by RC Boldt
“How’d you know I—”
I stop short at the sight of boring sneakers peeking out from beneath the hem of khaki pants. Sweeping my eyes over the man in my doorway, I straighten, keeping my expression blank, and clench my keys tightly in my fist.
He steps inside, closing my office door, and leans back against the solid surface. His appearance is a distinct contrast to the sleekly dressed man from the club the night of my birthday. The one who struck up a conversation with me on that balcony.
Hair neatly parted on the left side, he seems to have used a bit more gel than necessary to hold it in place. This man embodies a stereotypical nerdy teaching assistant, complete with a lanyard dangling around his neck with his university ID attached, and two pens clipped to the long strap. Slightly crooked eyeglasses perch on his handsome face, his polo shirt is tucked into shapeless khaki pants, and the strap of his messenger bag crosses over his torso.
Although he doesn’t appear to carry a weapon, I still detect an air of threatening animosity that has me wary. His hands are in his pockets, assuming a relaxed, casual stance, but I know it’s all for show. His body practically vibrates with tension.
“Why are you here?”
“I want to know what your deal is with Nico Alcanzar.”
“Why?” I counter calmly, setting my purse and briefcase in one of the chairs opposite my desk.
The man’s mouth curves upward, but not from amusement. His frigid glare reinforces it. “Don’t play dumb, Wright.”
His tone needles at me, but I maintain a placid façade. “I wouldn’t have asked why you’re here if I knew the answer.”
He tugs his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. His body language is telling. He feels the need to protect himself, to put up a defense.
His features harden. “Cut the shit. Why the hell are you whoring yourself out? And to the biggest fucking drug dealer in the US? ’Cause you practically fucked him on the dance floor that night.”
His words act like a harsh slap across my face, and I pin him with a flinty stare. “Watch your tone”—my eyes flick briefly to his ID badge—“Charlie. Many take offense to a TA speaking so candidly to a professor.”
Jaw tightening, he shoves away from the door, his feet making quick work of the few feet separating us. In my heels, we’re nearly eye to eye, and I’m grateful for it. His eyes bore into mine, churning with fiery anger. “You might think you know what you’re doing, but you don’t. You don’t have a goddamn clue.” His brows descend even farther, and his next words are forced from between clenched teeth. “You need to get out now.”
Suspicion ekes its way past the oppressive sludge of anger I’m entrenched in. I raise my eyebrows and settle a hand on the back of one of the chairs. Casual. Non-confrontational. Non-threatening posture. “Why’s that?”
His mouth flattens in a dissatisfied line and he shakes his head in disgust. “We both know you’re an amateur. You don’t get out of this now, you’ll just be another one of your mother’s victims.”
What? I narrow my eyes on him, suspicion flooding my body, and my tone takes on a steely edge. “What do you know about my mother?”
He screws up his face as though he’s speaking to an imbecile. “Like you need me to tell you about Santilla.” His tone darkens ominously, eyes churning with anger as they bore into mine. “Get out now, Wright. Split from Alcanzar. Or next time, she’ll have them aim for you instead.”
Fury breaks loose and batters through the dam I’ve been holding at bay. I speak quietly, yet my voice possesses a lethal promise. “No can do. I don’t ever give up on anything. I’m in this till the end.”
Neither of us looks away. So caught up in our violent staredown, we both refuse to budge.
A knock sounds at the door, the familiar heavy rap of a thick, beefy hand, and I shoot a pointed look at the man who hasn’t shown any indication he intends to move. It’s a power play I refuse to give in to. I will not walk around him.
He’s on my turf. He arrived uninvited. He came here attempting to intimidate me.
There’s no way in hell I’m feeding into any of it.
“Professor?” Goliath calls out, and I know he senses something’s off.
Addressing the man who still hasn’t moved, I hiss quietly. “If you want to keep that pretty-boy face intact, I suggest you move before the man outside this door takes offense to your presence.”
He lets out a huff and starts to turn but shifts at the last minute. Poking a finger at the center of my chest, he brings his face close to mine, our noses nearly touching, and his breath reeks of stale cigarettes.
His words are hushed but hold an unbanked fury unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. “I’m watching you, Wright. You’re making the wrong choice. Mark my words, you’ll go down in flames.”
Before I can utter a word, he’s at the door, tugging it open with his façade in place. Addressing the man standing outside my office, he says, “Excuse me.”
Goliath eyes him suspiciously, then backs away with as little haste as possible. I nearly laugh when the beast of a man barely moves an inch, causing the other man to turn sideways to slide past him.
Charlie pauses and glances back at me longingly, and I already know what angle he’s planning to use. “Sorry to bother you, Professor. I hope he treats you well.”
I offer a polite nod and smile. “No hard feelings.” That may have been a smart cover for his visit, but it doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.
Once he’s out of sight, Goliath turns his focus on me, and I nearly lose hold of everything that’s been firmly planted since the start. His expression is one of concern, laced with protectiveness that tells me if I mentioned the man had bothered me in any way, he’d chase after him and beat the shit out of him.
Or worse.
