by Emma Slate
I leaned back in the chair, finally understanding all the pieces.
“Barrett? What is it?” Jack asked.
“Who’s in charge of the Italian mob now?”
“I don’t know off-hand,” he said dryly.
My cell phone rang, and I fished around in my bag to find it. “I need to get this,” I said to Jack who nodded. “Hello?”
“Barrett, oh God, you have to get back here!” came Katherine’s harassed voice.
“Why, what’s the matter?” I demanded, my heart pounding in fear.
“Hawk—he—”
“Spit it out!”
“He drew on his brothers!”
I paused, registering what Katherine had said. “Are all my children still in the suite?”
“Yes.”
“And no one’s dying?”
“No one’s dying.”
My lips began to tremble. “Hawk drew—”
“Drew. On. His. Brothers!” Katherine repeated. “I don’t even know how he found the red Sharpie! Flynn is going to kill me!”
“I’ll be home soon,” I promised. “You got this.”
“But—”
I hung up on her and looked at Jack. He appeared dazed.
“You’re not at all worried about your kids? Forget the kids! That poor girl!” Jack said with a laugh.
I chuckled. “I’m pretty certain Hawk is the spawn of the devil.”
“Ah, a mother’s love,” Jack quipped. “Nothing like it.”
“I have to go.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
Sweeping Filippi’s file into my bag, I said, “So you’ll look into who’s actually in charge of the Italians?”
“I will.”
“Good. Thanks. Now, are you going to introduce me to the woman who refuses to have you?”
Jack gave me a look. “On one condition. You be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” I lied, remembering how I’d treated Sasha’s new love. Which only reminded me of something else I had to do.
“You’ve got to lie better than that, Barrett.” He sighed. “When you meet Mellie, try not to scare the crap out of her. I’m having a hard enough time with her as it is.”
Chapter 25
Hawk didn’t just draw on his brothers. He drew on the white couch, the white walls, the floor, the curtains.
Katherine sat in a plush, comfortable chair clutching a glass of scotch. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.
“Don’t be,” I said in reply.
The boys were safely ensconced in the nursery and were quiet. Iain and Noah were no worse for wear—they were just red.
I tried to hold in my laughter, but I just couldn’t. Katherine’s trembling lip sent me over the edge until I doubled over onto the newly red-striped couch.
“It’s not funny!” Katherine nearly bellowed. “You and Flynn have given me so many chances! And you set me up with a job and an apartment while I’m here, and how do I repay you? I let your son draw on your other children—and destroy this gorgeous suite!”
My gales of laughter echoed in the suite but didn’t drown out the sound of the elevator doors chiming open. Flynn walked in, took in my hilarity, Katherine’s pinched face, and then went right for the bar.
“What did I miss?” Flynn drawled.
Katherine took a hasty sip of her scotch.
I finally managed to rein it in. “Notice anything different?”
Raising his eyebrows, Flynn took me in first, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. When he deemed it wasn’t me that had been altered, his gaze traveled around the room. I watched his face slacken in surprise.
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
Katherine trembled despite the fact that Flynn hadn’t even raised his voice. It had come out in a dazed whisper.
“Hawk,” was all I said.
His sigh was resigned.
“Don’t look at Iain or Noah,” Katherine blurted out.
Flynn closed his eyes like he was in pain. “The red?”
“Yep,” I said. “The little bugger painted it red.”
“I’m too young for a stroke,” Flynn said. “Right?”
Katherine moaned. “Don’t tell my grannie. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
I smiled at her, but said to Flynn, “We haven’t had dinner yet. I was thinking we could order room service? Catch up with Katherine.”
“Something’s actually come up,” Flynn replied. “I’m sorry, Katherine. Can we have dinner another night?”
She jumped up from her seat, already heading for the elevator. “Sure. No problem!”
“Do you want my driver to take you home?” Flynn asked.
“No. I’ll walk. Thanks!”
Katherine was gone before I could even say anything. I chuckled. “How is it she’s still terrified of you?”
“Weren’t you terrified of me when you first met me?” Flynn nearly purred.
I frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he clipped before finishing off his drink and then pouring another.
“You’re not fine,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Where were you today?”
“At The Met with Alia,” I said. “You knew that. Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you—”
“Before The Met. Where were you before The Met?”
“I took the boys to Central Park.” I cocked my head to one side. “But you knew that already. Didn’t you?”
His jaw tensed and his eyes went glacial.
“You’re having me followed.”
“No. Not followed.”
I sighed. “You gave me a bodyguard and didn’t tell me. Again.”
“Lila got to you when she shouldn’t have been able to. The bodyguard isn’t even the point,” he said.
“Well, yeah, actually it is.” I glared. “Because the man is clearly spying on me.”
“Not spying, protecting! So tell me, Barrett? Who is he?”
“He who?” I taunted.
“The man you’re leaving me for!” he yelled.
My eyes widened in shock. “What?”
