Quinn #3
"Mm." She tilts her head slightly. "Still, it's a particular thing. Being the one they turned to when the first option didn't work out. I think that would sit uneasily with most people."
There it is. Delivered beautifully, voice warm, face pleasant. Absolutely nothing she's said that anyone could point to and call unkind.
"It doesn't particularly," I say.
"Doesn't it?" She sounds genuinely curious.
"I think I'd find it difficult. Knowing that every person in that room tonight is aware of the full context.
That Lorenzo agreed to marry your sister first, and then—" She makes a small gesture with her hand that finishes the sentence without finishing it.
"And then agreed to marry me," I say. "Yes. I'm aware of how it happened. So is everyone in that room. I didn't come tonight thinking otherwise."
She looks at me for a moment. "You're more direct than I expected."
"People often are when they're not particularly afraid of a conversation," I say.
"Lorenzo is a difficult man to know," she says, pivoting the conversation smoothly. I guess she didn’t get what she wanted out of what was just said. "I've been in this world long enough to understand that. He doesn't let people close easily."
"I know." Does she think I don’t know this? That I don’t know that most men in our world don’t let people in easily, that they don’t trust, and when they do, it’s never fully.
"He does value certain qualities, though. I've known him for years." Her words are loaded. You’d have to be stupid not to know what she’s getting at. She reaches into her purse and takes out her lipstick. "He has... specific expectations of the women in his life."
I look at her in the mirror, watching as she applies her lipstick. "I'm sure he does," I say with a smile on my lips. Kill them with kindness, that’s what I’ve always done and will continue to do so. "And I'm sure he'll tell me what they are if they become relevant."
"Of course." She drops the lipstick back into her clutch and turns slightly toward me. "I only mean to say, this world can be hard on women who aren't prepared for it. I'd hate to see you walk into something without the full picture."
"That's very kind," I say, turning to face her properly. "But I grew up in this world. My father runs the Irish Mafia. I've been watching how it works since I was old enough to attend these events. I'm not walking in blind."
"No, of course not." She holds my gaze. "But there's a difference between growing up in it and becoming part of a specific family. The Mariano household has its own culture. Things that aren't immediately visible from the outside."
"I'm sure I'll learn," I say.
She looks at me for a moment. Then she says, pleasantly, "I'm sure you will. You seem capable."
"Thank you," I say, with the same pleasantness she used. "You seem very invested in how this all goes. I hope the evening is enjoyable for you."
I check my reflection one more time and move toward the door.
"Quinn." Her voice stops me.
I turn.
She's watching me with curious eyes. "I'm not your enemy," she says. "I just know how this world works better than most."
"I don't have enemies," I say. "Not yet.” Her eyes flash with shock. I gift her a bright smile. “Good night, Sabrina."
I walk out, my head held high and the smile still on my face. As I move back downstairs, I spot Lorenzo standing near the window speaking with Daire. He sees me coming across the room before I'm halfway to him.
He watches me close the distance. By the time I reach him, Daire has drifted away, and I can't help but wonder what the hell my sister had to say to him? And, better yet, why the hell did he give her the time of day, especially after everything that has happened?
"What happened?" Lorenzo says.
I look up at him, my brows knitted together as I stare up at him. "Nothing."
He holds my gaze for a moment. "You were gone longer than a bathroom requires."
"I had a conversation."
"With who."
It's not really a question, because I think he already knows.
"Sabrina," I say.
"What did she say?" he says, his voice has taken a lower octave than usual.
"Mostly she was very politely suggesting that I'm out of my depth and don't have the full picture of what I'm walking into." I take a sip from the glass I took from a waitress as I walked toward Lorenzo.
He looks at me for a long moment. "Did she upset you?"
"No." I hold his gaze. "I have been dealing with women like Sabrina my entire life."
"Good," he says. He looks back out at the room. "She'll try again," he says quietly.
"I know."
"Next time the pleasantries will be gone."
"I know that too."
He glances down at me. "You handled it."
"Yes," I say.
He nods once. “Good. Now, I want to know what the hell happened with Orla Geraghty,” he snarls, and his voice is filled with an anger that I’ve never heard from him before.
My heart stammers as the name hits me. Daire. What the hell is she playing at? She’s obviously been telling Lorenzo about Orla, but the question is, what the hell did she tell him?
This could be bad. Really fucking bad.