Her shoulders sag forward and she closes the door behind her before she steps toward the bed. It feels as though a huge weight has been lifted from my chest as she climbs into the bed beside me.
“Quinn,” I say after a few minutes. “I doubt there’ll be a next time, but just in case, the next time someone hurts you and you don’t tell me, there’ll be trouble.”
She turns to face me, a look of indignation crosses her features. “Tell you?”
I nod. “Yes, you are my wife. No one, I don’t give a fuck who they are, no one touches you. They do and they’ll pay dearly for doing so.”
“But—”
I shake my head. “No buts, this discussion is over. I just wanted to let you know what’ll happen in the future if this happens again. Understood?”
She’s silent for a moment but she slowly nods. “I understand.”
“Good. Tomorrow we’ll discuss what happened in your father’s home to you, but now, read your book, Quinn, and sleep, you’re safe here.”
I need to speak with Tempest. Now that I know what happened between Daire and Tony, I want to know if she’s done the same with anyone else.
I watch as Quinn sinks into the mattress and turns over. She's safe, as I said, and that's all that matters for now. The lamp beside the bed clicks off and darkness settles over the room.
Tomorrow, we'll talk, but tonight, I lie awake listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing and wonder if I've already done too much damage to fix anything.
Chapter 18
Lorenzo
I woke up this morning to Quinn’s side of the bed empty. I don’t know why the fuck that pissed me off, and I’m annoyed by my reaction to it.
When I noticed the bed was empty beside me, I wanted to track her down and make her talk to me, but when I arrived in the kitchen, I found my father grinning at me and my brothers laughing. The women had gone early for an all-day shopping spree. Giovanni thought it was hilarious to inform me that my wife had taken my credit card with her.
Like I give a fuck if she spends my money. I have more than enough to have her shop all day for her entire lifetime and then some.
“What are you going to do about the information we found out yesterday?” my father asks as we’re having breakfast.
“I have a meeting with Tempest at eleven. I’m going to have him dig into the shit that Daire’s been doing. I have a feeling that she’s been blackmailing Tony Geraghty. Why else would the man stay at Ronan’s side? He knew that bitch was bullying his daughter, that she’s the reason Orla’s dead and he’s stayed dutifully by his side.”
Ciro scoffs. “From what we heard yesterday, I doubt Tony Geraghty gives a fuck that his daughter’s dead.”
“What happened to Orla’s mother?” Gio asks. “I’ve not heard anyone speak of her at all.”
“Gone,” our father says, taking a sip of his coffee. “When Orla died, the woman blamed her husband, not that anyone can blame her with all the shit that happened. It was rumored that he was having an affair, although no one knew with whom. I’m wondering if his wife, Claudette, found out? But the woman vanished after she buried her daughter and hasn’t been seen since.”
“Is she alive?” I ask, wondering if she’s gone of her own accord or if she’s gone because she knows too much?
“Hmm, now that is something you may want to look into,” my father says. “Yesterday, I would have said she left to find peace, today, it seems otherwise.”
“I’ll get Marco to look into it,” I tell him and then look to Ciro. “Will you get him onto that?” I glance down at my watch and see it’s almost time to meet Tempest. “I’ve got to go.”
Twenty minutes later, Tempest and I are sitting in my office. “Congrats on the wedding, bro. Your wife looked gorgeous, so I’m surprised that I’m here. I thought you’d have taken her out of the country by now.”
"Tell me what you have," I say, ignoring his words about Quinn.
He grins at me, used to my no-nonsense bullshit. “I dug deep into the organizations that have been trying to muscle in on your trade. I found an offshore account that they all lead back to.” He reaches into his jacket and sets a folded paper on the desk. "My contact found it ten days ago. Took this long to trace it properly." He leans forward. "There's an offshore account moving significant money. Not small transactions, but large ones, and doing so regularly. The money connects to the shell companies we've been tracking, the acquisitions, the ventures that got undercut."
"Who is it tied to?"
"Someone protected," he says, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Someone with enough power to hide this account under dozens and dozens of shell corporations." He grins at me. "It took my contact ten days to get this far. He’s not a man who likes to lose and he’ll uncover everything about the fucker behind it all.”
“This is good,” I tell him. “We’re getting close, but the question is what do we do now?”
