Page 19 of Brutal Vows

Lili’s cheeks flush. She glances down and nods, smiling a secret little smile.

“How did you get him out?”

“The dumbwaiter.”

I gasp. “You wedged that poor boy into the dumbwaiter? Did you break all his joints first?”

The flush in her cheeks deepens, and so does her smile. “He says it’s worth it.”

I say sarcastically, “I bet he does.” Then something else occurs to me. “Oh, no. This isn’t the first time, is it?”

She glances up at me and makes a face.

“Never mind, I don’t want to know. Just promise me it’s the last time.”

When she hesitates, I say vehemently, “Lili, you cannot allow him back into this house. Your father will hang his stuffed head on the trophy wall in his study.”

“I know,” she whispers, her smile dying.

“Who is he, anyway?”

“Timo’s son.”

I have to think for a moment. “Timo? The gardener?”

“The pool man. Juan Pablo helps his dad clean the pool sometimes. That’s how we met.” Her secret smile reappears. “I was lying out getting sun in my yellow bikini.”

Dear God. The daughter of a mafia don is having an affair with the Latino pool boy.

We’re a telenovela.

I’m about to interrogate her about birth control when the door to Gianni’s study opens. The Irishman and Gianni walk out.

“Thank you again for the visit,” Gianni says, avoiding my eyes. “It was a pleasure.”

“The pleasure was mine.”

The Irishman stops in front of me and Lili. Formal and serious, he says to her, “I appreciate meeting you, Lili. Thank you for speaking with me.”

She inches closer to my side. “You’re welcome. And thank you, too.”

The Irishman nods, then turns his gaze to me. His hazel eyes start to burn.

“And Reyna,” he says, his voice so soft it gives me a shiver. “It’s been… interesting meeting you.” He extends his hand.

I look at it. A crocodile’s toothy open snout would seem more inviting.

But I slide my hand into his and meet his gaze unflinchingly, because queens aren’t afraid of dumb reptiles.

Or spiders, either.

“Goodbye, Mr. Quinn. And safe travels. The roads around here can get dangerous after dark.”

I know he received the threat when he smiles.

He holds my hand and my gaze for a beat, then wipes the smile off his face and turns abruptly to Gianni. “I’ll show myself out.”

“Oh, no, I’ll walk with you!” Gianni protests. But it falls on deaf ears because the Irishman is already striding away, his shoulders squared and his chin up, as cocky as a bullfighter.