“Everythin’ okay, Professor?”
When I answer, my weary sigh isn’t the least bit fabricated. “Just ready to call it a day.”
The deeper I get, the more embedded I become. The more invested I become in this oddly endearing dynamic that Goliath and Nico have. The edges of those firmly inked, sharply etched black lines I’ve spent my life following have blurred. They now appear as if a drop of water has plummeted on them, making the ink watery and causing it to spread, no longer uniform in shape.
Conflict bombards me from all fronts. I know what I have to do. What I should do. And while a multitude of questions still circles my brain, I also can’t deny that my choices hold the power to level everything…and everyone.
Including me.
47
Olivia
Thursday Evening
“Oh, wow.” That’s all I can manage as I gape at the monstrous estate sitting at the end of the private drive on Key Biscayne. It’s so large that it puts Nico’s to shame, and that says a lot, considering his is definitely nothing to turn up your nose at.
“Manny’s got nice digs, huh?” Nico glances over at me while Goliath pulls into the expansive driveway.
“I’d say so.” The enormous two-story estate sits overlooking the bay. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and I anticipate getting to see the inside.
Nico laces his fingers through mine and gives my hand a little squeeze. “I gotta worry ’bout you tossin’ me aside for a guy with a place like this?”
A surprised laugh escapes me—not because of his question, but due to the underlying tension in his words. Tearing my eyes from the sight of his business associate’s—and, judging by his easy tone, his friend’s—home, I focus on Nico.
My gaze travels over his chiseled jawline, the cut of his cheekbones, and over his dark, tanned skin. This is the face of the man I’ve come to know and love, regardless of his life choices. “You saw the size of my place. I think it’s clear that I don’t discriminate when it comes to size.” I realize a second too late how my words can be construed and grimace.
Goliath chokes on a laugh.
Nico grins at me, and it’s so boyish and unguarded,
my throat constricts with emotion. “Now, Professor, I hope you’d be discriminatin’ when it comes to size.”
I roll my eyes with a laugh. “You’re terrible.”
Goliath pulls the car to a stop beneath the thirty-foot covered section leading to the entrance of the home. He slips from the vehicle to hand the car over to an attendant, but Nico doesn’t make any move to exit. Instead, he settles his gaze on me, his expression fierce, blanketed with affection. He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, and murmurs against my skin.
“You make me wanna change that.”
I barely blink before he’s out of the car. He circles the vehicle, waving the attendant aside before helping me out. Standing at my door, he offers an outstretched hand, and I place mine in it. He guides me toward the entrance of the house with a possessive palm at the base of my spine.
“Gotta talk business at some point, but I promise I won’t be too long.”
I nod. “I understand.” Glancing around as a butler ushers us inside the estate, I whisper, “Will she get word about me being here with you?”
His expression shutters, and I internally reprimand myself for causing it. For ending the moment we were sharing. He answers with clipped words. “Yeah. She will.”
Drawing in a fortifying breath, I raise my chin a notch as he guides us closer to the mass of guests congregating inside. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Nico slows and turns, his brow furrowed, faint lines bracketing his mouth. But whatever he wants to say is interrupted by a male voice calling his name.
Approaching us is a man I’d estimate to be somewhere in his late sixties. The telltale laugh lines etched on his face paired with his wide, welcoming smile give me the impression he makes an effort to enjoy life.
He’s dressed in a white dress shirt that contrasts beautifully with his deep, tanned skin, the first two buttons are undone, and his black slacks are perfectly pressed. He stands just a few inches shorter than Nico.
“Nico,” he practically coos, his Cuban accent thick. He grips Nico’s hand in his own and tugs him in for a hearty back-thumping hug. “Good to see you again, mi buen amigo.”
“Manny.” Nico’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and it’s clear to see the two men are good friends. “Always a pleasure.”
When the man turns to me, his megawatt smile drops the slightest fraction. His expression flickers to appear almost…haunted. Confused, I glance at Nico, whose brows slant as though he’s equally as baffled by his friend’s reaction.
“Manny?” he prods.
As if someone has flipped a switch, the older man snaps out of whatever trance held him captive and regards me with an oddly tender expression.
Placing a hand over the center of his chest, he gapes dramatically, his smile ratcheting up a few notches. “Perdóname, but who is this exquisite beauty you’ve brought to my home?”
“This is Olivia Wright.” Pride infuses Nico’s voice when he corrects himself. “Professor Olivia Wright.”
Manny extends his hand, and when I place mine in it, he covers it with his other palm. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Manuel, but my friends call me Manny. Now, tell me, darling…” Eyes sparkling with humor and mischief, he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “How did he bribe such a beautiful, intelligent woman to accompany him tonight?”
A muscle in Nico’s jaw flexes. I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t darted an amused glance his way. The truth behind me being with him bothers him, but he hasn’t made any effort to address it. To relinquish me from this situation.
Outwardly, though, Nico appears the smooth, confident man. “Don’t need bribes.” With flawless ease, he intercepts my hand and removes it from Manny’s. Tucking my hand in the crook of his elbow, he places a possessive hand over it. “But if I did, you bet I’d be pullin’ out all the stops for this one.”
