He nods. "Ciro checked in an hour ago. Still nothing further on the Geraghty situation."
Not unexpected, if whatever happened was buried, it was buried for a reason.
Marco glances at the tablet. "The security company confirmed attendance numbers for the engagement party."
"Good."
"The East Street Kings are sending eight men. The Morozovs are sending six."
I nod, everything appears to be under control. It should make me feel better, but it doesn't.
Marco studies me for a second. "You seem distracted."
I look at him. "Do I?"
"A little."
I ignore that. "Anything else?"
A corner of his mouth twitches. "Miss Delaney isn't at home."
I narrow my eyes. "I don't remember asking."
"No."
"Then why are you telling me?"
His expression remains completely neutral. "I thought you might want to know."
I stare at him. "Where is she?"
"The bookstore on Hanover."
Of course she is, if Valentina finds out, Quinn won’t get a moment of peace, my youngest sister is a complete bookworm. Marco says nothing else, the bastard knows exactly what he's doing. I look at the report sitting open on my desk, and then I look back at him. "When's my next meeting?"
"Two hours."
I get to my feet and grab my jacket, and Marco's mouth twitches again. I point at him. "Not a word."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Liar.
Ten minutes later, I'm questioning every decision that brought me here.
"You're aware this is insane, right?" I ask.
Marco glances at me in the mirror. "Going to a bookstore?"
"Going to a bookstore because my future wife spends time there."
His mouth twitches and I immediately regret speaking. The car pulls to a stop. "We're here." I look at the storefront. For a moment, I consider telling Marco to drive away. Instead, I get out.
The bell above the door chimes as I step inside, the bookstore is smaller than I expected. Shelves line every wall, packed full of books. The scent of coffee drifts through the air from a small café tucked into the back corner. A handful of people sit at tables, reading or working on laptops.
My eyes find Quinn immediately, she's sitting in a worn armchair near the back of the store with her legs tucked beneath her and a book open in her lap, there's a stack of books beside her, and another stack on the table, and a coffee sits forgotten beside her.
She doesn't notice me, not at first, she's completely absorbed in whatever she's reading. I stand there for a moment watching her. This Quinn is different, she’s relaxed, comfortable, and happy. There's no tension in her shoulders, no carefully guarded expression, and no pretending. It’s just Quinn.
