Page 13

Slowly, I pull my hand back. “You’ve said this a couple of times, Stassi. Are you in love with my brother?”

She rolls her eyes. “God, no.”

I blink.

Stassi sighs. “I mean, I’m not trying to say he’s like a bad guy or anything like that, you know? He seems fine, comparatively. But like, I owed Gia Rossi this huge favor, and there was a lot at stake with a marriage contract that she’s supposed to have with one of your brothers?—”

“One of them?” I say sharply.

Stassi nods. “Well, technically I guess it was Caterina, which set off like a whole chain of events a while ago. But then Gia got kidnapped by Liam, who was trying to make an alliance with the Rossi crew because like, they’re pretty darn powerful, and Kieran was many things but a good leader wasn’t one of them, you know? ”

I narrow my eyes. Stassi is either the best actress in the entire world, or she actually fucking trusts me with this.

“Anyway,” she continues, sipping her latte. “Gia and Sal had this whole problem, and Liam needed someone to marry, and I said okay here I am.”

“So, you don’t love him?”

She shrugs. “Why would I fall in love with my husband? That seems like a sure-fire way to get a broken heart.”

I snort. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me a single person you know who fell in love with their husband and actually stayed that way. Especially in our world, men don’t play by the rules,” she says.

I glance at Stassi. Her voice is so much harder now, the bubbly blonde receding. “I think that Marco’s siblings seem to be pretty happy.”

“There’s still time for all of that to fall apart,” she chirps cheerily.

Something about this beautiful, fun person talking about the prevalence of heartbreak feels kind of… wrong. “Stassi, you know that any man would be falling over their fucking feet to have you, right? Men literally worship the ground you walk on.”

She looks away. “Yeah, but there’s a big difference in how men treat women like that and how they treat a partner.”

“Okay. You’re going to have to say more about that.”

Stassi looks at me. “Men like pretty things. They like to look at them, take them out and play with them, and then put them back on the shelf. They don’t want me, Ro.

They want to look at me and parade me around, but then I’ll go back on the shelf with everyone else,” she whispers.

“And when something else pretty catches their eye? I’ll be locked away. Forever.”

Jesus Christ. “Stassi…”

“My mom taught me that. She was Ivan Novikov’s pretty thing. And she was fine with that. She knew how to get what she needed and then just get out. My mom was fine with the shelf. I’m not,” she whispers.

I search her face. “And Liam?”

She winks. “I don’t want him. He doesn’t want me. It’s perfect.”

There is absolutely no way that my brother doesn’t want Anastasia Novikov. It’s fucking insane to think that he doesn’t. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t. So,” she says, giving me that bright smile. “Flowers?”

Slowly, I nod.

“I’ll get my coat.”

Stassi glides through my brother’s staff like she’s meant to be here.

She knows them, already. She’s asked about four babies and has offered condolences to one grandmother by the time we pull into the village, which is by no means as elevated as the shopping that Marco and I did in Dublin.

But, I will say as we walk around, Doolin appears to have become at least a little more modern since I was here last year.

The shops, at least, have figured out that high-end tourists are their target market.

Stassi drags me to not one, but two florists, and by the time we’re headed for the stationery shop, I can’t believe the fact that she’s already signed contracts with both.

“How do you do that?” I ask.

She smiles. “Do what?”

“Every person you meet isn’t a stranger, instantly. You somehow not only signed that contract, but got an invite to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh my god, I know!” she beams. “Mrs. Murtagh was just the cutest old lady, there’s no way that I’m going to say no!”

I laugh. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You don’t have a single bad thing to say about them. Everyone, even strangers, love you. Like, instantly.”

She shrugs. “I guess it’s my mom. She was raised by people who were Hollywood stars for the past… well, since movies started coming out. If she knows how to do anything, she knows how to socialize, because she and her family basically invented it.”

“Well that’s all well and good,” I say, following her into the stationery shop. “But you somehow find something to like about everyone you meet.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Stassi beams. “Everyone has something they bring to the world. It’s just a matter of seeing it. ”

Good lord.

For a moment, I’m insanely jealous of Stassi. How in the world she and I both managed to be raised by men in the mafia, with mothers adjacent to it, and we turned out so… different, is beyond me.

I don’t see the good in everyone I meet.

Because I’m too busy trying to figure out the ways that they could hurt me, so that I can hurt them first.

Stassi waves at me. “Over here! Look, these are the invites that I was telling you?—”

The door to the shop tinkles, and a chill of fear instantly skates down my spine.

Something isn’t fucking right.

My hand instinctively goes to my hip, where my Interpol-issued gun would usually be, but I feel nothing except soft cashmere instead.

Fuck.

