"Then, do that. You can see I'm busy," I answer with a curt voice, not bothering to look up this time. I'm still not over the way she treated Gianna at breakfast the last time.
She doesn't move. I feel her standing there, looming like a shadow I didn't ask for. "I bet if it's your pretty Rosso maiden, you'd have time," she mutters with a biting sweetness, twisting the words like a knife straight into my gut. My jaw tightens. Thepen slips from my fingers as I close the file in front of me. "If you have something to say, say it, Ailish. Otherwise, go do your job."
She scoffs. "Look at you, Finn," she says, walking slowly around the desk now. "When did you become like this? You're letting a girl play you and not just any girl, a Rosso."
"Leave, Ailish," I say, too tired to exchange words with her.
"Don't you see we've never been intercepted before," she says, like she's desperately trying to speak sense into me. "All of a sudden, she gets into the estate, and we get blindsided by the Italians."
I sigh, leaning back in the chair. "She didn't do it, Ailish. So, drop it."
"How are you so sure, huh? She blinks her pretty lashes, and all of a sudden, she's innocent."
"You're crossing a line," I warn, my voice low but sharp, staring daggers at her from behind my desk. One thing about Ailish, she won't back down from an argument, and that can be so frustrating. She's like a storm that refuses to pass, all wind and sharp words.
"You're going to ruin everything we've worked for, everything we've protected because of a girl?" she bites, folding her arms, her eyes blazing with accusation. The light overhead reflects off the silver ring on her finger as she leans forward. The question hits me deep. Gianna didn't do it. She wouldn't. She won't lie to me. I trust her.
"Gianna didn't do it. What happened was a disaster, but it has happened," I say, crossing my arms on the desk. "What we need now is to patch things up. Go and monitor the shipment." I point towards the door.
"You must think because she tortured the Italian, she's innocent. But I see right through her lies," Ailish snaps. I slam my hand on the desk, loud enough to echo through the office. My fists curl. My jaw clenches so hard it aches. "Ailish!" I raise myvoice. "I'm tired. I've got a pile of shit to clean up. I don't have time to babysit your paranoia. Leave."
She pauses, her chest heaving, and then her voice softens, but it cuts even deeper. "Deep down, I'm sure you know I'm right," she lowers her voice. "I have proof that she did it. I know she did it."
"God, Ailish," I mutter, dragging my hand across my face, frustrated with this nonsense. "Aren't you tired?"
"I'm just telling the truth, Finn. You know it." Her voice wavers between conviction and desperation.
I shoot her a look that could slice steel. "If you're so sure and you have proof, why don't you go straight to Declan?" I push the words through gritted teeth. "I promise you. He's going to listen. So be my guest."
Her lips part like she wants to say something more, but instead, she turns sharply on her heel. Her boots hit the floor with a clipped rhythm as she storms out. The door slams harder than it needs to, and I finally let my back hit the chair, exhaling a deep, frustrated sigh that echoes through the quiet room.
CHAPTER 18
Gianna
My eyelids feelheavy as I slowly open my eyes, blinking away the remaining sleep. I stretch my stiff body, and I can feel some cracks. I roll from my side to my back, looking up at the beautiful chandelier above. The sun has disappeared from the sky, and I'm all alone in this room.
The chandelier is bigger than the one in my room here and the one in the Rosso estate. It looks like so many falling stars, arranged delicately in layers, scattered across the night sky like glitter. It casts golden hues like that of a sunset across the room, but my eyes are fixed on the ceiling, tracing the faint patterns of light reflecting off its crystals. I blink and slowly look away, turning towards the side of the bed.
Grabbing my phone, I check the time. It's 7:30 P.M. and Finn isn't back yet. A strange ache and tightness settles in my chest at the thought. I sit up, running my hand through my hair, trying to calm my restless thoughts. But the kiss from earlier plays in my mind, warm and consuming, and far too vivid to ignore. Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I groan inwardly, burying my face in my hands. I shake my head in an effort to push the memory away, but it clings stubbornly, like the scent of him on the sheets.
That memory disappears when the man's screams play in my head. I try to focus on anything else, anything but that interrogation room. All the brutal details play in my mind, and the worst part is the secret I'm holding onto. I lied to Finn, and the guilt gnaws at me like a parasite I can't get rid of. I swallow hard, my throat dry.
I slide out of his bed and walk to the floor-to-ceiling window. The glass meets my palm as I lean into it. Finn made it clear that I shouldn't leave and to tell the truth. I'm not sure I want to leave either. I don't want to face Declan or anyone.
I look up at the sky, watching as the moon sits pretty. The stars twinkle across the night sky, and the clouds move unbothered. It looks beautiful, almost as beautiful as Finn. I look down at the city, watching the world go by. Life goes on down there, regardless of what happens up here. After a few minutes, I peel my eyes away from the glass.
I take a good look around Finn's suite. For a man like Finn, everything about his space is restrained. Clean lines. Dark wood, polished floors. A subtle cologne lingers in the air, masculine, sharp, and familiar. That tropical scent that smells like him.
Curiosity tugs at me before guilt can protest. I shouldn't be snooping, but something about being alone feels too intimate to resist. Like maybe, here, I could learn more about the man who's risking everything for me.
My eyes move to his closet first, a tall, beautiful thing built into the wall. I walk toward it and pull open one of the doors. Rows of shirts, all neatly hung and organized by color. My brows lift slightly. Black, deep greens, charcoal grey, navy blue, and many white shirts.
I trail my fingers across the fabrics, pressed cotton, rich linen, silk blend. I make a mental note to tell him he needs more color in his wardrobe. Closing the closet softly, I turn to explore more. Off to the side, there's a small door that opens into aconnected space, his private office. I caught a glimpse of it the last time I was awake.
I step in, expecting more coldness, but instead I find warmth. The lighting is soft. There's a large desk in the center, a leather chair behind it, and a single frame sitting on the desk. It catches my eye immediately.
I walk over and pick it up. It's an old photo, maybe ten or fifteen years ago. Finn is younger. He stands near Declan on one side, their arms slung casually around the third boy, taller with chestnut curls. Kieran. Beside Kieran is another. He looks different from them. His hair is black, and his eyes are blue. I think I've heard Finn mention something about him before. Liam. Yes, that was his name. I heard he's dead.
