Lorenzo
I’ve been sitting in this chair since six am, and I’ve been working through everything over the past two days. Yet another one of our plans has been fucked. This is the biggest one yet, one that has cost us over three million dollars. A joint venture between myself, Daithí Delaney, and Prior King.
Nothing is making sense as Daithí had secured the location and put up a third of the capital, so why would he betray us and end up losing all the money? Everything I thought I knew has crumpled, and I’ve no damn idea where to look now.
There’s a knock at the door and I glance at the clock and see it’s just after eight in the morning. “Enter,” I call out.
The door opens and both Ciro and Marco enter. They take a seat across from me. Marco opens his folder and goes through everything he’s uncovered.
“Orla Geraghty, died at the age of nineteen, two years ago.
Tony Geraghty's only daughter, she died by suicide, it was a private funeral, minimal public acknowledgment, no official investigation. The death certificate is clean. Ronan's reach is all over the cleanliness of it,” he snarls. “There’s very little mention of Quinn Delaney, none in any documents, but just by hearsay, like someone said something to someone who remembered it.”
"That’s not evidence,” I remind him.
He nods in agreement. “I know and everything I’ve found out since doesn’t make much more sense.
Those close to Tony have said that Quinn was close to Orla, but there was fallout after Orla's death. Quinn was blamed, privately. All of the Delaney men know, but the blame never went any more public than that. Ronan made sure of that.”
It matches what Daire told me, but there’s something that doesn’t sit right about this entire situation.
"Anything that contradicts it?" I ask.
Marco and Ciro exchange a look.
I brace myself because I know whatever they’re about to say is going to piss me the fuck off.
"Holes," Ciro says. "Too many not to take notice of."
"Tell me," I say through gritted teeth.
"Tony Geraghty himself doesn’t make sense.
If Quinn drove his daughter to suicide, why the hell is he still standing beside Ronan every day?
How could you be his right hand man? How could you serve the father of the daughter who drove your daughter to suicide?
” He looks up at me. “That’s not what a grieving father does, Lorenzo.
A grieving father who knows who's responsible doesn't spend two years working alongside that person's family. "
I've already thought about this. It's the thing that didn't fit from the moment I started looking into it.
"Unless he was told to accept it," I say.
"Ronan told his closest man to accept that someone in the family killed his daughter and just keep working?" Ciro raises a brow at me, the expression telling me exactly what he thinks of my words.
"Or he doesn't actually believe it was Quinn," Marco says, quietly. "Or he knows it wasn't and couldn't say so."
The room is quiet as I look down at the folder Marco hands me. “What about Orla’s other friends, what are they saying?”
Marco sighs. “Not much, they don’t remember her and Quinn being close. Daire and Orla, yes, but not Quinn.”
"What the hell does that leave us with?" I ask, wondering how there can be so many more questions and no fucking answers.
"It gives us two options. Quinn is a fucking psycho who at the age of sixteen tormented a nineteen-year-old to death or Quinn is the fall guy and had nothing to do with it," Ciro says.
“Someone somewhere knows the truth,” Marco snarls. “We just have to find out where they are.”
If Quinn did what Daire says, why is Tony still standing beside Ronan every day?
I don't have an answer for that, and I don't have enough without one. All I know is that a young woman is dead and the Delaney’s are behind it.
"Keep digging," I say. "I want to know why Tony is still there. I want to know what exactly was buried and who made the decision to bury it. And I want to know where Daire fits in all of this."
Ciro looks at me. "Daire?"
"She came to me with this information weeks before Quinn is set to move into this house. She timed it to make the biggest impact for Quinn. The night of her engagement party." I look at him. "What does Daire gain from me suspecting Quinn?"
He's quiet for a moment. "Instability in the alliance."
"Or something else entirely." I sit back because I have no fucking idea what goes through her head. "Find out."
They leave, and I sit in the quiet office, and I think about the crack in the certainty, the thing that won't sit still no matter how many times I push it down.
Something is missing.
And the problem with missing pieces is that you don't know what you don't know until you find them.
I drive to the Delaney house at three in the afternoon. I’ve tried to stay the fuck away, but I can’t. I have so many damn questions that need answering and the only place I can find them is in this house.
