Chapter 53
53
Quinn
I t’s a wrench not to call Roman back. I want to tell him everything and feel the relief of not dealing with Julian alone, but I must resist.
I’d been pondering how to get the peace I needed to meet my uncle when he dropped the bombshell about his komissiya meeting. He’d been putting it off for weeks, but they insisted he show his face today. What a stroke of luck.
Picking a fight felt unnatural, but it was the obvious solution. Roman had to go but wouldn’t force me to be at his side. There are ways he could make me do his bidding, but he wouldn’t, and I knew it.
If I’d turned to see his face as he left, I’d have run into his arms and told all. I can see it now—his expression shifting from confusion to fury, his insistence on dealing with Julian his way.
Would he admit to going against my wishes? Would he look me in the eye and tell me he hadn’t planned to murder my uncle, then lie to me about it? That’s not what I want; all I have to do is give Julian the money and send him on his way.
I’ll have to keep the secret forever, but I’m rationalizing it by telling myself Roman lied to me first. After this, I’ll never hide anything from him again.
Then it hits me. I’ve fucked up. I told him I planned on cleaning and sleeping because I figured he’d be less likely to argue about it if he thought I was safely home. But I totally forgot—he can check whenever he likes.
Damn him and his cameras. What the hell do I do now? Think, Quinn.
A crazy idea comes to mind. Could that work? Only if I set it up when he’s in his meeting and won’t be watching the livestream. He could rewind the tape, but why would he?
I spend a jittery two hours scrubbing and disinfecting everything and even washing the windows. By the time I’m ready to execute my plan, I’m legitimately exhausted.
It’s after ten a.m. Roman will be embroiled in negotiations by now and unable to watch me. I hope.
My cell is on the coffee table, and I eye it warily. I’ll soon find out whether I’m right. If my husband sees what I’m about to do, he’ll sure as hell be calling.
I take a couple of oversized lounge cushions to my bedroom and toss them on the bed, along with a rolled-up blanket and a spare pillow from the closet. After some plumping and arranging, they look kinda like me asleep on my side, and once I pull the duvet on top, the resemblance is uncanny.
I tend to sleep with my head covered, and I close the curtains and draw the blinds, hoping the darkness will further cloak my deception. I throw on some clothes and stop in the doorway before I leave, surveying the scene again.
Yep. It could work.
I pick up my cell, concerned that Roman has messaged me but I didn’t hear the notification. The screen is blank, and I heave a sigh of relief. Then, I disable my location settings.
Will my husband be furious? Yes, but only if he actually finds out. I’ll do what I must, turn it on again, and he’ll be none the wiser.
I pause at the front door, my hand hovering over the handle. I’m fifteen again, and I have no choice but to cope alone.
I open the door and take the first step toward closure.
I cross Bryant Park, my eyes darting left and right as I look for Julian, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He must be inside already.
New York’s most famous library is a terrible venue to meet someone if you want to hang out. It’s always busy, and the Rose reading room especially so, but I asked for public, and the place fits the bill.
I join the back of a tour group and push past the crowd at the entrance, following them up the stairs before ducking into the right room.
It’s not as full as usual, and I spot Julian immediately, sitting at a table and pretending to peruse a book about the stock market.
I can do this . Listen to whatever bullshit he’s selling, nod and smile, pay him, and leave. That’s all I have to do. He can’t hurt me here, not with all these people around.
“Ah, Quinny.” He extends his hand as I sit opposite, but I don’t shake it. “Thank you for coming. I wondered whether you’d abandon me to the mercy of your butcher of a husband.”
“I am better than that,” I say, wrinkling my nose. The sour stench of booze is strong on him, even at this hour. “I won’t stoop to murder, even if it wouldn’t be me who committed it. Besides, I kind of like you this way. Your business plans didn’t work out?”
“Thanks to you ,” he sneers. “I had it all set up; I knew the right people. All we had to do was move to Harrisburg, and you could have been a star.”
His smile shows his broken front tooth. “In a highly specialized niche, of course, but the pay, Quinny! I could have sent you to college with what we made.”
“I was fifteen, you bastard.” I lean over the table. “A child.”
“That was the fucking point, you idiot.” Julian taps his temple with his fingertip. “Use your goddamn brain. Although it seems you’re not above selling your pussy after all. Nice little life you have now.”
My fear has vanished like steam, replaced with apathetic anger. I’m furious at what he wanted to do to me, but he’s different now.
In the cold light of day, my uncle is not the menacing figure he was when he appeared from the shadows outside my apartment. He’s diminished, merely the shadow of a monster.
“Get the lies over with,” I say. “You have no hold over me now.”
“Whatever you say.” He steeples his fingers. “Your parents were murdered by a hitman. Daddy dearest owed over fifty grand and couldn’t repay it.”
“I knew that already,” I say. “When I was crying and saying I missed them, you suggested I go and cry to the mafia about it instead.
“Well, shoot,” Julian says, laughing. “That’s all I got!”
What’s funny? Why the hell is he wasting my time like this?
“If I give you money anyway, will you leave?” I ask. “Get out of the city—the country—and never return.”
He nods. “You got it. I don’t wanna die, Quinny. And your shitbag husband will see me in a shallow grave if I stick around here.”
I take a notebook and pen from my purse. “Here. Write your cell number and banking details. I’ll transfer you enough to get far away from me and put the rest in escrow so there’s no direct link between us. Contact the bank to confirm your location, and they’ll release the balance.”
“And what will happen if I do return?”
“You said it yourself.” My expression is etched in stone. “Roman will kill you.”
Julian jots down the info. He slides the book over the table toward me, and I shrink away as his hand touches mine. “Our business is done,” he says.
I need to regain my composure. Sitting with my uncle has made me feel suffocated, and there’s always a chance Roman is waiting outside, having somehow tracked me down. He has ways and means I’m not aware of; I’m sure of it.
“Go,” I say. “Get away from me.”
His grin makes me sick. “Gladly.” He stands, towering over me, and I never felt smaller. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”
Fifth Avenue is, as usual, bustling. I exit the main door and walk down the steps, grateful not to see any familiar faces.
I did it. Didn’t freak out or back down.
The fear on Julian’s face was enough to convince me he was telling the truth about Roman trying to find him. I doubt my uncle would have risked wandering into the depths of New York City for any reason other than greed.
“Ma’am.”
I look up to see an NYPD officer beckoning me with one finger. I approach him, my heart pounding.
Oh shit . It’s a sting. The police used Julian to get to Roman through me. Is the money clean? He can’t be dumb enough to put dirty cash in my civilian bank account.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, working hard to keep my voice level.
“There doesn’t have to be.” He gestures at his squad car parked on the curb behind him. “We need to talk down at the precinct. It’s no big deal. I don’t have to arrest you, but I will if you don’t assist voluntarily. Cooperate, and you can see your husband.”
I don’t care why the police have Roman. I just want to feel his arms around me.