“Don’t lie to me!” He gripped his glass of scotch as he stalked towards me, the fumes of liquor hitting me in the face. I finally realized that this wasn’t his second drink. Probably his third. Or fourth. He’d been contained while Katherine was in the room.
“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed. “You met a man in the park. He kissed you. And then you went to see Jack Rhodes. You asked Jack to get you a divorce, right?”
I looked at him in disgust. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”
“Aye, I hate myself.”
“And you hate me too, right?” I sneered.
“You’ve been lying to me, Barrett. Ever since Las Vegas.”
I blinked, trying to clear the rage from my mind so that I could think. “My girls night out with Ash,” I realized. “You were having me tailed then, too.”
To his credit, Flynn didn’t drop his eyes. He held firm, all but confirming my accusation.
I took the glass from his hand, downed the last of the scotch, and then chucked the crystal against a wall. I heard the sounds of crying that came from one of my children, but at the moment, nothing penetrated the blind rage I felt.
“You still haven’t forgiven me. After all this time. After all we’ve been through.”
He remained stoically silent.
“I left my job for you. I had your children. I gave up everything,” I said, resentful. “What more do you want from me?”
“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t for a moment blame me because you decided to have my children.”
“Get out.”
“No! You don’t get to kick me out, Barrett. And you don’t get to use our children as an excuse. Some things are unforgivable. I forgave you for Dolinsky.”
“But you didn’t forget,” I said quietly.
“How can I forget when you wake up next to me in the middle of th
e night, trembling, and I know it’s not because you had a nightmare.”
There was no shame I could hide from Flynn. Not even that I sometimes still dreamt of a man who had taken so much from me but had given me things too. Things I couldn’t name. Things I couldn’t share.
Grabbing my purse and phone, I headed for the elevator. My children were crying in the next room, but I couldn’t be a mother to them. Not right now. And in that moment, I hated Flynn. Not for accusing me of infidelity, but for shoving me into a place where I couldn’t put my children first. I put me first, and I resented him for it.
“Where are you going?” he demanded. “We’re not done.”
I looked at him, my gaze cold. “Yes, Flynn. We are.”
I hailed a cab when I was on the street. Climbing inside, I settled back against the leather and closed my eyes.
“Where to, Ma’am?” the man asked. His Staten Island accent was thick, but somehow comforting.
“I don’t know yet,” I said, feeling weary. “Can you drive around for a while?”
If he thought my request odd, he didn’t comment on it. He drove around for the better part of an hour while my phone rang every few minutes. It was Flynn, of course, but I wasn’t in any place where I wanted to talk to him.
My heart ached. The things we had said to one another… my crying children… this would go down as one of the worst nights of my life.
Finally, I turned off my phone.
As the meter crept towards fifty dollars, I realized where I wanted to go. I gave the cabbie the address, and he cut off a truck to be able to swing a left. He pressed on his horn and yelled in a mixture of English and Italian. It only reminded me of Alessandro Filippi and the problems he’d caused—not just with Sasha, but also within my marriage.
Would Flynn ever trust me? Forgive me?
“So you’re Italian?” I said to the cab driver, striving for conversation.
He looked at me in the rearview mirror and I could hear the teasing in his tone when he asked, “What gave it away?”
Despite the heavy ball of despair in my stomach, I managed to laugh. “Can I ask you a politically incorrect question?”
“Sure.”
“Why do the Italians not care for the Sicilians? And vice versa?”
“They’re different,” he said slowly.
“How? I’m genuinely curious.”
“Sicily is an island and the Sicilian culture has a Mediterranean influence,” he explained. “Italians—northern Italians—usually known for their fair skin and hair—were conquered by the Anglos. You follow?”
“Yeah.”
“They define themselves first as Sicilians, then Italians. They’re just different,” he finished.
There were nuisances to every culture, every country. When Scotland was ruled by lairds, the Highlanders looked down on the Lowlanders. Even now, I knew Flynn had pride that his father’s family hailed from an old Highland clan.
Flynn.
Just the thought of his name sent a wave of pain through my belly.
The cabbie pulled to a stop. “Thank you,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“You sure this is the right spot? This doesn’t look like much of anything.”
“Part of its charm.” I gave him two hundred in cash. “Have a good rest of your night.”
Chapter 26
Sasha’s home didn’t look like a home. He’d bought a warehouse in the Meatpacking District and then had it converted into the most amazing space I’d ever seen. There was a parking garage underground with an elevator. The only way to get to Sasha’s private floor was to use the elevator and have a key.
I had a key, but I’d never used it. Until now.
The elevator doors opened, and I exited. The floor was private, with only one door that led to the apartment. There were three floors in its entirety, equipped with a private gym on the lowest level and the top floor was the master bedroom.
I hadn’t even called to see if he was home. I doubted that he was, but I still did the courteous thing by knocking. No one answered. I knocked again. Just when I thought of using my key, the door opened.
