Legacy of Lies (Empire of Lies 3)

“Actually, I was hoping to sit here alone and think.” I give him a fake smile. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He smiles, but he doesn’t move. He leans back against the leather booth, looking up at the waiter. “She’ll have a Bloody Mary. As will I.”

I debate getting up and moving to another booth. “I’m not really—”

“Into Bloody Marys?” he asks, smiling. “This bar makes some of the best ones. You’re missing out if you haven’t tried any.”

“No, it’s not that… I’m uh…” I feel my fake smile fading as Michael’s “Do not fucking trust anyone…” sounds in my head. “I’m actually here waiting on my husband. It’s our honeymoon.”

“Can’t be,” he says, looking at my wedding ring. “A man who married a woman like you would never let his bride of his sight, especially on a honeymoon. Well, a man like me anyway.”

“We’re not attached at the hip like that,” is all I can manage to say.

“No?” He shrugs. “Well, in that case, I’ll just move when your husband arrives, yeah?”

Get the fuck up and run, Meredith. Now.

I say nothing, and I can’t move as fast as I want to. I’ve drunk too much alcohol hours prior.

“Lighten up,” he says, his smile widening. “I’m not trying to overstep my boundaries. I’m just working on my social skills and my English. I probably shouldn’t have said that last line. My apologies.”

“It’s okay…” I look around for an exit, then I notice him staring hard at my wedding ring.

“What does your husband do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asks.

“He works in real estate.” I lie. “He can sell you a house in New York if you’re looking.”

“So, you’re from New York…” He’s still staring at my wedding ring. “Is that where you got that ring from?”

My heart begins to race as another guy enters the bar and sits right next to him, placing a gun on the table.

“I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me,” I say, swallowing. “I think I need to go now.”

“I just want to know where you got that ring from.” His voice is suddenly harsh and cold, his English more than perfectly clear. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“I don’t know.” I push my drink away. “My husband never told me.”

“You probably should’ve asked.” He suddenly leans closer and grabs my hand, holding it up under the upside-down canteen light. “It’s about five carats, right?”

“Nah.” His friend answers for me. “That’s thirteen. Fifteen if you count the tiny stones on that criss-cross band.”

“That’s a lot of carats,” he says, looking at me. “Your husband must really love the way you fuck. That, or you have one hell of a lifestyle back in the states.”

My mouth struggles to say a word, my brain is useless. The only thing I can feel is a sudden rush of fear coursing through my veins.

“I mean, if you’re wearing that much on your finger, I can only imagine how much you’re really worth to someone.” He’s still holding my hand. “I actually recognize this designer’s work. It’s the first thing I noticed when I saw you here last week…” He trails the edge of his nail against the design, slowly circling the silver spiders that hold the clasp. Then he touches the tiny king and queen chess pieces that are etched into both sides of the band.

I stiffen as he saves the best part for last, the part that made me gasp when Michael first showed it to me months ago. It’s the mammoth white diamond that’s perfectly cut and aligned with the tiny red rubies. I never dared to ask how much the ring cost him; I didn’t want to know.

“The designer was found dead in his apartment quite some time ago,” he says, finally letting go of my hand. “All of his beautiful work gone and moved to the black market, or sold to some of the cartels. Interesting that you’ve managed to gain access to such a thing, isn’t it?”

I can’t get a single word to fall from my mouth, and I can feel all the color leaving my face. I’m suddenly regretting being so damn defiant and not following Michael’s instructions.

“On another note, now that I can see you up close and personal, you look familiar,” he says. “Like really familiar. Are you an actress or something?”

“No, I— ” I finally find my voice and stand up. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. I need to go find my husband.”

“Me, too.” He smirks. “When’s a good time for you to introduce us? I mean, it’ll be nice to finally see you with someone since you’ve been all alone for these past few weeks.”

“I’d like to meet your husband, too,” his friend says, smiling. “Is he at the golf course right now?”

I swallow, feeling every nerve in my body race in fear, every synapse in my brain begging me to finally run the hell away. Right now.