Lorenzo #2
Twenty minutes later, all three of them are sitting in my office. Marco has the folder I asked for. Ciro looks annoyed about being here. My father walks in last and takes the chair at the head of the table.
My father looks at me. “What’s this about?”
I glance at Marco before looking back at him. "Daire gave me information at the engagement party."
That gets his attention, I continue before he can ask. "A girl called Orla Geraghty died two years ago. Officially, it was ruled a suicide. According to Daire, Quinn was involved."
My father's gaze sharpens. "Involved how?"
"I don't know." It's not an answer I enjoy giving. "I asked Quinn. Twice. She wouldn't explain it."
His attention shifts to Marco. "And?"
Marco opens the folder. "I've spent the morning looking into it."
My father settles back in his chair. "Then let's hear it."
"The death is real, it was ruled a suicide two years ago."
"Convenient," Ciro mutters.
Marco nods. "Very." He turns a page. "The investigation was minimal. Local law enforcement signed off quickly. No meaningful follow-up."
"Delaney influence?" my father asks.
"Everywhere." Marco taps the paperwork. "Southie and Dorchester both fall under Delaney control. Ronan's reach through local politics, law enforcement, and community organizations is extensive."
Meaning if Ronan wanted something buried, it stayed buried.
Marco continues. "I found almost no documented connection between Quinn Delaney and Orla Geraghty."
"Almost?" I ask.
Marco shrugs. "Rumors."
I hate rumors. Rumors are useless, usually false, and easily spread.
"About what?" I ask.
"Depends who's telling the story."
Another reason I hate them.
"They fought," Marco says.
"Over what?" Ciro questions as he leans forward.
"No one agrees." Marco closes the file. "Everything beyond that is hearsay." Then Marco opens a second folder. "This is where it gets interesting."
My father's gaze sharpens. "So tell us."
Marco slides a photograph across the table. Tony Geraghty. I've seen him before, everyone has. He's been standing beside Ronan Delaney for as long as I can remember. "Orla's father, Tony Geraghty has been Ronan's right hand for over thirty years."
I already know that and my father does too.
Marco keeps going anyway. "Every major Delaney operation. Every significant business decision. Every major expansion." He taps the photograph. "He was there for all of it."
"Still is," Ciro says.
I look at Marco. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
"No distancing?" My father asks.
"No."
My father’s eyebrows furrow. "No reduction in responsibilities?"
Marco shakes his head. "Nothing."
My father places his hands flat on the table as he leans forward. "In the last two years?"
"No."
"Any sign of reduced loyalty?" I question.
"No."
"Any indication he's become less effective in his role?" Ciro fires.
"No."
The room goes quiet. I already know what my father is thinking. It’s the same as what I’ve been thinking throughout all of this. A man whose daughter was murdered doesn't spend two years standing faithfully beside the family responsible. Not if he knows, not if he believes it.
My father leans back in his chair. "What else?"
"Nothing concrete."
My father drums his fingers once against the table, and then looks at me. There’s a question in his eyes, one that is no doubt reflected in my own. What the hell are we missing? Eventually, my father looks back at Marco. "Keep digging."
Marco nods.
"I want the full picture. I want everything you can find on Quinn, Daire, Orla." His eyes settle on the photograph. "And Tony."
Marco inclines his head. "Understood."
The meeting is over. "Ciro. Marco." Both men get to their feet. "Out."
Neither argues. Within seconds, the office door closes behind them, leaving only my father and me in the room.
The moment we’re alone, my father looks at me. "Your behavior toward Quinn doesn't change."
Straight to the point. "You've reached a conclusion already?"
"No." His voice is calm. "I've reached the only conclusion available with the information we currently have."
I lean back in my chair. “Daire gave me information."
"Hearsay."
I don't disagree.
My father folds his hands on the table. "Marco found rumors and questions. Nothing more."
"The Tony Geraghty situation isn't nothing."
"No." He inclines his head. "It isn't."
I hold his gaze. "If Daire constructed this, then I pulled away from Quinn based on a lie. The entire Syndicate saw it."
"And?"
I stare at him. "And if she lied, then I damaged the engagement for no reason."
His expression doesn't change. "Then you'll repair it."
The answer annoys me, because it's too simple.
My father sees it immediately. "You disagree."
"I don't know what I'm repairing."
"Explain."
I exhale. "If Quinn is innocent, then Daire manipulated me. If Quinn isn't innocent, then I'm marrying a woman who's connected to a dead girl and won't tell me why."
Neither option is particularly appealing.
My father studies me for a long time. "A fair assessment."
Finally, someone acknowledges the problem, but then he ruins it. "It changes nothing."
I huff a laugh. Of course it doesn't.
"The wedding is four weeks away." He tells me, drumming his fingers on the table again.
"The Syndicate is watching." My father's gaze hardens.
"They watched you accept the change from Daire to Quinn without hesitation.
They watched you handle a potentially embarrassing situation with discipline.
" He levels me a sharp look. "What they cannot watch," he continues, "is the Mariano heir become uncertain of his own bride. "
My jaw tightens, because he's right.
"Uncertainty reads as weakness,” he says angrily. "Weakness invites pressure. I trust you to find the truth,” he continues, "Find the answers."
I nod. He knows damn well I won’t stop until I have them. "I will."
"I know, but until you have them, you hold the line."
I don't like it, I don't agree with all of it, but I understand it.
Finally I nod, and my father inclines his head once, and then he leaves.
The office door closes behind him, and for the first time all day, the room feels heavier than when the meeting started.
Ten minutes later, there's another knock at the door. "Come in."
Ciro walks in carrying a folder. One look at me and he knows better than to ask how the conversation with our father went. I don't feel like discussing it.
He sits down and opens the folder. "Three things."
I nod. "Go."
"The Seaport property?"
Easy. "Move on it." No hesitation. "The numbers work."
"They do."
I glance at the file. "The additional storage solves more problems than it creates."
Ciro nods. "I'll have Marco handle the acquisition."
"Make sure the ownership structure is clean before anything is signed."
"It will be."