"I don't know what you want from me, Lorenzo, I truly don't. I can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I can’t." I don’t want the truth to come out and for Conn to be blindsided. He loved Orla, a love that I have only seen in books. When she died he was broken and he believed that it was my fault. I can’t watch him break again when the truth comes out. I just can’t. I don’t want my brother to be that hurt ever again.
"Quinn." My voice comes out lower and sharper. "A girl is dead and your name is connected. You've been asked twice now to explain it and both times you've told me it's complicated and you can't. What exactly am I supposed to do with that?"
She looks at me, those damn eyes of hers pleading with me. "Believe me," she says, quietly. "That would be a start."
"Belief requires information."
"No," she says, with a sudden edge. "Sometimes it requires trust."
I look at her, and she holds my gaze. Her hands are clasped in front of her, perfectly still, and I think about the girl who came into my sitting room weeks ago and asked what I needed from her. I think about the ring on her left hand and the way her face lit up when she got it. That girl and the one who hurt a young woman aren’t the same people, but right now I can’t deal with that, and I need to put distance between the two. So I do the only thing I can and ignore the version of Quinn that’s soft and sweet and think about Orla and her death. I want answers. I won’t allow my family to be blindsided again, I won’t allow someone else I care about to be hurt due to us being blinded by faith and loyalty.
"I confirmed enough," I say, watching as her expression falls. "Orla‘s death is real as is the fact that your name is tied to it. That's enough for me to need answers before you move into my home." I glare at her, hating that hurt expression she's wearing. "You expect me to ignore that? To marry you next month and just set it aside?"
She glances away. "I expect you to give me the chance to explain it properly."
"You've had the chance. You keep telling me you can't."
"I'm telling you I need more time?—"
"You don't have more time." I stand. This conversation is over. I’m not getting anything from her. "The wedding is in four weeks. You're moving into my home after the ceremony. That's still happening. All of it." I move toward the desk on the far side of the room, putting distance between us, needing it. "Start thinking about what you're bringing. Clothes, books, whatever matters to you. Once you're under my roof there won't be reasons to keep coming back here."
She goes very still.
"Whatever is yours that you want, bring it. But understand—" I turn to look at her fully. "Once you're in my house, you're subject to my protection, my rules and my judgment. And my judgment requires me to know who I've brought in."
"I understand that," she says quietly.
"Do you?" I cross the room toward her. Stop close enough that she has to look up to hold my gaze. "Because you keep giving me the impression that you're managing how much I know. And I don't accept managed versions of things, Quinn. Not in my business and not in my home."
"I'm not managing?—"
"Then tell me."
"I can't yet."
My anger rises swiftly and I breathe through it. I keep it very controlled. It’s why I’m a cold bastard to most and that’s what Quinn is about to experience.
"If you've lied to me," I say. "If you've manipulated what I know or don't know to protect yourself, if there's something in your history that puts my family at risk?" I pause. "Especially Vittoria and Sofia. My sisters."
She looks at me steadily.
"If you ever bring danger to this family," I say. "If you do to someone in my household what happened to Orla Geraghty?—"
"I didn't do anything to Orla?—"
"If you ever betray me." The words come out very flat and very quiet. "I will kill you myself."
The room is completely silent. Quinn looks at me and I see the moment she realizes just who I truly am.
"You really are ruthless," she says. “You would actually kill me wouldn’t you?”
I stare blankly at her. "This is who I've always been." I step closer, because she needs to understand this. "You should have known," I say, "what kind of vow a man like me would make. It was always going to be a ruthless vow," I say. "If you betray me."
The silence falls between us and I don’t take my gaze off her. She looks at me for a beat. I watch as she squares her shoulders, but even with that defiant move, I see the way she shrinks within herself, the emptiness of her eyes, the way her body seems to grow smaller.
“Fine,” she replies, it’s emotionless and cool.
I don’t know why her reaction hits me hard, I want to say something to ease her, but I don’t. “Good, then pack. We’re weeks away from the wedding.”