Quinn, leggy, haughty Quinn stood in the doorway. Her face was devoid of makeup and her green eyes were wide with surprise.
“Barrett!”
“Hey, Quinn,” I said, feeling my energy drain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were—that he—I’ll go.” I turned to leave, but her hand on my arm stopped me.
“Don’t go. Come in.”
“That’s really okay.”
“Please?”
Her voice was soft, vulnerable. It made my lip tremble. I let her tug me inside, this willowy girl whose grip was surprisingly strong.
I loved Sasha’s place—the living room had a retractable roof with a skylight. It was currently pulled back to reveal the glass and though I couldn’t see stars due to the light pollution, it was still incredible, the architecture that existed.
“Would you like something to drink?” Quinn asked. I finally was able to notice what she was wearing—a pair of yoga pants and a gray sweatshirt with Navy written across it that hung off one of her shoulders. Her nearly black hair was pulled back into a lopsided ponytail and that’s when I realized Quinn and I were more alike than I’d originally thought.
“Water, please,” I said, even though I wanted a scotch.
Quinn moved around the living room like one who lived there, and I wondered if she did. She went to the bar in the corner and instead of pouring me a glass of water, she reached for the bottle of Balvenie Triple Cask.
She set the glass down in front of me with a raise of an elegant eyebrow. I couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped. Quinn took a seat in one of the chairs angled towards the unlit fireplace.
“Thank you,” I said, reaching for the scotch.
“Sure.” She watched me carefully; as if she was afraid I would shatter like glass.
“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know that you were—”
“Drink,” she commanded in a surprisingly strong tone. It made me drink.
“Why aren’t you drinking?” I asked.
“I might. Later. I’m sorry, Barrett. I don’t know when Sasha will be back. There was a situation at the club.”
I nodded absently. “I didn’t come here for any reason other than friendship. I promise.”
Quinn smiled, a genuine pull of her lips. It surprised me how approachable it made her look.
“I owe you an apology,” she said, her smile drooping. “I behaved badly and I—”
“I’m the one who behaved badly. I was protective, and it came across—”
“No, you were just looking out for him. I respect that. I’m glad that he—”
“Can we please—”
“Start over?” we both said at the same time and then laughed.
“I’d like that,” Quinn said, offering me an olive branch.
“Me too,” I admitted.
We sat in silence for a moment and then she asked, “Want to talk about it?”
“Oh, I… Yes, yes, I do want to talk about it,” I admitted. “But I don’t know if I should.”
As pissed as I was at Flynn, I couldn’t bring myself to be disloyal to him.
“What would you do,” I said hesitantly. “If the person you loved most in the world, accused you of something terrible but then didn’t want to hear the truth? Didn’t give you the chance to explain?”
Quinn tilted her head in thought. “Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
She shrugged. “Punch them.”
“Really?”
“I grew up with a brother. Sometimes a punch is what is needed—preferably to a sensitive area.”
I blinked. “I like you.”
Quinn and I sat in a strangely comfortable silence for a while. She got up at some point to make herself a cocktail and turn on the gas fireplace.
I wanted to call Flynn with every fiber of my being, but I held off. Some
thing told me that we needed distance—he needed some time to sober up, and I needed some clarity. I could own my part in this disaster with Filippi. I was a great hypocrite, getting mad at Flynn for not letting me in on the Lila situation sooner, and then I’d hid Filippi from him. Not out of spite, more out of extreme forgetfulness. Plus, new crises popped up every few minutes and Filippi had gotten shoved to the back of my mind.
But there was a bigger issue. Flynn still hadn’t forgiven me for Dolinsky.
Could I blame him?
“I’m sorry for intruding,” I said, breaking the silence.
Quinn looked up from studying her cocktail. “Intruding? You didn’t intrude.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
I paused thoughtfully. “You have questions you want to ask me. About what Sasha told you.”
“I do,” she agreed in her usual forthright manner.
“Go ahead.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I cocked my head to one side. “It’s not going to be easy for either of us. You won’t like hearing the answers and it will be difficult for me to talk about it.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Not talking about it gives it power. Not talking about it is the same as burying it. So let’s talk,” I said frankly.
“Okay.” She nodded. “Okay,” she said again.
I could tell she was trying to get her bearings, so I gave her a minute. I finished my drink and then set the empty glass on the coffee table. Curling back up on the couch, I made myself comfortable.
“Are you in love with Sasha?” she asked.
“No.”
“Were you ever in love with him?”
I paused. She held her breath while waiting for me to answer.
“No.”
“But you had feelings for him.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I did have some sort of feelings for him.”
“But not love?”
“Not romantic love. Maybe romantic love. It’s hard to sort out because I’ve never had to sort it out. I was in love with Flynn—am in love with Flynn,” I added. It felt like it needed to be said. “There wasn’t room to love anyone else.”
“What about Dolinsky?”
