That’s what Ciro told me while we were having breakfast. It was supposed to be a meeting in which I was giving instructions to my brother on what he needed to do today. Instead, I find out that my future wife would be arriving at ten o’clock this morning. Meaning my father told Ciro so he wouldn’t have to deal with me. Yet again, my father is making decisions for me instead of with me. God, the man can’t seem to fucking learn. We’ve had this conversation more than once and I hate rehashing it every time he gets a fucking inclination that I may disapprove of what he has planned.
I learned from the people I have on the inside of the Delaney house that Quinn wasn't pleased when she found out she'd be the one marrying me. The informant didn't go into specifics, but it's been stated that, for the first time ever, Quinn Delaney and her father had a very loud disagreement.
I can’t help but smile at the thought. From what I know Quinn is a quiet and intelligent woman, someone who knows exactly how to play the dutiful, bashful woman within the mafia world. But finding out that she and her father had a screaming match makes me wonder just what the young woman has been hiding under the quietness.
As the saying goes, it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.
There’s a knock on my office door, and I call for them to enter. Marco pushes open the door and gives me a wry smile. “Ms. Delaney is here, sir.”
“Please call me Quinn, Mr. Marco, my mam and sister are Ms. Delaney,” the soft lilt of Quinn’s voice sends a jolt through me. “Thank you so much for showing me the way,” she says as she steps to the side and flashes him a bright smile.
She’s beautiful, like strikingly so. It’s been a few months since I last saw her, but somehow, she seems different. Her green eyes sparkle with mischief as she glances around my office. It’s as though she’s trying to gauge who I am based off this room. My gaze roams over her quickly and I notice just how small she is. Whenever I’d seen her before she’d be dressed up, wearing heels. Today she’s wearing flat shoes and a summer dress.
Her hair is down, her dark red locks flowing halfway down her back. She finally turns her gaze to me and she doesn’t flinch. Most people when they meet me for the first time flinch. I’ve been told it’s because of the coldness of my eyes. But Quinn holds her head high as she looks at me, almost as though she’s assessing me.
That’s not what I expected. From the information that I have received from my men about Quinn Delaney, she is known as being quiet and withdrawn. I had expected a timid woman who’d be wary, not someone who brazenly stares at me.
I let the silence sit between us as she continues to watch me until it stretches for longer than is comfortable. I do this deliberately, not due to cruelty, but for information. The way someone handles silence tells you more than the first three things they say. Some people rush to fill it, some get angry, which tells you about their control threshold, whereas some people simply sit inside it without needing to escape, which tells you something else entirely.
Quinn Delaney stands inside the silence without moving. She doesn't look away from me. In fact, she doesn't look around the room again, she just waits.
"You understand why you're here?" I ask breaking the silence.
"Yes," she says, flatly.
"Then we can skip the part where we pretend this is anything but what it is," I say. "Sit down."
She moves to the chair and sinks into it, folding her hands in her lap and looking up at me, I take the chair across from her rather than sitting beside her.
"This is happening because the Syndicate wants it," I say. "Not because either of us chose it. I think you know that."
"I do, in fact, know that," she replies, flatly once again.
"Your sister was the original arrangement,” I say, wondering just how much she’s going to rush to her sister’s defense.
"I know that too," she says, raising her brows and pausing for a beat. "Everyone knows that."
I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to apologize for what her sister has done. In fact, she hasn’t mentioned anything about it. Just what the hell are the Delaneys playing at?
"This marriage is about the alliance," I say through gritted teeth, my patience wearing thin. I'd expected apologies. Instead, she's looking at me like I'm the one who caused this mess. "You'll have my name, my protection. Nobody will touch you without dealing with me first." I hold her gaze. "But that's all this is, Quinn. Don't expect anything else from me."
"I'm not expecting anything from you. I may be young, but I’m not stupid. What Dáire did was incomprehensible. Her and Rurik’s decisions could have caused a monumental shift in the alliance. I am plan B, that’s it. I expect nothing from you, Lorenzo," her words are softly spoken but she means them. She truly expects nothing from me.
"How do you see this marriage going?" I ask, my jaw ticking. I've no idea why her words are setting my teeth on edge, but fuck, she's getting under my skin with her indifference.
She straightens her shoulders and meets my gaze. "We'll get married. I'll become Quinn Mariano." She shrugs slightly. "That's pretty much it."
I stare at her.
"We'll live in the same house, but I doubt we'll spend much time together. We'll show up when we're expected to. Smile for the Syndicate. Do whatever we're supposed to do."
Something twists in my chest.
"You'll have whoever it is you want." She hesitates for a second. "And I'll stay out of your way." Her expression doesn't change. "Honestly, Lorenzo, judging by this conversation, I think we both know that's exactly how this is going to go."
Ho, ho, little Quinn thinks she knows what’s going to happen. She has no idea what she’s in for. I’ll let her think that she’ll be able to fuck anyone that isn’t me but I can guarantee it won’t be happening. Anyone that touches her will lose their damned life.
"The wedding won't be far away," I say. "The Syndicate wants this sorted before another problem lands in our laps."