When I arrive no one is here. The housekeeper tells me that Miss Quinn will be back any moment and leads me to the sitting room. Marco stays beside me, not wanting me to be alone in case this is a set up. Then again, they didn’t know I’d be here, so I doubt anyone would do anything right now.
Fifteen minutes later and I see two cars entering the drive. Quinn and Daithí. I watch their interaction as they exit their cars and I’m surprised by how close they are. I didn’t realize that they got along well, let alone as close they seem.
Marco is at the front door, opening it for them both, I don’t want anyone to give them the chance to warn them and have them leave, Quinn enters the sitting room first. I watch through the reflection in the window as she pauses slightly as she spots me.
Daithí comes to stand beside her and I take that as my cue to turn.
"We need to talk," I tell her in way of greeting.
Daithí steps forward, his jaw tight as he watches me. “Lorenzo—”
"I need five minutes with your sister," I say. "You can wait."
I watch the anger flash through his eyes. I’ve never been this dismissive of him before. We’ve actually been friends, but his family is pissing me the fuck off and I can’t deal with his bullshit right now.
He looks at Quinn and she gives him a small nod. He steps back but the tension coming off him is palpable. “I’ll be right outside,” he promises her.
“I’ll be fine, Daithí,” she assures him.
He gives me a glare before he exits the room, softly closing the door behind him.
I take a seat and I’m surprised to see that she stays standing.
"Orla Geraghty," I say, ready to get this over and done with. I watch her face and I watch as she flinches back, pain slashes across her face but as quickly as it comes, she cools her expression and then there’s no emotions displayed at all.
"Lorenzo—" she begins.
I cut her off not wanting to listen to any lie she’s about to tell me. "I had people looking into it. The death is real and your name is all over it, although Ronan buried it." I hold her gaze. "Tell me what happened."
She breathes in as she holds my gaze. "It isn't what you think."
I raise a brow. "Then tell me what it is."
"Daire has a habit of twisting things. She rarely knows what the truth is. Whatever she told you, she's—"
Well I guess things in the Delaney household aren’t as rosy as they’d like everyone to think. The venom in Quinn’s words tells me that she dislikes her sister immensely. "I know Daire is twisting things," I say. "I've known that from the beginning. What I need from you is the untwisted version."
She looks at me, her shoulders curling in as she exhales deeply. "It's complicated," she says as though that should be enough to quell my need for answers.
"I have time."
"I can't—" She stops, her beautiful eyes begging me to listen to her. "There are things I can't tell you right now. Things that would hurt people who don't deserve to be hurt by having it come out the wrong way. I need time—"
"You've had two days since the party."
"I don't know what you want from me, Lorenzo, I truly don't. I can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I can’t." I don’t want the truth to come out and for Conn to be blindsided. He loved Orla, a love that I have only seen in books. When she died he was broken and he believed that it was my fault. I can’t watch him break again when the truth comes out.
I just can’t. I don’t want my brother to be that hurt ever again.
"Quinn." My voice comes out lower and sharper. "A girl is dead and your name is connected. You've been asked twice now to explain it and both times you've told me it's complicated and you can't. What exactly am I supposed to do with that?"
She looks at me, those damn eyes of hers pleading with me. "Believe me," she says, quietly. "That would be a start."
"Belief requires information."
"No," she says, with a sudden edge. "Sometimes it requires trust."
I look at her, and she holds my gaze. Her hands are clasped in front of her, perfectly still, and I think about the girl who came into my sitting room weeks ago and asked what I needed from her.
I think about the ring on her left hand and the way her face lit up when she got it.
That girl and the one who hurt a young woman aren’t the same people, but right now I can’t deal with that, and I need to put distance between the two.
So I do the only thing I can and ignore the version of Quinn that’s soft and sweet and think about Orla and her death.
I want answers. I won’t allow my family to be blindsided again, I won’t allow someone else I care about to be hurt due to us being blinded by faith and loyalty.
"I confirmed enough," I say, watching as her expression falls.
"Orla‘s death is real as is the fact that your name is tied to it.
That's enough for me to need answers before you move into my home.
" I glare at her, hating that hurt expression she's wearing.
"You expect me to ignore that? To marry you next month and just set it aside? "