CHAPTER FIFTY
Tierney
I spent the first three days in Achilles’s Manhattan apartment moving in my stuff, decorating it in the most feminine fashion, and trying to get rid of the suspicious stench coming from his otherwise impeccably clean and neat office.
I did find a secret passage from a cupboard in the office where Achilles stashed a profane amount of weapons but no human remains. The place could technically house a body, though, so I was sure one had been stored there at some point.
On the fourth day, Tom Rothwell arrived at Achilles’s doorstep.
He’d been trying to schedule a meeting with me since I was discharged from the hospital, but with no warrant or a reason to issue one, all he could do was hope for the charity and goodwill of my brother. As it happened, Tiernan had none.
Now all bets were off. While I was sure Camorra soldiers patrolled the building, Achilles had issued strict instructions to let my visitors come and go as they pleased. No one knew Tom was not, in fact, a welcomed guest.
He stood at the threshold, a god among mortals, every inch and fiber of him demanding your attention and appreciation.
Elusive. Elegant. Malicious.
Too bad my heart belonged to a man whose face scared small children and was still the most gorgeous creature in the world to me.
I rested an elbow on the doorframe, yawning in his face. “Out of all the boyfriends you don’t want to piss off, Rothwell, mine is probably at the top of the list.”
“Nice haircut.” His hands were stuffed into his front pockets casually, and he dripped nonchalance, like I didn’t bail on his ass, ruined years of his work, and on top of that, got shot and had to shave my head as a result.
Truly, Tom Rothwell was probably the only man on this planet who could rival Luca’s coldness. “And why is that?”
“Why’s what?”
“Why don’t I want to piss off your boyfriend?”
I laughed at the blatant attempt to milk more information out of me. “Achilles could get here any minute, you know.”
“Achilles is at the port, overlooking a shipment.”
My stalker had a stalker. The universe really did have a twisted sense of humor.
“If that’s true, why are you here instead of there, arresting him?” I challenged.
“Because if I catch him on drug trafficking charges, I won’t be able to throw him in the can for the eleven homicides I have linked to him.” Jesus. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Thanks.” He breezed past me, giving zero damns about my refusal. Tom peered around, cataloging the recently refurbished bachelor pad and burning every inch of it into memory. “Nice love nest.”
“Isn’t this considered breaking and entering?” I clenched my teeth.
“What’d I break?” He looked around in mock innocence.
“Trespassing, then.”
He gave me a pitying look that assured me he could take a shit in the center of the living room without blowback from his superiors. “This’ll be quicker if you cooperate.”
I sighed in frustration. “Coffee?”
“Black. No sugar.”
“Shocking,” I muttered, shuffling to the coffee machine. His hawkish glare scorched through my skull as I busied myself with mugs and teaspoons.
“How’ve you been?” He reached for a vase, seemingly arranging it, and I made a mental note to throw it away when he was gone.
“Oh, you know.”
“Can’t say I do. You disappeared on me last we spoke, remember?”
“Vaguely. I had an unfortunate accident in Italy. Head injury.”
“So I heard.” He ambled closer, taking up much more space than his trim, athletic frame claimed in the room. “Funny, I couldn’t find your passport in the database to confirm your flight to Prague.”
“Hmm.” I swirled my teaspoon in his coffee. “Governmental software is known to be glitchy.”
“Tierney.” He was so close now his breath tickled the nape of my neck, causing goose bumps. I swiveled on my heel, clutching the counter behind me. “Do the right thing. Give me those statements.”
“What statements?”
“The ones on the USB.”
“I can’t confirm them.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Amnesia.”
I had very little to work with, and this seemed like as good an excuse as any.
Tom’s brows dipped into a V. “I read your hospital report. You don’t suffer from amnesia.”
“Selective amnesia,” I amended.
“Selective bullshit,” he snapped back, his jaw clenching.
The air between us scorched with tension, but it wasn’t sexual. More like we both knew he wanted to throttle me. The Ferrantes really were in trouble. This guy was a dog with a bone.
“You don’t want to get on my shit list, Miss Callaghan.”
“What happens to people who find themselves there?” I purred, making a show of shimmying my shoulders. Life was too short to be intimidated by egotistical men in positions of power.
His nose very nearly brushed mine when he whispered, “If they’re lucky? I put them in prison.”
“And if they’re unlucky?”
He just smiled. Every bone in my body turned to ice. This bastard was more formidable than any mobster I’d come across.
Wanting some distraction, I turned back around and poured his coffee with shaking hands. By some miracle, I only spilled a few drops on the counter. I passed him his cup. “Here you go.”
Tom took the cup from me, downed the hot coffee like a shot, and handed it back to me, leaning into my personal space.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Callaghan,” he whispered sardonically into my ear, his lip brushing my lobe. “Deception is not a trait I tolerate well.”