But even as I say the words, I know there’s so much more to Quinn than she lets show. She holds a lot of things back, close to her chest. I bet she rarely lets people in. I should be grateful that she’s someone who knows how to hold things back, that understands how this world works. That's exactly what I said I needed, someone who can stand beside me without letting the fractures show. Someone with enough control to manage what this life asks of her publicly. The fact that she has that control should make this easier, but the fact that she has that control is the problem.
I don't know yet what she's holding back. I can’t read her. Quinn is extremely closed off. And I am very rarely in rooms with people I cannot fully read. I find that I don't like the feeling of not knowing how to read her.
Then it hits me. Quinn didn't ask for anything. For this alliance, for this union to me. She didn’t ask for anything. That should make this easier, but I don't know why it doesn't. Why does it bother me that she didn’t think to ask for anything? She could have made demands, asked for anything, but she didn’t. She only asked what would make things easier for me.
I hate that I can’t read her and I’ve only a little time before our wedding to try and figure her out. I will not let my enemies have the upper hand, and anyone with the surname Delaney is an enemy of mine.
Ciro leaves a few minutes later, pulled away by whatever crisis has decided it can't wait until tomorrow.
The office falls quiet, and I sit back down behind my desk and stare at the report I'd been reading before Quinn arrived.
It contains shipments, accounts, and timelines.
Things that make sense, things that can be solved.
I read the same paragraph twice before I realized I haven't absorbed a single word of it.
Annoyed, I set the report down and reach for my coffee. It's gone cold. Of course it has.
I lean back in my chair and drag a hand across my jaw, then I pick the report up again.
Work, that's what matters. Not Quinn Delaney, not the fact that she asked me questions nobody else would have bothered asking, not the fact that I still don't know what she's thinking.
I force my attention back to the page. Eventually, the numbers start making sense again.
The familiar settles back into place, and I let it. The report concerns a warehouse near the waterfront. We're purchasing it through one of our construction holdings. On paper, it'll be a storage facility, in reality, its location makes it useful.
I review the figures to see the acquisition price is higher than expected. I find Marco's note attached to the file, another party is circling the property. The same thing happened with the restaurant near the pier, and I make a note for him to look into it.
Then I check the ownership structure. The warehouse sits under a construction company, which sits under a holding company, which sits under a parent company. Exactly where it's supposed to be. It’s clean.
I sign off on the purchase and move on to the next report. One more property, one more piece added to the operation.
I'm halfway through the next report when there's a knock on the door. Marco steps inside. "There’s a call for you."
I glance up. "Who?"
"Luca."
That gets my attention. Luca runs the Dorchester handoff point. If he's calling me directly, something has gone wrong.
I hold out my hand and Marco passes me the phone. "Luca."
"Boss." He sounds irritated. "We've got a problem."
Of course we do. "What happened?"
"One of the dealers under our protection has been selling outside his territory."
I lean back in my chair. "Where?"
"Allston."
Fuck, Allston belongs to the Morozovs. "How long?"
"Six weeks."
My jaw tightens. Six weeks means he knew exactly what he was doing. Nobody accidentally sells into Morozov territory for six weeks, not without being corrected and not without being warned. Which means he ignored the warnings and kept doing it.
