Chapter 21 Cash
CASH
Isabella walks with us to the private elevator while Terry takes care of Mr. and Mrs. Leone and his team tracks down George Quinn. She walks with a straight back, facing the world as if it literally is her oyster.
She could be toying with us, buying her fiancé some time to disappear. But my gut is telling me that I want to hear what she has to say.
I could be out there trawling the city, searching for Remy. But I’m curbing my impatience until I have a positive lead. I’m better placed to help the woman I love here, with resources at my disposal, rather than stopping people in the street with a photograph and asking if they’ve seen this woman.
I don’t consciously acknowledge Isabella pressing the button on the elevator control panel until the doors close and we begin our ascent in silence.
Kyle is still in the boardroom when we walk in. The table is still littered with brandy glasses stained amber at the bottom, and half-filled water tumblers. The ice in the jug has melted, condensation clinging to the glass.
I pull out the seat next to Kyle for Isabella and sit on the other side of her. Bash half-fills a glass with brandy and remains standing.
“I know where Remy is.” Isabella opens the conversation.
She knits her fingers in her lap, subconsciously twisting the engagement ring around her finger. Her brown eyes are clear, but she has barely managed to conceal the dark pouches underneath them.
Bash knocks back his brandy and turns watery eyes her way.
Kyle stops typing and looks up from his tablet, the only sign that he heard what she said.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I want my fiancé out of my life.” She delivers the demand coolly, enunciating each word for the avoidance of ambiguity.
Not quite the demand I was expecting, but it all starts clicking into place. George stalking Remy. Their casino visits. Visible but discreet, making her presence known without aiming at the target too soon.
“You want us to kill him?” Bash asks, and Kyle shoots him a warning look to reign it in.
“If you wish.” Her smile is think-lipped. “Provided his murder can’t be traced back to me, of course. I want to be rid of him. I don’t want to spend the next ten years in jail for the privilege.”
“But you’re happy for us to take the rap.” I watch her closely.
She is still spinning the diamond ring, but otherwise, she might be here to sell us a branding upgrade rather than to deliver a ransom request.
“I would prefer it if the NYPD didn’t find his killer. You’re worth more to me free than you are from inside a prison cell. Unless you have a better suggestion.”
Kyle turns his tablet face-down on the table and faces her. “Perhaps you’d care to explain your reasons for wanting him out of your life. It might make our decision a little easier.”
She laughs now, a throaty sound at odds with her well-groomed appearance, and I get my first glimpse of the real Isabella.
I wonder when her parents last saw her for the young woman trying to find her own niche in a city top—heavy with billionaire businessmen and notorious gangsters. Or indeed, if they ever did.
Maybe Remy has softened me around the edges because I almost feel a little sorry for Isabella. Almost. My woman is still missing, so I’ll reserve judgement until she is safe and well and back in my arms.
“Like you have any other option.” Isabella reaches for the jug of water. “May I?”
I nod and she fills a glass, sips it slowly, and sets it down in front of her.
“My father always resented his small-time mafia legacy.
Puny, he called it. I recall watching him as a child and figuring out that he talked loudly but never followed it through with action.
He never saw himself as the problem, but I saw it.
I saw it, and I vowed that I would never be like him.
That I would take my legacy and turn it into something untouchable. Something that was unmistakably mine.
“He wanted a son. My mom disappointed him when she produced a daughter. I disappointed him when I questioned his authority. The harder I pushed against his orders, the more determined he became to force me into a marriage that would benefit him and his legacy. His legacy.” She arches her immaculate eyebrows.
“Not mine. Never mine, until he chose George Quinn as an advantageous alliance. He looked at me differently then. Admitted to himself that perhaps I was stronger-willed, smarter, sharper than the fiancé he chose for me.”
“That was when he gave you some freedom to do things your way.” I haven’t moved, I realize.
Isabella Leone has a way of commanding attention when she speaks, and I wonder how different her life might’ve turned out if only her father hadn’t been so chained to history and outdated views.
She smiles. “He didn’t want to, but I gave him no choice.”
I nod. “Where does Remy fit into all this?”
“I hate to admit it, but George handed her to me on a plate. I saw him talking to her in the Rinse, did some digging, had her followed, and discovered that his ex-girlfriend was the doorway I’d been looking for. Thanks to you and your brother.”
