Lorenzo
The drive to the Delaney house takes less than twenty minutes.
My anger has been coursing through me throughout the entire ride.
I had attempted to come alone, but Marco took one look at my face and reached for the car keys.
The man has been at my side the majority of my life.
He’s one of my closest friends and someone who has my back, always.
I keep seeing the look on Quinn's face when I read those messages. She didn't look afraid, she looked resigned. Like having her own fucking sister threaten her was a normal everyday occurrence, and I have a feeling there’s a fucking lot that I don’t know about that went on under that roof with no one to protect Quinn as she grew up.
The gates to the Delaney home open and my anger ratchets up even more.
Daire has just made the biggest mistake of her life.
For weeks I've had questions, there’s been too many coincidences, too many pieces that keep circling back to the same people.
But questions aren't proof, suspicion isn't proof, and I don't destroy people based on what I think I know.
The messages are different, the messages are proof.
She doesn't know yet what kind of man she's made an enemy of.
She's spent her entire life playing in a world where her charm and her manipulation, along with her mother's protection, have kept her insulated from consequences.
She manipulated her way through Orla's death, she manipulated me at the engagement party, and she’s spent weeks sending my wife vicious messages and assumed it would continue to cost nothing.
How fucking wrong she is. Today it stops and I don’t give a fuck if it means she’s no longer breathing to ensure she stays the fuck away from my wife.
I exit the car the moment Marco pulls up out front of the house. I don’t knock. I open the door and make my way through the house. I can hear talking, it seems to be heated. I guess I’m interrupting, too fucking bad.
I find them in the sitting room, the room in which I gave Quinn her engagement ring. I think back to that bright look in her eyes when she saw it and then I remember the text messages she’s been receiving and I refocus my attention on the room.
Ronan is seated on the sofa with Bridget beside him. Daithí is standing near the fireplace with his arms crossed, looking furious as Caden is pacing beside the fireplace, and Conn is in the chair by the window, watching everything.
"Where is she?" I growl, and every single gaze comes to me, and yet, utter silence. "Daire," I hiss. "Where is she?"
"She's not here," Bridget says, straightening her shoulders, the bruise I gave her is fading, unfortunately.
"I can see that. Where is she?"
"We don't know." Ronan grunts as he glares at me. His hand is in a cast and he seems to be in pain. Good, it’s the very least that he deserves. "She hasn't been here since yesterday morning. She left without saying where she was going."
I stare at the man. Does he think I’m stupid? "You're telling me your daughter sent a death threat to my wife and then disappeared and you have no idea where she is?"
Ronan's jaw tightens, and he glances away. The man is an awful liar. Fucking prick.
"That's what you're telling me," I say, through clenched teeth.
"She didn't mean—" Bridget starts.
"Don't." The word comes out flat. "Don't tell me what she meant. I read what she wrote. Word for word, I read it to my wife." I turn to Bridget. "She said she would start with Quinn's face, and she said she would make me watch. She threatened my wife. She said she’d die."
Bridget's expression stays controlled. This woman has been managing Daire's image her entire life, and she’s not stopping yet. "Daire is upset," she says. "She's been through a great deal. The pregnancy, the marriage falling through, losing you, it’s been a lot..."
"She didn't lose me." My voice is dry but filled with anger.
"She fucked around with who knows how many men and got pregnant.
Your daughter could have cost your family the alliance, their lives, and you sit there and act as though Daire is heartbroken?
That bitch has no fucking shame, and she has no idea what heartbreak is. "
Bridget looks at me with shock mixed with disgust. I guess she doesn’t like her daughter being called a bitch. That’s a fucking tame word for what I’d call the cunt.
"Your daughter threatened to kill my wife. She’s been sending her vicious, targeted messages for weeks. She described Quinn's existence as something that ruined your family. She used your words, Bridget. The things you said to Quinn, your daughter picked up and used as weapons."
I step toward the woman when she raises her chin and looks me dead in the eyes. God, she’s getting brave. Does she not remember what happened the last time I was in her house? She can still feel the bruise that mars her face.
