They’re blazing with emotion.
He says gruffly, “I’d like to kill him.”
“Who?”
“Your husband. If he were still alive, I’d kill him for you. And I wouldn’t make it quick.”
That takes my breath away.
I stare at him with my lips parted and my heart hammering like mad, feeling as if I’m balancing on the edge of a high cliff, gazing down into an endless abyss below me, dangerously close to tumbling over.
Before I can say another word, Quinn releases my wrist, rises, yanks his shirt and suit jacket from the back of the chair he folded them over, and walks out of the kitchen.
13
Rey
Two hours later, there are two dozen more armed guards patrolling the grounds. Leo, Quinn, and Gianni are locked in the study, strategizing. I’m in the kitchen, making dinner. Mamma is upstairs, asleep, and Lili is in her bedroom, doing God knows what.
She’s probably still in shock. When she came up from the basement with Gianni, she was white as a ghost and shaking badly.
This was her first experience with the darker side of Mafia life.
She’s been pampered and protected since she was a baby, attending only exclusive all-girl private schools with other children of wealthy families, surrounded by bodyguards and watchful eyes. Scarsdale is less than an hour from Manhattan, but has only about 20,000 residents and almost no crime.
She hasn’t been exposed to death in any meaningful way. Her grandfather was killed before she was born, her mother died in childbirth, and her zio Enzo, well…
She didn’t see him die, either.
The point being that she’s never seen this kind of violence. I thought she might faint when she saw the bloodied body lying facedown in the middle of the foyer when Gianni brought her up to her bedroom.
This has been quite the day for her.
For both of us.
I can still see Quinn’s face when he said, “I’d kill him for you.” I still hear that rough, urgent tone in his voice, see his burning, beautiful eyes.
All of it will be seared into my mind forever.
No one ever tried to help me. Everyone knew what was happening, what Enzo enjoyed doing to me, but nobody ever intervened. I was his wife and therefore his property, and in the Cosa Nostra, you can do with your property whatever you like.
Even my own mamma could only offer her shoulder for me to cry on.
After a while, there were no more tears left, so I didn’t even need that.
But Lili’s Irishman wishes he could’ve helped. I believe he would’ve, too, had he been around then to see it.
Maybe she’ll never love him. And maybe he’ll be moody or irritating or a slob, but now I believe he won’t hurt her beyond the petty ways husbands and wives can hurt one another, those small moments of unkindness, words spoken thoughtlessly or small deeds of neglect.
Quinn killed four men today. Protecting me—us, our family—he took four lives.
He would’ve taken on an army by himself if he had to.
Which convinced me, more than anything he could say, that she’ll be safe with him. It might not be a love match, but a man who will protect a woman with his own life is a rare thing.
So rare, I’ve never seen it before.
So although I might have wanted someone different for Lili, this Irishman will do.
“Buona sera, Reyna.”
I look up from the stove to see Leo entering the kitchen. He’s the same age as Gianni, and looks about the same, too. Slicked-back dark hair, custom suit, pinky rings. With their close height, build, and coloring, they could be brothers.
“Buona sera, Leo. Thank you for coming.”
He waves that off. “You look well. Not a scratch, eh?”
“Not a one.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I suppose you can’t scratch titanium.”
As is the way with all Gianni’s friends, he never looks right at me. He addresses me directly, but his gaze lands anywhere but on my face. I used to think it was respect, but now I think it’s fear.
Men don’t like unpredictable things they can’t control. Which is why they prefer dogs over cats.
“How’s your mother?”
“The same ray of sunshine as ever. And yours?”
“Her arthritis is worse.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Please send her my regards.”
“I will.”
Gianni walks in, nodding at me and clapping a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Smells delicious, sorellina.”
“I made enough for an army, so Leo’s men can come in and eat in shifts during the night.”
Leo looks surprised. “Thank you. They’ll appreciate that.”
“Soldiers can’t focus when their stomachs are growling.”
Gianni says proudly, “She would’ve made a good general in the army, eh?”
I know by the compliment that he’s getting ready to ask me to do him a favor. Otherwise, he’d be taking credit for teaching me everything I know about cooking.
He taught me nothing, of course. The man doesn’t even know how to boil water. Between Mamma, his late wife, and now me, he’s never made a meal in his life.
Quinn enters the kitchen, instantly making the room feel crowded. I have no idea how his presence takes up so much space, but it’s a gift. He pulls up a chair and sits at the table.
He doesn’t look at me, but I sense a huge change in him from when we last spoke. He’s glowering and agitated, drumming his fingers restlessly on the tabletop, a thundercloud of temper settled over his features.
Honestly, the man should see a doctor about his mood changes. A girl could get a broken neck trying to keep up.
Gianni glances at him as if waiting for permission to speak. When it doesn’t come, he says abruptly, “We’ve decided to move up the wedding date. For Lili’s own safety and—”
“I agree,” I interrupt, calmly stirring an enormous pot of carbonara sauce.
Quinn’s sharp gaze snaps in my direction. My body temperature rises several degrees. No one says anything for several moments, then Gianni clears his throat.
“Well…good. She needs a gown. And she’ll have to be all packed and ready to go to Boston. Her clothes and belongings, whatever she needs.”
“Of course. I’ll take care of everything. How much time do I have?”
“A week.”
My stirring falters for only the briefest of seconds before I start up again. “I see. The venue?”
Quinn says gruffly, “The Old North Church in Boston.”
Shocked, I glance up at him, meeting his penetrating gaze. “A church? Is that safe? Somewhere so public?”
“It’s our home parish. If the head of the Mob can be safely married there, so can his men.”
When I look at Gianni, he nods. I suspect they’ve had in-depth discussions about the exact safety precautions that will be put in place for the ceremony. Discussions I won’t be privy to, so I’ll just have to trust they know what they’re doing.
I don’t, but I’ll have to try.
“What about the rehearsal dinner? Where will that be held?”
Looking stumped, Gianni glances at Quinn. “Do we need a rehearsal dinner?”
Quinn examines my face for several seconds. “What do you think, Reyna?”
I almost drop the spoon in surprise, but manage to compose myself in time. “We definitely need a formal meeting between the two families before the wedding.”
Gianni says, “I’m making the trip to Boston tomorrow to meet Mr. O’Donnell.”
“That’s fine, but you’ve got to get the women involved, too.”
Gianni looks irritated by that. “Why do we have to get the women involved?”
Leveling him with a stony stare, I say, “Because we’re joining our families, and it’s respectful to include us in something so important. Because it will help Lili adjust to her new life in Boston if she’s already met some of the women she’ll be spending time with. And because we’re the ones who decide if your home lives are heaven or hell, so you should accommodate us once in a while.”
Sighing, he says, “Fine. We’ll have a rehearsal dinner.”
“Thank you. Quinn, will you please put me in touch with your contact at the church so I can make arrangements for flowers, music, and the other ceremony details?”
“Aye.”
“What about the guest list? Who’s handling that?”
I get a bunch of blank stares in response to that question.
Seriously, how are men in charge of anything? They’re totally incompetent with logistics. Did they think we’d send out carrier pigeons?
Trying to rein in my temper, I say, “How many people does the church hold?”
“Four hundred max,” says Quinn.
“So we’ll say two hundred per side, is that fair?”
Gianni protests, “We’ll need more than that!”
“Why, if you have such a small family?”
Gianni looks at Quinn with his brows drawn together. “Who said we have a small family?”
When Quinn sends me a pointed, disapproving glare, I smile. “I might’ve fibbed about how many relatives we have.”
“Among other things. Are you a pathological liar, or is it more like a hobby?”