Kieran takes one look at my face when I open the door and bursts into laughter.
I growl, “Shut it. I’m in no mood.”
“As if I couldn’t tell by that mug yer wearin’.” He peers around my shoulder. “Where’s the missus?”
“Heating her cauldron. Is that everything?”
“Aye. Just the few bags. She’s a light packer.”
I mutter, “Must’ve left all the spell books and potions at home.”
When Kieran makes a face at me, I sigh. “Never mind. We’ll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes.”
“Don’t ye want to know how yer party went?”
“Declan already told me.”
He purses his lips in dissatisfaction. “Did he tell ye I spent half the night flirtin’ with a Mafia lass and the other half dancin’ with her?”
“Do yourself a favor, lad. Stay away from the Italians. They’re murder on the nerves.”
Kieran and I bring Reyna’s bags in, along with a fresh suit for me that he picked up. Then he leaves to wait for us in the car. A few minutes later, a hotel employee arrives with the dresses I ordered up from the boutique. I tip her, wondering why her face is red, then realize I’ve still got nothing on but the towel.
When she’s gone and I’ve dressed, I knock on the bathroom door.
“Your clothes are here.”
When Reyna doesn’t answer when I knock again, a twinge of panic twists my stomach. I try the handle, but the door is locked.
“Woman, open this door.”
Nothing.
I rattle the handle. “You’ve got five seconds!”
Still nothing.
My brain presents me with a series of awful images, starting with a weeping Reyna sitting on the toilet with her head in her hands and accelerating directly to her lying naked in a pool of blood, her wrists slit, her skin blue, and her eyes wide open as they stare sightlessly at the ceiling.
My heart pounding and my breath coming fast, I rear back and give the door a hard kick.
It flies open and slams against the wall with a crash.
Wrapped in a towel, Reyna leans against the bathroom sink, filing her nails and smiling at me.
“I wondered how long that would take you. The silent treatment can be so annoying, can’t it?”
Relieved, frustrated, and angry, I snap, “Don’t do that again.”
She looks me up and down with an expression like I just staggered in off the street, covered in my own vomit.
I turn and grab her suitcases. I toss those into the bathroom, then go back for the wrapped packages from the boutique. I drop them onto the floor just inside the door.
“Get dressed. You have ten minutes.”
“Where are we going?”
“Out!”
Half an hour later, she sashays out of the bathroom with her nose in the air like she’s a socialite attending a fundraiser for her least favorite charity.
I’d say something about that bitchy look on her face and how late she is, but I can’t speak.
She’s wearing a sleeveless red dress. It appears to be at least one size too small, if not two. The neckline is plunging, from which her ample tits are spilling out. Her waist is cinched like she’s got a corset on, her legs are bare, her stilettos are sky high, and all I can see are curves for days.
Gazing at me in cool silence, she raises her brows.
I have to pause for a rough throat clearing before I can talk. “Why didn’t you wear one of the white dresses?”
“I hate white.”
“It’s the color of new beginnings.”
“It’s the color of innocence.” Her smile is lethal. “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
I growl, “Nobody could ever mistake you for innocent, viper.”
“Good. By the way, what moron thought I wear a size small?”
“This moron.”
Holding my gaze, her voice low and smooth, she says, “Dear husband. You should know by now that there’s nothing small about me.”
We stare at each other across the room. And of course—because I clearly have a problem—my dick starts to get hard.
She glances down at the growing bulge in my trousers, and her lethal smile grows wider.
I cross the room, take her by the arm, and head to the front door, guiding her along.
She pulls her arm from my grip and says acidly, “I’m able to walk without a rabid service animal, thank you.”
So we’re back to square one. Fucking wonderful.
Opening the front door, I make a grand sweeping gesture, complete with a mocking bow.
She walks past me like a queen past smelly beggars.
Once we’re in the car, she decides her hatred of mankind doesn’t extend to Kieran.
Sitting forward on the back seat of the SUV, she says to him, “So tell me all about the reception. Did you have fun?”
“Ach, did I! Met one of yer kin that I fancied. Wee lass named Aria?”
“That’s Leo’s daughter! Oh, she’s the prettiest thing, isn’t she?”
“Aye.” Kieran whistles, his cheeks turning pink. “What a wetser. With the sweetest little arse I’ve ever seen in my—” He cuts off abruptly, sending a horrified glance over his shoulder. “Sorry, lass. I’m an eejit. Just ask Spider.”
She waves a hand and laughs. “Don’t be silly. I don’t mind.”
I growl, “You mind if I breathe in your general direction, but you don’t mind about that?”
Ignoring me, she says, “How did everyone get along? Were there any altercations?’
“Altercations? Nah, it was pure craic! Half the lads were ossified, the other half were fluthered! And the Bettys were bleedin’ deadly on both sides, so there was plenty of tonsil tennis goin’ on. If they weren’t on the dance floor, they were in dark corners, wearin’ the face off each other.”
“So translated that means everyone had fun?”
“Yer bang on they did!”
