Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(22)

Her chin quivers. She shakes her head, clearly traumatized by the thought of having to face him.

“Don’t ever let him see you cry, Liliana. No man deserves your tears, especially not that one. Just remember what I’ve told you.”

I sigh, gathering her into my arms again. She tucks herself into me and sniffles.

After a long time, she whispers, “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll get shot before the wedding.”

I close my eyes, imagining Quinn lying still and silent on the ground in a widening pool of his own blood.

For the first time in forever, I feel happy.

Then I leave Lili alone with her thoughts and get ready to deal with the next important task on today’s agenda.

Firing the pool man.





He’s punctual, the smug Irishman. I have to give him that.

Precisely at five o’clock, Quinn rings the doorbell. Lili and I are already waiting, standing hand in hand in the foyer in tense silence. Beside us stands Gianni, vibrating happiness, practically wagging his fucking tail.

Bettina opens the door and lets the Irishman in.

His ego takes up so much space that instantly, the house feels smaller.

“Mr. Quinn!” Gianni steps forward with his hands extended. “Welcome. So good to see you again so soon.”

Quinn gives him a cursory nod. They shake hands. Quinn glances at Lili and sends her the same disinterested nod he gave my brother.

He doesn’t look at or acknowledge me.

It feels deliberate.

Whatever the reason for it, his snub loosens the vise around my lungs, allowing me to breathe easier.

Maybe I was being paranoid when I thought he was coming on to me in the kitchen. It’s so rare that a man outside my family even dares to look at me, let alone flirt with me, I can’t remember what it feels like.

Gianni says, “Let’s go to my study and have a drink, shall we?”

“No. I’m here to see Lili.”

I can tell Gianni’s offended by the rude dismissal, but he keeps the pleasant smile on his face. “Of course. Would you like to visit with her in the salon, or—”

“We’ll go for a ride,” Quinn interrupts coldly.

Lili glances at me in panic.

I frown. He wants to take her for a ride? In his car?

When I grasp his motivation, heat flashes over me. It crawls up my neck and settles in my cheeks, where it burns.

He doesn’t want to take her for a ride, he wants to take her for a ride.

This testa di cazzo thinks he’s going to sample the merchandise before he buys it!

Keeping my tone tranquil though I’d like to rip out his intestines through his nostrils, I say, “That will be lovely. I adore afternoon rides in the summer. So refreshing.”

When Quinn sends me a blistering scowl, I smile. “Of course I’m sure you remember that I’m Lili’s chaperone.”

If looks could kill, I’d already be dead. Quinn’s gaze is a thousand incoming arrows shot from enemy bows.

My smile grows wider.

The Irishman glowers at me like he’d give his left nut to make me invisible. “Aye, I remember. Let’s get on with it, then.”

He turns on his heel, yanks open the front door, and disappears through it. I listen to his footsteps echo angrily off the courtyard tiles and wonder if perhaps he has bipolar disorder.

It would explain a lot.

Gianni turns to me and mutters, “Brought up in a fucking barn.”

“A barn is too civilized. That Irishman was brought up in a slaughterhouse.”

Lili whispers nervously, “What do we do?”

“Follow him!” hisses Gianni.

I give Lili’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then lead her out the door. We walk out to the driveway, where Quinn is standing beside his big black Escalade.

The driver’s door is open. His sidekick, Kieran, is nowhere in sight.

Lili and I walk to the rear door of the SUV and stand there, waiting.

Quinn realizes we’re waiting for him to open the door for us and mutters, “Fuck.”

He stalks around the front of the vehicle, yanks open the back passenger door, and growls at me, “In.”

Then he opens the front passenger door and looks at Lili. “Sorry, lass. I’ve got a lot on my mind today. Up you go.”

He helps her get settled in the passenger seat, makes sure she buckles her seat belt, then closes the door. Without another glance in my direction, he hops back into the driver’s seat and guns the engine.

Clearly, I’m on my own managing to climb up into the truck.

Regretting that I didn’t think to bring my handbag—the one with the secret compartment for my .38—I gingerly step on the Escalade’s running board and reach up to grab the handle on the roof inside the door. I’m in heels and a dress, so hauling myself up onto the seat is a production.

Why the man couldn’t drive an adult vehicle like a sedan is a mystery.

I’ve barely got the door closed before he peels out. Gravel sprays from under the spinning wheels. Lili yelps in surprise and grabs onto her door handle. I topple over sideways onto the bench seat, cursing.

“Mr. Quinn! Will you please slow down?”

In the rearview mirror, he sends me a look of murderous rage that exactly matches my own. But he does take his foot off the accelerator, allowing the car to slow to a reasonable speed.