Lorenzo takes the phone from my hands, and I watch him read the message. My heart stammers as I see him scrolling through all of the messages. When he’s finished, he places my cell on the desk and sits in silence.
"Lorenzo—"
"How long,” he says, his voice vibrating with anger.
I won’t lie to him. "Since the wedding."
"Since the wedding." He repeats my words. "You've been receiving these since the wedding and you didn't tell me?"
"I deleted most of them."
"Quinn." His voice is very controlled. "You received vile messages from your sister and you deleted them."
I breathe. "It's Daire. She's always been like this. She says things to get a reaction. If I'd responded or made it a thing it would have?—"
"It's not about whether you responded." He stands, which means I have to stand too, and he moves to the window, and I can see the effort of his control in his back, in his shoulders. "You have been walking around this house for two weeks with this on your phone and you said nothing."
"Because that's what I do." The words come out sharper than I intended. "That's what I've always done. I manage things. I absorb things. I don't…" I stop. "I don't come to people with problems because people don't help, they make it worse, or they make it about them, or they…"
"I am not one of those people."
"I know that now, I didn't know it two weeks ago."
He turns and looks at me for a long moment.
"She threatened to kill you," he says, his voice rumbling with anger. "My wife. She sent my wife a message saying she would kill her."
"What?"
For a second, he just stares at me, like he can't believe I don't know. Then he lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You didn't read it."
I frown. "No."
His jaw clenches. "She sent it while you were out."
My stomach drops, because Lorenzo isn't angry about all of the messages. He's angry about a particular message.
"What did she say?"
He picks up my phone from the desk. For a moment I think he isn't going to answer me, but then he reads it. Word for word, his voice is flat. Which somehow makes it worse.
"'Enjoy playing wife while you can. When I'm done, there won't be enough left of you for Lorenzo to recognize.'"
The blood drains from my face, but Lorenzo keeps going.
"'Maybe I'll start with your face. Maybe I'll make him watch. Either way, you're dead.'"
I stare at him. My pulse pounds in my ears. I hadn't seen it. I hadn't even opened it.
"Daire—"
"Don't." The word cracks through the room. I fall silent. Lorenzo looks away, running a hand through his hair.
"I didn't know she'd sent that."
His gaze snaps back to mine. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