She exhales a relieved breath and sits back against her seat. “That’s good to hear. I was worried. You know how dangerous putting a bunch of oversized egos into one room can be.”
I say, “Was that jab about egos directed at me?”
“Not everything is about you, Prince of Arrogance.”
“That’ll be King of Arrogance, if you please.”
After shooting me a sharp glare, she turns her attention back to Kieran. “So where are we going?”
He sounds confused. “Spider didn’t tell ye?”
“We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. You tell me.”
He sends me a look in the rearview mirror. “Er…forgive me, lass, but if it’s all right, I’d rather stay out of a marital spat. I tried to intervene between my ma and da once and only got a savage slap about for the trouble.”
She folds her hands in her lap and crosses her legs. “Then I guess it will have to be a surprise.”
We drive through the city center to an industrial area near the docks. It’s crammed with warehouses and shipping containers waiting to be filled and sent across the Atlantic. We pull up in front of one of them, a big white brick building with bars over the windows, and Kieran parks.
Looking out the window at the parking lot, Reyna appears bored.
The stubborn woman won’t ask me where we are.
But when I say, “You’ll want a gun for this,” she whips her head around and stares at me.
“For what?”
“We’re meeting with the heads of the other four Mafia families.”
Ah, that look of shock on her face is so bloody satisfying, heat rushes to my balls.
“Why?”
“Dunno. They called the meet. You tell me.”
Obviously unsettled, she frowns. “There’s supposed to be a vote for the new capo.”
“So why isn’t Gianni here?”
“How do you know he isn’t?”
“They told us he wasn’t invited.”
She ponders that in silence, then shakes her head. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s the head of the family. And the vote was supposed to happen tomorrow, not today.” She glances out the window again, this time with a wary expression. “Mamma said he didn’t go to the reception. He never went back to the hotel last night, either.”
Declan’s already told me about the vote and that Gianni was missing from the reception, but the news about him not going back to the hotel is new.
In our world, when someone goes missing, it only means one of a few things.
None of them are good.
From the pocket on the back of the driver’s seat, I remove a handgun. I check to ensure there’s a round in the barrel, then hold it out to Reyna. “You know how to shoot a Glock?”
“It can’t be that hard. You know how to do it.” She takes the gun from my hand.
When I shrug out of my suit jacket, she says, “What are you doing now?”
“You’re not walking into a room full of made men looking like that.”
She says coyly, “Like what?”
I give her a hard stare. “Put on the goddamn jacket.”
She thinks about arguing, but apparently decides better of it. She shrugs and slips the jacket on, rolling up the cuffs.
“Button it.”
She levels me with a look, but I’m in no mood for sass.
“To the top.”
“I want you to know the only reason I’m wearing your jacket is because I don’t have anywhere to stash the gun in this miniscule dress you bought me.”
“Too bad you forgot to bring your bag of skulls. You could’ve put it in there.”
She smiles sweetly at me. “It’s only got space for one more. I was saving it for yours.” She opens the door and gets out.
After she’s gone, Kieran looks at me in the rear view mirror. “I really like her.”
“That’s because you’ve got the common sense of a carrot.”
“Just because ye don’t know how to handle her doesn’t mean I can’t like her!”
“I know how to handle her perfectly bloody well!”
He smiles. “Sure ye do. Let me get back to ye when my eardrums have healed, and we’ll have a lovely chat all about it.”
Muttering, I exit the Escalade and walk around the back to where Reyna’s waiting. I’m all ready to have a scuffle over her not buttoning my suit jacket, but to my great surprise, she’s done it.
“Ready?”
“I’m not sure going in there alone is a good idea.”
“We won’t be alone. Everyone else is already here.”
She quirks an eyebrow at me. “Who’s everyone?”
I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips. “You’re in the Mob now, darlin.’ You’ll never be alone again.”
A flare of emotion warms her eyes. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Either way, she looks away before I can decide.
I expect her to pull away when I take her hand, but she doesn’t. She lets me lead her from the parking lot around the side of the building to a door at the top of a ramp. A big bald man in a black suit waits at the top, his hands folded over his crotch, his legs spread apart, and his face as blank as a brick wall.
“Patrick.”
He inclines his head respectfully, greeting me in Gaelic. He also inclines his head to Reyna, but doesn’t look her in the eye. He’s three hundred pounds of pure muscle, but he can’t bring himself to gaze directly at her face.
Funny how everyone else can sense she’s a swamp witch, too.
He opens the door for us. We go inside with Kieran following. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low light.
Standing in the middle of the shadowy, empty warehouse is a group of five men. All are in expensive dark suits. All exude an air of danger and power.
Declan’s the only one I recognize.
Standing several feet away from the group are more men in suits, but these are soldiers, not leaders. Though they’re all Italian, and I’ve never met any of them, I can spot the difference a mile away.
Lining the walls of the warehouse are our lads.
I wonder how many of them are nursing nasty hangovers from last night.
Declan turns, sees us, and lifts his chin. Hand in hand, we slowly walk toward him.