I glance at Bash. He has been simmering since he marched in here earlier like a cowboy entering a wild west saloon.
Now, it visibly rises to the surface. His eyes darken.
His fists clench. Then he hurls his empty glass across the room; it hits the wall with a dull thud and leaves behind a crater-shaped hole.
Isabella doesn’t react when he leans over and says, “You used her to get to us. Why didn’t you just shoot him for fuck’s sake and be done with it?”
“I thought I’d made that clear.” She doesn’t drop eye contact. “George Quinn isn’t worth going to prison for. And besides, an alliance with the Murrays would be far more beneficial.”
“You want us to be allies?” Bash’s eyes bulge. “You understand how this works, right? You know the meaning of mutual trust? You kidnapped the woman I love, and now you want to be best friends.”
The woman I love.
I know my brother better than I know myself but hearing him say the words out loud only cements what I already knew.
What does this mean for us? Before I can get caught up in questions I’m not emotionally equipped to answer, I remind myself that she is missing, and I would do anything, say anything, give anything to keep her safe.
“Oh, I don’t want to be your best friend, Bastien,” Isabella is still talking. “I want to work with you.”
“Why would we agree to that?”
Bash stands back from the table, giving Isabella her personal space. It could be seen as an acceptance of defeat, but she doesn’t acknowledge it as such.
Kyle’s expression gives nothing away. “What my brother means is, what’s in it for us?”
“My knowledge of the Quinns’ operations. Their five-year plan for expanding in New York, Chicago, and Washington. I can help you stay one step ahead of your rivals—”
“Whoa, stop right there,” Bash interjects. “Their five-year plan means fuck all if the Quinn heir gets murdered and they decide to get payback on the Murrays.”
“If you get caught.”
“You already had the cops coming down hard on my brother.”
“It’s sorted,” I say. I need to keep Isabella on track. Find Remy first, then consider her proposal. “Help us stay one step ahead of our rivals how?”
Isabella turns to me, unfazed by Bash’s outburst. “Who do you think staged Remy’s abduction? Who do you think infiltrated the Quinns’ system, and scraped copies of every bank account, every prospective real estate purchase, every fake invoice and contract they’ve ever signed?”
“Does your fiancé know about this?” I ask.
“Would I be here if he did?”
“If we agree to this, what happens next? How can we trust you to keep your word?”
“I’ll bring Remy back to you within an hour.”
Isabella’s legs are crossed demurely at the ankles. There is no sense of urgency in the way she delivered her speech. I’m starting to believe that she knew we had a deal before we even entered the room.
“I can’t believe you’re taking this seriously,” Bash blurts out. “What happens if we don’t agree?” he asks Isabella.
“Then I’ll handle George Quinn my own way.” Isabella stands up. “But the Murray reputation might not fare so well.”
“Are you threatening us?” Bash is in her face, and I stand between them, pushing him away and motioning him to calm down.
I turn around to face Isabella. “What about Remy? What happens to her?”
She narrows her eyes, trying to read what’s going on inside my head. Or maybe it’s my heart that she’s looking at. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Where is she?” Bash shoves me aside.
Kyle is on his feet and shielding the young woman with his frame. “Calm the fuck down, Bash. This isn’t over yet.”
Bash raises his fist towards our brother. “Don’t fucking tell me to—”
His words are drowned out by the fire alarm sounding in the building.
My body acts on muscle memory. I dash into my office, power up the screen, and locate the source of the alarm.
“Executive suite on fifty-seven.”
Terry’s team will already be on the case, but I’ve had it drummed into me since I was old enough to learn the ropes: never assume that an alarm doesn’t require your attention.
Kyle, Bash and Isabella follow me out of my office and into the elevator.
I hit the button for level fifty-seven. Isabella’s eyes follow the numbers as they count down.
She flexes her fingers, and fine lines appear at the corners of her mouth.
Sure, the conversation was cut short even though she was on her feet and ready to walk out before the alarm went off, but this feels like more than regret that she didn’t get what she wanted.
Terry’s team is already standing outside the door to the executive suite when we arrive. I don’t see any smoke. Yet.
Terry bangs on the door with his fist. “Security. Open up.”
A voice reaches us from inside the room. “Everything is under control. My wife lit a candle in the bathroom is all.”
Isabella’s lips part, but she doesn’t make a sound.
