I look down at my phone, at the picture of Quinn smiling in the garden a few weeks ago. And suddenly all I can think about is how close we came to missing it. The messages, the threats, and the way Daire kept trying to get inside her head. For weeks I thought it was jealousy and bitterness, from a woman lashing out because she didn't get what she wanted.
Now I know better. Daire wasn't just a jealous sister. She was useful and connected. She was placed exactly where she needed to be. And Quinn... My jaw tightens. Quinn wasn't the target because Daire hated her. Quinn was the target because she was a problem. After all, my wife notices things and pays attention. The messages Daire sent Quinn weren't random. They were designed to wear her down, to make her doubt herself, to make her feel smaller, and less likely to trust her instincts.
Daire knew exactly what she was doing. And if I'm right...If Frederick knew about those messages... Then, threatening my wife was part of this operation.
I look down at my phone again, at Quinn's name sitting at the top of my messages, and for the first time today, I find myself hoping Tony Geraghty is smart enough to start talking.
I call Quinn, it rings twice. "Hi," she says.
"Hi," I say back, knowing damn well Daithí is listening to my conversation, the nosey fuck.
"Everything alright?"
"Yes," I say. "I wanted to hear your voice."
"Lorenzo," she whispers, it’s the same tone she uses when I’m kissing her. My cock starts to thicken at the sound. "How was the meeting?"
"Long and productive."
"Is that good?"
"It means we're closer."
"Good. Are you coming home?" I can hear the hope in her voice.
"Later. There's something I need to do first."
"Be careful," she whispers, this time, fear is laced in her words.
"Always," I say.
"Lorenzo."
"Quinn," I mimic her tone.
"I mean it."
"I know," I say. "I'll be home by dinner." I hang up and rest my head against the headrest.
I hate that she’s scared, but that’s why I’m doing this. To ensure that she’s not harmed.
Tony Geraghty lives in a house in South Boston. It’s a nice house, on a quiet street. Marco pulls up outside, and for a moment, nobody moves. I look at the house. Beside me, Daithí is staring at the house too. His expression gives nothing away, but I know him well enough now. He's thinking about the betrayal of the man he trusted along with all the shit he did to his own daughter.
I open the door and Daithí follows suit. Neither of us says a word as we walk to the front door. I knock, and thirty seconds later, the door opens.
Tony Geraghty looks between the two of us and I see the fear seep into his eyes, but also, resignation. Did he know we were coming? Or did he know this day was coming?
"Lorenzo," he greets.
"Tony."
His gaze slides to Daithí, but Daithí doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to, the tension in the doorway is enough. Tony looks past us, checking the street. "I don't want trouble."
"No," I say evenly. "You just caused it." His jaw tightens, and I take a step forward. "We need to talk."
For a moment, I think he might refuse, but his shoulders sag slightly, and the fight leaves before it ever really starts. He steps back from the door. "Come in." And just like that, the worst conversation of Tony Geraghty's life begins.
Tony gestures toward the sofa. I ignore it and so does Daithí. Tony sighs. "I figured this day was coming."
