Chapter 12

Omar and Layla live in a nice house in a good neighborhood with a freshly mowed lawn and a pretty porch out front. Elena greets them like they’ve been best friends forever and they welcome the pair of us into their home with a surprising amount of warmth. Even Omar seems like he’s in a good mood.

What they don’t know is I haven’t spoken to Elena since the morning after my wedding. I tried to call her just one time, but she was cold and distant, and I decided it wasn’t worth pushing. Now we’re here, and my wife wasn’t exactly gushing and excited in the car, but it’s like a switch flips the second she’s with her friend.

I get why people are drawn to her. Elena asks Omar and Layla questions about their life, about their work and their little kids—both of whom are currently at a grandmother’s place—and she remembers details from the last time they spent time together. It feels like these are the most important people in Elena’s life even though I’m pretty sure Layla’s just a good acquaintance at best.

That’s Elena’s super power. She floats into a room and makes it glow.

“How many siblings do you have exactly, Brody?” Layla asks after the meal’s finished. We’re relaxing at the table with wine and chatting about nothing important.

“Too many,” I grumble at her.

“He means he has five,” Elena corrects playfully.

“That makes you one of six,” Omar says and looks up at the ceiling. “God help me, there are too many Quinns.”

That gets a laugh from the girls, and I give him a tight smile. He grins back and shrugs like he’s just being friendly.

Elena tells a story about her brothers and all the adventures they got into when they were younger and how it inevitably ended with her bailing them out of trouble. “That was always my job,” she says and stretches with a sigh. “The boys would screw up and I’d fix things.”

“That’s all women, right?” Layla says, elbowing Omar. “This one would lose his nose if it weren’t attached to his face.”

“Yes, darling, I am a hairy buffoon.” Omar pushes away from the table and gets up. “Speaking of men being men, would you like to join me out back for a cigar, Brody?”

I glance at Elena. Her eyes are sparkling with mischief and she gives me the slightest nod. I wish she’d come out with me instead and let me ease some of the tension between us, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

Omar’s backyard is strewn with little kid toys. We sit at a table and he lights me up before puffing on his own. The cigar’s decent, short and dark, with a sharp finish.

“You know, I told O’Malley we were doing this dinner yesterday,” he says almost too casually as if this wasn’t the real reason he wanted to get me away from the girls. It’s time to talk business, and I couldn’t be readier for it. There’s only so much small talk I can handle in a night.

“Oh, yeah? What’d she have to say?”

“After she stopped making jokes about fraternizing with the enemy, she said she reviewed your waterfront proposal again.”

I try not to let him know how eager I am to hear more. “That’s good. I’m happy she’s looking into it.”

“She says it’s solid.” Omar’s face is wreathed in smoke. A pale-yellow light glows from the second story and something rustles in the nearby bushes. A bat careens across the sky. “She also says it’s never going to happen.”

I go very still. I’m not sure if I heard him right and I lower my cigar. “Why would she say that?”

“Politics,” Omar admits with a shrug. He’s got a smug little grin on his face. “You want to know the honest truth, Quinn? It’s not happening because I don’t like you.”

I sit back and stare into his face. I can see myself pummeling his mouth, slamming my big fist into his cheeks over and over until they’re nothing but hollow bones and broken skin. I could crush him. I could smash his brains into a paste.

“You still hold that dumb fucking Peterson incident against me.”

He shows his teeth. “It’s not fucking dumb,” he snaps and seems to catch himself. He sits back, blowing out air through his nose. “That’s one reason. But mostly I think you and your whole family are corrupt and if you didn’t have your little friends in the CPD, you’d be nothing more than a bunch of second-rate lawyers working for fucking bottom feeders. I have no clue how you got a Bianco to marry you, but this is the highest you’ll ever rise, and it’s all because of some girl. So good for you, Quinn.”

I shove back from the table and rise. I stub out the cigar on his table and make sure to grind it down, leaving a black burn and a pile of ash. I say nothing, only look at him, and maybe he’s starting to wonder if he should’ve watched his mouth, because he’s right, my family has a reputation. We’re lawyers, yeah, but we’re thugs too. People that go against us end up beaten to a pulp. That or bleeding in a gutter. Omar knows it, but he thinks he’s safe in his own house.

“Talk to O’Malley about the project again,” I say, staring at him.

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it. That’s never happening.”

“That’s the thing. It’s going to happen. Even if I have to make sure certain seats on the committee need to get filled because their former occupants had sudden and unexpected accidents. Talk to O’Malley again and let her know that you cherish your worthless life and want to reconsider.”

I walk back inside. Threatening him like that should be beneath me, and I’m pissed at myself that I stooped to it, but his little speech dug under my skin and jabbed a knife into every single one of my insecurities.

Elena must see how I’m feeling when I come back into the kitchen. She gets to her feet and walks over, making some excuse about refilling our drinks.

“We need to go,” I say to her very quietly. “Right now.”

Her eyes are all concerned and she nods, not even asking why. “Okay, I’ll make the excuses.”

Layla seems disappointed and Omar pretends like he wants us to stay longer when he comes back inside, but we get out of there a few minutes later. Back in the truck, in the darkness of the night, driving toward the oasis, I grip the wheel like I’m going to wrench it free.

“You can tell me what he said.” Elena’s watching me from her seat. She doesn’t look angry. There’s no rage in her eyes.

“Why, so you can use it against me the next time I decide to say something stupid to you?” I grind my jaw, hating myself. She’s not doing anything wrong.

But she doesn’t rise to my bait. “Come on, Omar clearly did something to upset you. Just tell me what he said and maybe I can help.”

“You don’t have to fix everything.” I give her a hard look. If I were a different kind of man, I’d melt against her. I’d tell her everything and hope she could make me feel better. But I’m the boss of my family, and I don’t get the luxury of complaining about some prick politician that hurt my fucking pathetic feelings.

“We’re married. That’s what we should do.”

“I thought you hated me.”

She lets out a little noise and looks away. “You said something stupid. I’m mad at you for it. But I don’t hate you.”

I’m quiet and let that sit with me. Some of my anger begins to soften as I pull onto the oasis. I park out front and this time walk her to the door. We pause on the porch together and I catch her hand before she can go inside. “I shouldn’t have said it. I know this place is important to you and I shouldn’t have brought up the attack like that.”

“Are you apologizing?” Her eyebrows are raised and there’s a playful look in her eye.

“More or less.”

“Amazing. I feel warm all over.” She sighs and shakes her head. “You’re always like this, aren’t you? All pent-up and angry?”

“I like to think of myself as a serious businessman.”

That gets a laugh. “Sounds really healthy.”

I like the way her body softens when she’s laughing, even if it’s at my expense. “Come have dinner with me and my siblings, and I’ll tell you what Omar said tonight.”

She licks her lips. “All of your siblings?”

“Sunday dinner. You’ll love it.”

“Honestly? I probably will. But where are we going afterward?”

“My house. I’ll even decorate for you.”

She pushes open her door and turns to go inside. But she turns back to look at me and there’s that wide-open smile again. My stomach tightens, and she’s so fucking gorgeous I could drag her back across the seat and kiss her.

“If you can decorate in a day, I’ll agree to sleep over. But only if you can keep your hands to yourself.”

“We’ll see about that,” I murmur as she slams the door in my face. No kiss goodnight.