Manny’s eyes light up, and he beams brighter than the Miami sun on a hot summer day. “This makes me happy to see.” His gaze darts between us and his lips part, but before he can speak, someone behind us catches his attention. “Oh, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll see you both in a bit.” With one final look at me, Manny’s eyes turn soft. “Don’t let him steal you away this evening before we have a chance to chat, por favor.”
His expression is oddly beseeching, and I can only offer, “I’ll look forward to speaking with you later.”
He and Nico exchange an indecipherable look before he darts away, his expensive loafers clicking along the white oak floors.
At one point, I get sucked in by a group of women who want nothing more than to gossip—primarily about people I know nothing about—and squeeze any possible ounce of information from me about my relationship with Nico.
“So, are you two official now?” one woman, with a nose that I’m certain has been under a surgeon’s scalpel far too many times, asks.
“Obviously,” another scoffs. She pins me in place with sharp, assessing eyes and a smile framed by Botox’d lips. She lowers her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t be practically eye-fucking her every chance he gets.”
They giggle like schoolgirls. No…that’s not quite right. Though they’re much more malicious, they’re similar to mean girls in high school—the ones who offer flowery compliments to your face, but as soon as you turn your back, you’ll be lucky to get away without bleeding from the knives embedded in your spine.
Hazarding a glance at Nico, I find him speaking with a man I haven’t been introduced to yet and two others I’m familiar with.
It’s the latter two who leave me feeling far too wary by their presence here: Chancellor Boman and Dean Harrod. I also haven’t missed the fact that they haven’t yet greeted me. I suppose business takes precedence over polite hellos.
“Rumor has it, Nico’s packing.” This comes from another woman, and when I narrow my eyes on her, she wilts a little under the weight of my gaze. She exudes fakeness, from her too-cheery voice to her overworked face and too-orange-to-be-real tan.
I offer an innocent yet blank smile. “Ah, yes. I handled it today, as a matter of fact.” They all go silent as though surprised I would be so bold as to offer up the information. I rub my hands together slowly, as if reminiscing. “It was delightful. Hard and steely.”
I’m referring to Nico’s Sig Sauer P226 handgun, of course, but I’ll let them draw their own conclusions.
I spot Manny when he tips his head at Nico, silently gesturing toward one of the hallways. Nico murmurs to the chancellor and dean before heading in that designated direction. The men wait a few seconds, then follow Nico.
When I notice Goliath trailing all of them, I decide it’s time to venture that way, too.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must find the ladies’ room. It was lovely chatting with you.” I offer a polite smile and step away from them, leaving them to gossip about me in my absence.
This house is monstrous and must be somewhere around twelve thousand square feet. It’s big enough to get turned around in, and I plan to use it to my advantage, if necessary. Of course, a house this size, as expensive and opulent as it is, has discreetly positioned cameras affixed in the rooms and hallways, blending in with the light, soothing color scheme.
Casually, I follow the same path the men took down the hallway, and no one appears to take notice. I luck out a few doors down from the room I watched the men disappear into when I discover a restroom. I duck inside and lock the door. Once I flush the toilet and wash my hands for good measure, I wait another moment until I step out into the hallway.
Off to my right is the room where the men are meeting. Artwork adorns the walls of this hallway, and I feign interest in a few pieces, gradually edging closer to the doorway where muted male voices discuss something pertaining to a “shipment” and “cash drops.”
Chancellor Boman and Dean Harrod are in on this? Well, damn. I step a bit closer under my continued ruse of admiring the artwork.
Nico’s smooth voice reaches my ears.
“After the shootin’, I ain’t so sure about keepin’ things at the university. That was too close to home.”
“But you can’t cut us out of it!” Dean Harrod sputters. “We had an agreement!”
Nico’s voice turns frosty. “Think you’re forgettin’ that I run this show. I do what I want.”
Chancellor rushes in. “What Harrod means is, that was likely an isolated incident, and we shouldn’t make hasty decisions based on it. We’ve been able to secure the new wing accordingly. It’s been locked down, and no one has access to it unless I’ve authorized them. We’ll be fine for Sunday night’s shipment.”
Tense silence fills the air, and even from out here, it feels thick and suffocating.
Only a few feet away now, I study the abstract painting that is undoubtedly worth an obscene amount. Although the work does feel lifeless, I don’t pretend to be an art critic of any sort—I didn’t inherit any true skills from my parents and their experience as art appraisers—but this piece seems to lack character.
At least, that’s the excuse I’ll give if I’m caught. I just know that I can’t do this—I can’t go about this blindly. I need to know what I’m involved in, what Nico’s involved in, and how deep it goes. And sure, I expected this. He’s a drug dealer, after all.
“Don’t like it.” Nico’s curt response cuts through the silence.
Manny speaks next, and his calm voice is fluid and seemingly unperturbed, considering the tension that’s practically bled out the doorway. “Perhaps it would be wise to increase security during packaging.”
Chancellor Boman chimes in. “Yes. We’ll increase security, and you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about.”
