“Patrick.”
He inclines his head respectfully, greeting me in Gaelic. He also inclines his head to Reyna, but doesn’t look her in the eye. He’s three hundred pounds of pure muscle, but he can’t bring himself to gaze directly at her face.
Funny how everyone else can sense she’s a swamp witch, too.
He opens the door for us. We go inside with Kieran following. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low light.
Standing in the middle of the shadowy, empty warehouse is a group of five men. All are in expensive dark suits. All exude an air of danger and power.
Declan’s the only one I recognize.
Standing several feet away from the group are more men in suits, but these are soldiers, not leaders. Though they’re all Italian, and I’ve never met any of them, I can spot the difference a mile away.
Lining the walls of the warehouse are our lads.
I wonder how many of them are nursing nasty hangovers from last night.
Declan turns, sees us, and lifts his chin. Hand in hand, we slowly walk toward him.
Under her breath, Reyna says, “The one with all the hair to the left of Declan is Massimo, head of the DeLuca family. He’s clever, but he can’t be trusted. He’s only out for himself. To the right is Tomasi Berlasconi. He’s as dumb as a rock. Next to him in the dark gray suit is Alessandro Ricci. He’s a good man. Brilliant strategist. Enzo used to call him the General. In the pinstripe is Aldo LaRosa.”
The tense note that crept into her tone when she said that last name makes me look at her. “What about him?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Tell me now.”
She hesitates. “He can’t be trusted, either.”
I’d press her for more details, but we’ve crossed the warehouse and are now standing in front of the group. Kieran stands off to the side with our men.
Relaxed and smiling, Declan says, “Mr. and Mrs. Quinn. Sorry to interrupt your morning.”
I expect Reyna to make a smart remark, but she maintains her composure and simply says, “Good morning, Declan.” Then she greets each of the Italians by name in turn.
She receives respectful murmurs in response.
Declan gestures to the group. “These lads would like a word with you, Reyna.”
He strolls away, lighting a cigarette.
As if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to be summoned to an abandoned warehouse on a Sunday morning in front of the leaders of the Mafia and dozens more armed men without a clue as to the reason why, she smiles and says calmly, “Of course. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
I feel a hot flash of pride and admiration for my wife. She might be a hell demon with a forked tongue and a knack for driving a man to the brink of insanity, but goddamn does the woman live up to the meaning of her name.
The one called Massimo with all the hair glances at me. It’s not a friendly look.
“We were hoping to speak to you in private.”
I bristle. Before I can say a word, however, Reyna squeezes my hand. Looking at Massimo with steel in her eyes, she says, “My husband stays, or we both leave. The choice is yours.”
Watching us from behind the Italians, Declan smiles.
Massimo hides his anger with a practiced smile, but his eyes glitter with malice. “Very well. Then I’ll get right to it. We understand there was an incident at your home last week involving armed intruders.”
“There was. What of it?”
“Has your brother discovered who they were?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
It’s a smart answer. She’s not committing herself to a yes or a no, and she’s also not betraying the head of her family by divulging any details.
It’s a sidestep, and a clever one.
She adds, “That’s a question for him.”
“We would ask him, but we don’t have confidence that he would tell us the truth.”
“And why is that?”
“Let’s just say we’ve recently discovered some facts that have led us to believe your brother has been keeping secrets.”
It sounds like a threat. An insinuation that whatever Gianni’s been up to, she’s been up to as well. From one second to the next, this has gone from a conversation to an interrogation.
But if she senses that, she shows no outward sign. Her expression is placid. Clasped in mine, her hand is cool and dry.
When Massimo doesn’t say anything for a while and only stands there staring at her, trying to be intimidating, she asks politely, “I’m sorry, was there a question I missed?”
A hint of a smile curves Ricci’s mouth. He’s the one Reyna said Enzo referred to as the General. The oldest of the group, he’s got gunmetal-gray hair, a slight paunch, and eyes like a hawk’s.
Right now, those sharp eyes are looking at Reyna with the same admiration I’m feeling.
I decide I like him.
Massimo takes a different approach to see if he can rattle her. “When you killed your husband, the families looked the other way.”
Without missing a beat, she replies, “My husband is alive and well, Massimo. Perhaps you missed the ceremony yesterday? I thought I saw you in the church, but weddings are always such a whirlwind.”
She turns and smiles at me. “Anyway, here he is. I’m sorry for neglecting to introduce you, honey. Everyone, this is my husband, Mr. Quinn.”
Massimo looks like he’s trying not to swallow his tongue. Ricci looks like he’s trying not to start laughing. The other two Italians look like they’d rather be at home in bed than standing in this dusty, echoing warehouse, watching a woman effortlessly run circles around them.
As for me, I’m simply dazzled.
Looking at her, I say in a husky voice, “Pleased to meet you, gents.”
Her smile could light up an ocean of darkness.
Through clenched teeth, Massimo hisses, “My point is that you were granted a pass for murdering one of our own in cold blood. The least you can do in repayment is be honest with us.”
Reyna’s brilliant smile dies a quick death.
In its place blooms a look of such hot, incoherent rage, I almost drop her hand and start running.
She turns to Massimo and burns him to the ground with her eyes.
“I owe you nothing,” she says in an icy, even voice. “Especially considering you knew exactly what Enzo put me through, and you always looked the other way. If anything, Massimo, you should count your blessings that you’re still here to insult me. Because we both know I could send you to burn in hell with your dead friend without even chipping my nail polish.”
Ricci passes a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.
Grinning, Declan tilts back his head and blows a series of perfect smoke rings into the air.
Everybody else just stands there, stunned.
Until one of the Italian soldiers says under his breath, “That bitch needs to be put in her place.”
Scalding heat rushes up my neck and burns my ears. Every hair on my body bristles. I say loudly, “Did you just disrespect my wife?”
When he smirks at me, I pull out my gun and put a bullet in his head.
30
Rey
The gunshot is painfully loud. The soldier’s head jerks back. A perfect hole appears in the center of his forehead at the same time a mess of bloody chunks fly out from the back of his skull.