.
“Boss.”
Gabriel turned.
“What?”
“Charles Whitmore is dead.”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“Car explosion.”
Gabriel's expression became deadly.
“And Ryan?”
“Missing.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Ryan's voice.
“Olivia.”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
“Listen carefully.”
He sounded terrified.
“My father didn't order the shooting at your parents' house.”
“What?”
“He didn't kill Gabriel's father either.”
Gabriel took the phone and put it on speaker.
Ryan continued.
“Someone has been cleaning up everyone connected to Bellamy.”
“Who?” Gabriel demanded.
Ryan laughed shakily.
“Ask your uncle.”
Gabriel froze.
He had one uncle.
Matteo DeLuca.
Chairman emeritus of DeLuca Holdings.
The man who had raised Gabriel after Dominic died.
Ryan whispered:
“Matteo forged the transfer.”
Then a gunshot exploded through the phone.
I screamed.
The line went dead.
Gabriel stared at the screen.
Then his own phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared.
Ryan.
Alive.
Bleeding.
Tied to a chair.
Beside him sat Sophie.
Also tied.
The message beneath it said:
BRING OLIVIA TO THE OLD BELLAMY TERMINAL AT MIDNIGHT OR THEY BOTH DIE.
I looked at Gabriel.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You're not going.”
I stared at the photograph of the man who had abandoned me at the altar and the woman who had betrayed me for money.
I should have hated them.
Part of me did.
But I wasn't going to become someone who could watch people die because they'd hurt me.
“Gabriel.”
“No.”
“You don't decide.”
His jaw tightened.
“Olivia—”
“Remember the kitchen?”
His eyes closed.
The almost kiss.
Disappointment isn't permission.
I stepped closer.
“If you want to stand beside me, stand beside me.”
I took his hand.
“But you don't stand in front of me anymore.”
Gabriel looked at our joined hands.
Then at me.
“Together?”
“Together.”
At 11:58 p.m., we entered the abandoned Bellamy Terminal.
The building my grandfather had once owned.
The building Ryan's grandfather had stolen.
The building Gabriel's family had profited from.
And somewhere inside, Matteo DeLuca was waiting.
For the first time, Gabriel wasn't protecting me because he believed I belonged to him.
May you like
He was walking beside me because he understood I belonged to myself.
And that was exactly why I trusted him.