“Open the door please, sir.” I take over. “This is Mr. Murray.”
Isabella flinches. She knows who is inside even if this wasn’t part of the plan, and mentioning my name was the deal-breaker.
I address Terry. “Break down the door.”
He doesn’t question it. A security guard hits the door side-on, throwing all his weight into his upper body. The door rattles but doesn’t give. He tries a second time, and it bounces on the hinges.
Before he can give it a third and final shot, the door opens, and a man’s face appears. I recognize it, but it takes several beats for me to process what I’m seeing.
It’s George Quinn, only there isn’t a mark on his face.
His carefully plastered-on smile fades when he spots Isabella. He doesn’t even try to recover it. “Izzy?”
“Stand aside, sir.” Terry commands.
I can smell smoke. It’s faint, but it’s stronger inside the executive suite.
George steps away from the door, dull eyes still glued to his fiancée. We all file into the room. Remy isn’t there. I wasn’t expecting to see her, she could be anywhere within a hundred-mile radius of the Titan by now, but Isabella’s uneasiness had been contagious.
“Where is Remy?” Bash’s fist is wrapped around George’s throat while the bodyguards swarm through the suite like ants on a jelly sandwich, and the alarm reverberates inside my head.
“Was she here?” Isabella’s eyes are large with tears; her face is pale, but she manages to be heard above the alarm. “You brought her to our hotel suite?” She’s yelling now.
George furrows his brow. Moments pass, the alarm grinding on every nerve in my body until suddenly we’re plunged into silence that doesn’t feel real.
“What are you talking about? What’s going on?” George moves his jaw from side to side as if trying to clear the ringing in his ears.
I’m as confused as he is, until Isabella starts sobbing, her back hunched, and shoulders shaking with the intensity of her emotions.
The woman can act. When this is over, I might introduce her to a Hollywood movie producer I’m acquainted with because her talents are wasted here.
She doesn’t love her fiancé; she already made that perfectly clear.
She’s sowing the seeds of an affair, in front of witnesses, so that she can go public with it if we don’t agree to an alliance with her.
This is Plan B.
A roar builds somewhere deep inside my chest. Isabella isn’t the only one here who can act, and if I can give her a hand with taking down this waste of fucking space, I’ll gladly help. “I fucking knew it. You’ve been sniffing around Remy for months.”
I punch my left palm with my right fist.
Only one thing would give me greater pleasure than breaking his jaw right now. But Remy isn’t here, so I’ll settle for watching him squirm.
Then an object on the coffee table catches my eye. I break my stride. Gravitate towards it, stomach muscles clenching as uneasiness settles inside my gut. I pick it up, and stare at a rubbery, lifelike mask complete with black eye and busted lip.
Isabells shrieks with horror. “What is that?” She points to the mask in my hand with her index finger.
Bash still has one fist wrapped around George’s throat, and he gasps like a fish out of water, bulging eyes directed at his bride-to-be. “Stop…” he manages. “Tell… them… truth.”
I join my brother. Sure, we can be intimidating when we’re together. And yep, we use that to our advantage when required. But I’ve never seen anyone cower the way George Quinn does when I slap the mask over his face and hold it there.
“Where is Remy?”
I’m not waiting around for Isabella. They were in this together, and this piece of shit knows where she is. I want to hear it from his own mouth. I want the green light to go ahead and destroy him, piece by tiny piece, while he pleads for his life like the fucking coward he is.
A strangled sound reaches me through the rubber covering his mouth.
I move my ear closer. “I can’t hear you.”
It sounds like ‘affoo’, but I realize what he’s saying when his knees buckle, and he raises an arm towards the bathroom.
“She’s here?” I shake my head. She can’t be. I would’ve known if she was still in the Titan.
“What the fuck!” Bash releases George, who crumples in a heap on the floor clutching at his throat, the mask still clinging to one side of his face.
Then, a guard comes out of the bathroom holding a heap of smoldering, blackened cloth and dripping water onto the carpet. “No one hurt.”
Remy isn’t with him.
I feel myself deflating as though someone stuck a pin in my chest and let out all the air. “Have you checked all the rooms?”
“All clear.”
Terry comes along behind him holding a pair of shoes in his hand. I recognize them instantly. They’re the shoes that Remy was wearing when she came to the Titan with me.