Under her breath, Reyna says, “The one with all the hair to the left of Declan is Massimo, head of the DeLuca family. He’s clever, but he can’t be trusted. He’s only out for himself. To the right is Tomasi Berlasconi. He’s as dumb as a rock. Next to him in the dark gray suit is Alessandro Ricci. He’s a good man. Brilliant strategist. Enzo used to call him the General. In the pinstripe is Aldo LaRosa.”
The tense note that crept into her tone when she said that last name makes me look at her. “What about him?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Tell me now.”
She hesitates. “He can’t be trusted, either.”
I’d press her for more details, but we’ve crossed the warehouse and are now standing in front of the group. Kieran stands off to the side with our men.
Relaxed and smiling, Declan says, “Mr. and Mrs. Quinn. Sorry to interrupt your morning.”
I expect Reyna to make a smart remark, but she maintains her composure and simply says, “Good morning, Declan.” Then she greets each of the Italians by name in turn.
She receives respectful murmurs in response.
Declan gestures to the group. “These lads would like a word with you, Reyna.”
He strolls away, lighting a cigarette.
As if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to be summoned to an abandoned warehouse on a Sunday morning in front of the leaders of the Mafia and dozens more armed men without a clue as to the reason why, she smiles and says calmly, “Of course. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
I feel a hot flash of pride and admiration for my wife. She might be a hell demon with a forked tongue and a knack for driving a man to the brink of insanity, but goddamn does the woman live up to the meaning of her name.
The one called Massimo with all the hair glances at me. It’s not a friendly look.
“We were hoping to speak to you in private.”
I bristle. Before I can say a word, however, Reyna squeezes my hand. Looking at Massimo with steel in her eyes, she says, “My husband stays, or we both leave. The choice is yours.”
Watching us from behind the Italians, Declan smiles.
Massimo hides his anger with a practiced smile, but his eyes glitter with malice. “Very well. Then I’ll get right to it. We understand there was an incident at your home last week involving armed intruders.”
“There was. What of it?”
“Has your brother discovered who they were?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
It’s a smart answer. She’s not committing herself to a yes or a no, and she’s also not betraying the head of her family by divulging any details.
It’s a sidestep, and a clever one.
She adds, “That’s a question for him.”
“We would ask him, but we don’t have confidence that he would tell us the truth.”
“And why is that?”
“Let’s just say we’ve recently discovered some facts that have led us to believe your brother has been keeping secrets.”
It sounds like a threat. An insinuation that whatever Gianni’s been up to, she’s been up to as well. From one second to the next, this has gone from a conversation to an interrogation.
But if she senses that, she shows no outward sign. Her expression is placid. Clasped in mine, her hand is cool and dry.
When Massimo doesn’t say anything for a while and only stands there staring at her, trying to be intimidating, she asks politely, “I’m sorry, was there a question I missed?”
A hint of a smile curves Ricci’s mouth. He’s the one Reyna said Enzo referred to as the General. The oldest of the group, he’s got gunmetal-gray hair, a slight paunch, and eyes like a hawk’s.
Right now, those sharp eyes are looking at Reyna with the same admiration I’m feeling.
I decide I like him.
Massimo takes a different approach to see if he can rattle her. “When you killed your husband, the families looked the other way.”
Without missing a beat, she replies, “My husband is alive and well, Massimo. Perhaps you missed the ceremony yesterday? I thought I saw you in the church, but weddings are always such a whirlwind.”
She turns and smiles at me. “Anyway, here he is. I’m sorry for neglecting to introduce you, honey. Everyone, this is my husband, Mr. Quinn.”
Massimo looks like he’s trying not to swallow his tongue. Ricci looks like he’s trying not to start laughing. The other two Italians look like they’d rather be at home in bed than standing in this dusty, echoing warehouse, watching a woman effortlessly run circles around them.
As for me, I’m simply dazzled.
Looking at her, I say in a husky voice, “Pleased to meet you, gents.”
Her smile could light up an ocean of darkness.
Through clenched teeth, Massimo hisses, “My point is that you were granted a pass for murdering one of our own in cold blood. The least you can do in repayment is be honest with us.”
Reyna’s brilliant smile dies a quick death.
In its place blooms a look of such hot, incoherent rage, I almost drop her hand and start running.
She turns to Massimo and burns him to the ground with her eyes.
“I owe you nothing,” she says in an icy, even voice. “Especially considering you knew exactly what Enzo put me through, and you always looked the other way. If anything, Massimo, you should count your blessings that you’re still here to insult me. Because we both know I could send you to burn in hell with your dead friend without even chipping my nail polish.”
Ricci passes a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.
Grinning, Declan tilts back his head and blows a series of perfect smoke rings into the air.
Everybody else just stands there, stunned.
Until one of the Italian soldiers says under his breath, “That bitch needs to be put in her place.”
Scalding heat rushes up my neck and burns my ears. Every hair on my body bristles. I say loudly, “Did you just disrespect my wife?”
When he smirks at me, I pull out my gun and put a bullet in his head.
