When I tell him sweetly that he’s forgotten I’m only a stupid, powerless woman, he hangs up on me.
Quinn shows remarkable restraint by not pouncing on me the moment I open my eyes. Instead, he suggests we go to his home so I can decide if I’d like to live there or move to the other side of the world and live in a hut so he can’t find me.
He’s trying to be funny, but I can tell how nervous he is about it.
I still haven’t committed to living with him. Or to signing a wedding license to make the church marriage legal.
The only thing we’re both on board about so far is the meeting of sperm and egg.
“Yes, I’d like to see your home. But first, I’d like to see the marriage contract.”
He quirks his lips. “You’re very interested in that contract, aren’t you?”
“There might be a few items I’d like to renegotiate.”
“Hmm.”
“What a safe response. Show me the contract, Quinn. Let’s get it over with.”
He pulls it up on his laptop.
It’s twenty-seven pages long.
Scrolling through the document, I say faintly, “What the actual fuck?”
Pacing behind me with his arms folded over his chest, Quinn says, “Did you think the terms joining two international criminal empires would be scribbled on a napkin?”
“No. I didn’t think it would be the Magna Carta, either.”
“Keep reading.”
I do. It goes into remarkable detail about trade routes, payment terms, assigned territories, who reports to whom, how disputes are to be handled, termination triggers, jurisdictions and the hierarchy of said jurisdictions’ managers. Among other things.
It’s possibly the most complicated prenuptial agreement ever created.
“What’s this section about someone named Stavros? It’s very ambiguous.”
Quinn peers over my shoulder to read. “It’s a condition Gianni agreed to fulfill as part of the bargain.”
“So what is it?”
He straightens and looks down at me. “Gianni has to kill Stavros. Personally. And show proof.”
“I see. And what did this Stavros do that Declan wanted it in the contract?”
“He’s Sloane’s ex.”
“Was he abusive?”
He snorts. “Stavros couldn’t manage to abuse a wasp that was repeatedly stinging him in the face.”
I furrow my brows. “So why does Declan want him dead?”
“It’s a long story.”
I say firmly, “Then I’ll settle in as you tell it.”
Sighing, Quinn turns away and starts pacing again. “A man named Kazimir Portnov is in control of the Bratva here in the US. He goes by Kage.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the name.”
“Declan asked for Kage’s help when Riley was kidnapped and taken to Moscow. In return, Kage got a marker from Declan. He had to do Kage a favor, no matter what it was, no questions asked.”
“Okay. I’m following.”
“Kage’s marker was that Declan had to kill Stavros.”
“Why did Kage want Stavros dead?”
“Because he’s Russian. They’re crazy.”
“Says the crazy man. Not good enough. Keep talking.”
After an aggravated growl, Quinn says, “Declan can’t kill Stavros himself because he promised Sloane he never would. And Kage, being the psychopath that he is, thought it would be bloody great fun to make his marker something Declan had promised his wife he’d never do and see how he’d handle it.”
“Okay. But why did Kage want Stavros dead in the first place?”
“Disloyalty. At least that’s what Declan told me. It could really be nothing more than Kage being Kage.”
“Stavros is Russian?”
“Aye.”
Mulling that over, I turn my attention back to the computer screen. “So Sloane doesn’t know about this marker?”
“Not what it was called in for.”
I don’t like the sound of that. Even though we’re not close yet, Sloane is someone I could see being a good friend. And I know enough about her to know she wouldn’t like this kind of back-door dealing at all.
“Which also means she doesn’t know that Declan put it in the marriage contract.”
He chuckles. “It’s not like he’d tell her, lass. If Sloane found out Declan had broken his promise, he’d be short two balls.”
Just as I thought. It’s a brilliant piece of strategy on Declan’s part, but if Sloane found out about this clever chess move of his, she’d rightly feel betrayed.
These men think they’re so smart.
But if they were really intelligent, they’d be much more afraid of their wives.
I move on to other items, asking Quinn to explain and elaborate. I get an education in the technicalities and logistics of how drugs and weapons are moved across borders, how money changes hands, how law enforcement is used to aid illegal activities or avoided where it can’t be bribed.
By the end of it, I have a good sense of the terms of the contract.
And an even better sense of where it needs to be changed to the Mafia’s benefit.
Closing the laptop, I say, “Thank you. That was helpful. Let’s go see your home.”
“That’s it?”
“Are you the man in charge of contract negotiations?”
Quinn’s expression darkens. “Declan is.”
“Then that’s it. Let’s go.”
He says firmly, “Lass. The contract can’t be changed. It’s been signed already.”
I smile at him. “But the marriage license hasn’t. And without a legal marriage, the contract isn’t binding. I saw that in section eighteen B.”
“Gianni isn’t going to ask for more concessions. He’s already over the moon about what he got.”
Yes, but I’m not. And I find myself feeling quite ambitious this morning.
I say, “We’ll see about that,” and head to the door.
37
Rey
The place Quinn calls home is a penthouse in a skyscraper in the middle of the city that looks as if it were designed by Morticia Addams at the height of a depressive episode.
Decorated entirely in shades of gray and black, the place is dark, sophisticated, and freezing. It’s somewhere a coven of vampires might feel cozy and welcome.
Not a single speck of color enlivens the place. There isn’t a throw pillow, photograph, or plant in sight. There isn’t any carpeting or warm fabrics to soften the space, either. It’s all glass, marble, steel, and cold reflective surfaces.
Looking around the echoing living room, I say, “My, how delightful. If I were a cyborg, I’d plug myself right in.”
“Used to be Declan’s before he got married,” says Quinn, strolling past me with his hands in his pockets.
“So it’s a Mob bachelor pad. That explains its lack of a pulse.”
Quinn turns to look at me. “I take it that means you don’t like it.”
Feeling his gaze on me as I go, I wander into the kitchen. There’s an enormous marble island in the middle of it, accompanied by a host of stainless steel appliances lurking around in the gloom. They glare suspiciously at me. Even the microwave seems hostile.