Manipulativeandresourceful. Not exactly the best combination to be up against when dealing with a blackmailer.
I merge onto the expressway, my pulse thudding in time with each swerve. “I assure you Isla and I parted ways on good terms.”
“Yeah, because you fucked her,” she states flatly. “She’s had a thing for you forever, and as soon as she targeted your company you used that attraction against her.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“No? Just sheer coincidence then? Or maybe you’ve pined for her all these years and thought the best time to tell her was when she had her nails in your jugular.”
Her voice scrapes along my already frayed nerves.
“But don’t worry,Cavallo.” She says my name like it’s a punch line. “I know enough to keep my mouth shut.”
Great, because I don’t exactly have the bandwidth to prioritize protecting my family right now.
I tear down the expressway, slicing through traffic, the city blurring in streaks of metal and dwindling daylight while Miko remains glued to my bumper.
Adrenaline has me sharp, wired, enough to notice the mutedtap, tap, tapof Quinn knocking the syringe against her thigh. I shoot her a glance, her leg anxiously jittering along with the staccato beat as she stares straight ahead.
“What’s the sedative?” I ask to cut through her spiral, eying the suspiciously translucent liquid.
She stiffens. Glares. “Never you mind.”
I bark a laugh, the tension in me cracking. “Don’t tell me it’s fucking saline?”
She raises her chin.
Merda.This week can’t get any worse. But she’s already too far in this to risk the complication dumping her on the side of the road would bring.
“Here.” I pull my cell from my pocket and unlock it as traffic becomes congested before the George Washington Bridge. “Keep an eye on the red dot.”
She dumps the syringe in her lap and takes the phone. “Is it Isla?”
“Yes.” Unless my cousin is fucking with me.
Quinn’s leg taps faster. “If she’s hurt?—”
“She won’t be.” I’ve been telling myself as much all damn day. “I’m not losing her.”
“You say that like?—”
“Like she’s mine.” I stare at the cars lined before us. “Because she is.”
Agreement or not. Complications be damned. I’m done distancing myself.
Her frantic leg jitter stills. “Does Isla feel the same?”
“I’d like to think so.” On theRequiem, she didn’t just get under my skin—she rewrote everything that lives beneath it. I refuse to believe those feelings aren’t reciprocated.
Quinn exhales, posture softening. “Then you’d better get her back.”
“There’s no version of tonight where I don’t.”
We reach the end of the bridge and I take the slip road, riding the ass of a driver who sticks to the speed limit until we’re at Hudson Heights. It’s a quick right, left, then another right and we’re at the quiet one-way avenue in question. A darkened street filled with short buildings on one side and a retaining wall giving view to the river on the other.
“That’s it.” Quinn taps a polished nail against her side window, pointing ahead at the narrow town house wedged between two mid-rise apartment complexes.
I slow as we pass—three stories, closed blinds, a driveway, a garage, and a short flight of steps to the front door. I continue until the vehicle-lined street gives way to a no-parking zone and pull to the curb, Miko’s lights settling in behind us.
