Lorenzo #3
"You hit her." My voice is deadly quiet. "On the day she married me."
I twist his wrist and Ronan curses.
Bridget rushes forward. "Stop it!"
I look at her. Just a fucking look, that’s all it takes for her to freeze on the spot.
Good. Because if she takes one more step, I'll deal with her too.
"You don't get to stand there and talk to me about reasons." Every word comes out colder than the last. "You don't get to justify it and you don't get to explain it away."
Ronan's breathing is ragged, I crouch in front of him, getting in his face.
"You put your hands on my wife."
The room goes silent.
"My wife."
Ronan closes his eyes briefly, maybe because of the pain, or it could be because he finally understands how badly he's miscalculated. I don't particularly care which.
"If I ever see another bruise on her," I say quietly, "I'll break more than your hand."
His jaw tightens, and I lean in even closer. "If she cries because of you, if she flinches because of you. I'll fucking bury you."
The threat hangs between us. No, not a threat. A fucking promise, and we both know I keep my promises.
I turn to Bridget. She's on her feet, one hand pressed to her mouth, looking between me and her husband sprawled on the floor.
"You're just as responsible," I say. "Everything that happened to Quinn in this house, every time Daire needed covering and Quinn needed silencing, and every time you looked at your daughters and chose the wrong one."
"I didn't—"
The lie never gets to leave her mouth, because my hand connects with her face hard enough to snap her head sideways. The crack echoes through the room. Bridget stumbles, hitting the edge of the desk.
Silence, absolute silence. Her hand flies to her cheek, eyes wide with shock.
Good. For once, she's shocked.
"You slapped her." My voice is cold as I glare at her.
Bridget's breathing turns ragged.
"You slapped her when she came to you for help, when she told you what Daire was doing to Orla. She trusted you, and instead of listening, you hit her."
Bridget's eyes fill with tears and I feel nothing.
"Do you know what the worst part is?" I ask quietly. There’s no answer. "You knew Quinn was telling the truth."
Bridget flinches. The fucking bitch.
"You knew exactly what your eldest daughter was capable of." My jaw tightens. "And you still chose her."
I move to the door, my hand on the handle as I turn to face the two fuckers on the ground.
"If Quinn ever comes near this house again, it'll be because she chose to.
You don't call her, you don't summon her, you don't guilt her, and you don't send messages through anyone else.
" I let the silence stretch. "You lost the right to call yourself her mother and father a long time ago. "
I exit the house and into the cold air. I take a step onto the gravel, ready to go to the car when a figure detaches from the shadow near the gate.
Daithí. Of course, he knew I’d come.
He walks toward me with his hands in his coat pockets and his face unreadable. I wait for him. He stops in front of me and looks at the house, at the lit windows of his father's office.
"About time," he says. “You should've done it sooner," he says.
"I know," I say. “Then again, so should you have.”
He's quiet for a moment. "How is she?" he asks.
"Getting better," I say. "It'll take time, but she'll get there."
He nods and then he looks back at the house again. "I've been thinking," he says. "About what happens if he doesn't stop. If Daire keeps up her shit and it comes back on this family and he can't or won't deal with it."
"What have you been thinking?" I ask, wondering what he’s got planned.
"That someone has to." He's still looking at the house. "I've been at his side for years. I know this organization better than anyone. Every man, every territory, every agreement and alliance and leverage point." He grins. "I know what it takes to run it."
I look at him.
"If he doesn't fix this," Daithí says, his voice very quiet, "I'll take it from him. The organization, the power, every fucking thing."
I've known Daithí Delaney for years. I know that he means business. If his father doesn’t man the fuck up and start acting like the damn boss, he’ll loose everything.
"When?" I say.
He looks at me for a long moment. "When he makes it necessary," he says. He turns and walks back toward the house. “I want to see her soon. She’s my sister and we miss her.”
I watch him go, knowing he wasn’t asking. He was telling me he’ll be coming to see her.
As long as it's him and his brothers, I've no problem with that. Quinn deserves people who love her, people who'll choose her. Christ knows she hasn't had enough of them.
The house behind me is dark now. Ronan's hand is broken, and Bridget knows exactly what I think of her. And for the first time in a very long time, they understand there are consequences for putting their hands on Quinn.
Not because she's a Delaney, but because she's mine.
I get into the car and Marco starts the engine. It’s time to go home, where Quinn is waiting for me.