Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(6)

“Oh. Yes. Liliana.”

For a moment, he looks disoriented, like he lost the plot. But he pulls himself together and plasters on his shite-eating grin again. “She’ll be right down.”

He turns slightly toward Reyna for confirmation.

She remains silent but nods.

In his smarmy politician’s way, Caruso says, “In the meantime, Mr. Quinn, allow me to extend my gratitude to both you and Mr. O’Donnell for the visit. I’m looking forward to getting to know both of you better as we join our families—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I interrupt, setting the glass of foul liquid onto his desk. “After I meet your daughter, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about the future. As of right now, this deal hasn’t been inked.”

“Yes, of course,” he says, his voice subdued. “Please forgive me.”

Reyna turns from the window again, this time to send her brother an outraged, tight-lipped glare.

She’s thinking he’s a pussy for acting so weak. In his own bloody house, no less.

She’s right.

I rise from my chair, gazing at her. “Actually, I’d like to speak with your sister first for a few minutes. Alone.”

Caruso looks startled by the request.

Reyna looks like she’s wondering where the nearest hatchet is so she can bury it in my skull.

I have no idea why this woman hates me so much, but it’s starting to get annoying.

Regardless of what my dick thinks about her, she’s pissing me off.

Kieran stands, already knowing my request will be granted. Caruso follows, sending a nervous look in Reyna’s direction.

“Certainly. We’ll give you a moment. Kieran, why don’t I show you my collection of Fabergé eggs?”

With a straight face, Kieran says, “Can’t think of anything better, mate.”

They leave. As soon as the door closes behind them, I look at Reyna. “All right. You’ve obviously got something to say to me. Say it.”

She turns from the window, blinking. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you mean.”

Her hand rests at the base of her throat. Her eyes are wide and guileless. She’s the picture of innocence, and she’s entirely full of shite.

I say, “Too late, woman. I’ve already seen the swamp witch you’re trying to hide under that human skin suit you’re wearing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not as good an actress as you think.”

She stares at me in blistering silence for a few seconds, then says icily, “Number one: don’t call me woman like it’s a pejorative. It’s not. Number two: if you’re not bright enough to know what the word pejorative means, ask your sidekick. He seems like he might have actually read a book once. Number three—”

“Will this take long? I’ve got a meeting to get through.”

Her nostrils flare. Her lips thin. Her body trembles with impotent fury, and I think I’m starting to have fun.

She says tightly, “Number three: I have nothing to say to you.”

“No?” I let my gaze travel the length of her body, down and back up again, relishing every dangerous curve. “Because it bloody sure seems like you do.”

With what appears to be a huge effort of will, Reyna holds back whatever vitriol is burning the tip of her tongue. She smooths a hand over her dark hair, straightens her shoulders, and forces a tight smile.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“But it won’t be pleasant.”

“I doubt you’re capable of pleasantries, wee viper.”

Her eyes flash. “Insulting me won’t win you any points.”

“I’m not the one here who needs to win points.”

That makes her even angrier. Her cheeks turn scarlet. “Why are you deliberately baiting me?”

“Because you’re better than your brother,” I say, holding her infuriated gaze. “You don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not. Now talk to me. I need to know why you’re so angry, and I won’t get the truth from him.”

She’s taken aback by the compliment and by my forthrightness, both of which she obviously wasn’t expecting.

I get the feeling there isn’t much she doesn’t anticipate, so that’s gratifying.

When she doesn’t speak for too long, I prompt, “You don’t like that I’m Irish.”

“I’m not that petty or prejudiced,” she says crossly. “I don’t judge people by where they were born.”

The way she says it, I believe her. She’s genuinely insulted by the suggestion.

Which is interesting, considering most of her kin would rather be burned alive than befriend an Irishman.

Our families might do business together when it suits us, but it’s a point of pride that we hate each other’s guts.

“So what, then?”

She gazes at me in silence, measuring me up. Then she shakes her head.

“You know I can’t possibly be honest with you. There’s too much at stake for my family.”

“There’s too much at stake if you’re not honest with me.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll walk out of here without meeting Liliana and without looking back, because there are plenty of other lasses in the Cosa Nostra who’ll happily spread their legs for me and gain advantage for their families if she doesn’t.”