Page 76 of Brutal Vows

He still doesn’t have any idea who the men were who invaded the house. Despite all his power and his contacts in the underworld, he hasn’t been able to unearth a clue.

The lack of information is unnerving. There’s always someone willing to talk for a price—or be persuaded to, under threat—but not this time. No one seems to know anything.

Most chilling of all is that the forensic technicians working on the bodies at the morgue came up with nothing identifiable about any of the men.

The pads of all their fingers had been burned off with acid. Dental records showed no matches. Their faces weren’t in any law enforcement database.

They were ghosts.

I tried not to admit to myself that I would’ve felt better if Quinn had stayed at the house the rest of the week, but my subconscious knew better. The house felt emptier without his expansive presence in it. The Mob sent armed reinforcements to take his place and provide supplemental protection to Gianni and Leo’s men, but it didn’t make me rest easier.

A hundred Irishmen couldn’t give me the same peace of mind.

He might be grouchy, bossy, and altogether aggravating, but Quinn’s the one to have around when things get bad.

I hate that I think that. But for Lili’s sake, I’m glad. If someone tries to kidnap her again, they’ll have to deal with his crazy-but-fiercely-protective ass.

And I know they’ll regret it.

In the car on the way to the rehearsal at the church the night before the wedding, Gianni sweats like a pig.

“Why are you so nervous?” says Mamma, frowning at him. “Your daughter’s the one getting married.”

Sitting next to me in the back seat of the limo, Lili rests her head on the back of the seat and closes her eyes. I squeeze her clammy hand, but she doesn’t squeeze back.

Mopping his forehead with a silk pocket square, Gianni says, “But I’m the one who’ll be up shit’s creek if anything goes wrong.”

“What could go wrong?”

I say, “Don’t tempt fate by making a list, Gianni.”

Mamma cackles. “As if fate has anything to do with anything. It’s all God. He’s the one with the mean streak.”

To Lili as much as Gianni, I say soothingly, “Nothing will go wrong. Boston belongs to the Mob, and everyone knows you don’t cross Declan O’Donnell.”

Mamma says, “She’s not marrying Declan O’Donnell.”

I send her a pointed look. “She’s marrying his right-hand man, which is almost as good.”

“Almost isn’t the same thing.”

“Mamma, stop! You’re scaring her!”

She looks at Lili, sitting passively beside me with her eyes closed and face pale. “That child isn’t scared. She’s in mourning.”

Gianni frowns. “Mourning over what?”

“Don’t listen to her,” I interrupt, giving her a hard stare. “She’s already had half a bottle of wine.”

She smiles back at me. “The night’s still young.”

I might have to lock her in a coat closet.

When we arrive at the lovely old brick church, Quinn isalready there. Dressed in his usual black Armani suit, with his hair combed and his eyes burning, he’s breathtaking.

Lili takes one look at him smoldering inside the vestibule doors and lets out a whimper.

“Mr. Quinn,” says Gianni, rushing over with his hand and his panic outstretched in front of him. “So good to see you again. Are we late?”