"You want to tell me Daire wouldn't actually do it," I crouch so I'm in her face.
"You want to sit there and defend your fucked up daughter the way you've defended her for her entire life.
Just like you defended her when Quinn came to you at sixteen and told you what Daire was doing to Orla, and then you hit your youngest daughter across the face and called her a liar.
" I hold her gaze. "You want to tell me I'm overreacting. "
Bridget says nothing. She glances down at her hands. I see the slight tremble in them, and I grin. "Try it," I goad. "Say it. Go on, tell me I'm overreacting."
She doesn't speak, she shakes her head and continues to look away.
"Good." I get to my feet and turn to the bastard beside her. Ronan. He's been sitting very still through all of it, not making a fucking sound.
"Your daughter threatened my wife," I say. "I need you to understand the full weight of what I'm telling you." I look at him. "That shit doesn’t fly with me. What she’s done is unforgivable. There’s no going back now, Ronan. You and I both know that."
"Lorenzo," he pleads. "Whatever has happened, this is a family matter."
"It stopped being a family matter the moment she put a death threat in writing and sent it to my wife's phone.
" I take one step toward him. "Ronan. I have been in this world my entire life. I know what it looks like when a family can't control its own,” I say pointedly. "I need you to understand that if Daire harms Quinn, I will kill her. I’ll fucking enjoy doing it, and I’ll make it hurt. I’ll also kill anyone who helped her, who sheltered her, who knew about the threat and said nothing.
" I hold his gaze and glance at Bridget before turning back to the asshole. "Anyone. With no exceptions."
The room is completely quiet.
"She's upset," Ronan says, but the conviction has gone out of it.
"She's dangerous," I say. "There's a difference, and you know it."
His jaw tightens and I can see that he’s trying to find a way out of this. He can’t. Daire is on her last warning. The next time, she pays with her life.
"Find her," I snap at the fool. "Today. And when you find her, she doesn't come near my wife.
She doesn't contact her, she doesn't send anything to anyone who would pass it on.
She ceases to exist in Quinn's world entirely.
" I take a breath. "If that doesn't happen, there will be consequences for this family that I guarantee you are not prepared for. "
Ronan looks at me for a long moment, but the fucking idiot merely nods once and gets to his feet, pulling his wife along with him. I watch as they leave the room like two wounded animals retreating to safety.
I just hope he’s paid attention tonight. He and his wife were the only ones who defended that whore of a daughter of theirs and their sons watched on with disgust on their faces. I don’t think Ronan realizes just how close he is to losing everything.
Caden and Conn follow their parents out of the room, both of the men giving me a small nod before leaving Daithi and I alone.
"I should have seen it sooner," Daithi says, running a hand through his hair.
"You couldn't have—"
"I'm not talking about Daire." He looks at me, his eyes wide and filled with anger and self-loathing.
"I'm talking about Quinn, about what was happening to her in this house.
I knew more than I acted on, but I told myself she was handling it.
" He breathes out slowly. "She was always handling it, that was the problem. She shouldn’t have had to deal with it alone. I should have stopped the bullshit.”
"You were young," I tell him, while I agree he should have stepped in, he shouldn’t have had to. It’s down to his parents, they fucked up. "You had your own position to establish."
"That's an excuse."
I can’t argue with that assessment. "Tell me about the leaks you’ve had," I ask.
He crosses the room and sits down and sighs. "What do you know?"
"Tell me when you noticed it first."
"About a year ago," he tells me. "We've been losing business we earmarked for purchases.
The drug routes we'd just secured were getting undercut within days.
Contracts disappearing to competitors who shouldn't have known existed.
" He looks at me. "It was specific timelines, specific internal information that had a very short window between being decided and being leaked. "
"Someone with real-time access has been selling you out.”
"Or something close to it." He runs a hand through his hair.
"I started watching the overlap. I was watching the meetings where certain information was discussed.
I detailed who was in those meetings and who had access to that level of detail.
" He stops again. "And I kept coming back to the same problem. "