Stassi is chatting, looking at paper samples. I don’t want to turn to confront whoever just walked into the shop, but the little room is so small, I don’t have any other way to look and see them.

So, slowly, I turn.

I lock eyes with someone that makes my heart skip a beat.

Andrei Moretti.

He’s a famed assassin. Most recently, he’s been in Brazil, and he’s got a list of crimes so long they span the Atlantic.

And he’s here .

In a fucking paper shop in Ireland.

Behind us.

There’s absolutely no way that he’s here for anything except something bad. Moretti has been nicknamed the Grim Reaper, and some other names that are rolling through my mind.

Angel of Death.

Assassin’s assassin.

We need to get the fuck out of here.

I look over at Stassi, trying to catch her eye.

She’s entirely focused on paper samples.

“…I really think that at such short notice, we should go with something more casual, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” I respond, aware of Moretti coming closer. The shop is tiny. He’s practically breathing down our necks. If he hasn’t shot either of us yet, he’s probably here on capture orders.

Which means a sedative.

Which means we need to get the fuck out of here.

In my pocket, my fingers reach for my phone. If I can call Marco…

“And what do you think for the envelopes? Cream or eggshell?” Stassi points.

“Stassi, I don’t feel well,” I whisper in her ear.

She blinks at me. “What?”

“I need to leave. Right now. ”

“Um, okay, but…”

I tug on her hand. “Please, it’s the… it’s my cramps,” I add.

If Moretti is listening, I’m hopeful that the mention of something feminine will put him off. You’d be surprised at how often men, even ones with killer intent, hesitate when it comes to a period.

Stassi frowns. “Okay, but…”

“Now,” I tug on her hand.

I can’t linger. I know she’s going to want to talk to the shop owner, who I really hope isn’t going to be a casualty of Moretti too. I drag Stassi, who is trying to wave down the shop keep, out the door.

When we get outside, she tugs her hand back. “What the heck, Ro? You feel that bad? I swear, that was so rude?—”

“Andrei Moretti walked into the shop behind us,” I whisper.

Stassi’s blue eyes widen, then her face goes pale. “What?”

It’s good to know, I guess, that she finally understands the severity of the situation. “We need to fucking go,” I whisper.

“What? How on earth would he… I thought he was in Brazil? I thought he died in that landslide?”

“Nope,” I shake my head, dragging my phone out to call for our driver. “He was right fucking here, in the shop with us.”

“Let me call for the driver…”

A booming noise, followed by searing heat, cuts her off.

Instinctively, I grab Stassi. She’s a head or so taller than I am, but I’m stronger, and I wrestle her to the ground. The sound of the explosion echoes around the picturesque seaside village, and I hear screaming from the direction of where we parked.

Stassi’s eyes widen. “Roisin. Do you think…”

“Call Liam,” I hiss. “Now.”

My fingers are already pulling up Marco’s number. I dial it, my fingers flying across the screen.

He picks up on the first ring. “Roisin, what?—”

“Andrei Moretti is in town. The car blew up. Come get us,” I hiss.

Then, I shut the phone off, and grab Stassi’s hand.

I tug her toward the explosion.

“Where are we going? Don’t go this way, we need…”

“We need to hide. Moretti probably set the bomb to start a distraction so he could take you or me,” I murmur.

Stassi follows. “So why are we going to the explosion?”

“Because that’s where a crowd will be. We’re harder to kidnap in a crowd,” I mutter.

Already, people are running out of their homes and businesses, and the screaming gets louder as we approach the explosion.

My heart sinks.

The people of Doolin are peaceful. They live in a sleepy seaside town.

God, I hope no one died.

Praying, we move closer. I want to keep looking back for Moretti, but I don’t want him to know that I’m watching for him.

“Look behind us,” I whisper to Stassi. “Do you see Moretti?”

“I don’t know what he looks like…”

“Dark and fucking mean,” I hiss.

She turns her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Good. Stay with me. Don’t let go of my hand. He wants one of us, and I don’t know who. He probably has a sedative, so keep a distance from other people so he can’t stick you.”

Stassi breathes.

The site of the explosion finally comes into view. My chest sags with relief. Our driver, David, is standing, looking shaken, leaning on the seawall. The SUV is on fire, but there’s no obvious bodies.

Good.

“Don’t go to him. Stick near the road, Marco will be here any second,” I whisper.

Stassi and I stand back, out of the way, where we can easily leave. When the Jaguar pulls up that Marco bought the other day, I grab her.

“Let’s go.”

Marco doesn’t even stop. I open the door and shove Stassi in, then climb in. He peels out while the car burns in the background, and as soon as I shut the door again I look out.

There, standing next to the seawall, is Andrei Moretti.

And he’s staring at us as we drive away.