Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“How is she?” He blew a stream of smoke.
“She’s…” Brave. Smart. Resourceful. Talented. Witty. So nauseatingly beautiful I cannot wrench my goddamn eye from her face whenever we’re together. “None of your fucking concern,” I finished dryly.
Tate shrugged. Luca stood up to pour him a drink. Forever the diplomat. If Vello wanted half a chance to save his sinking empire, appointing Luca as the don was a no-brainer. Enzo was too nice, and Achilles too evil.
“So where were you between 10:33 and 11:04 that night, Tate?” I rotated my head toward the billionaire. “Because it sure as fuck wasn’t in the ballroom.”
“Gia didn’t feel well. She was nauseous and needed some medicine. I went to the nearest convenience store and got her ginger candy, a Sprite Zero, and an herbal inhaler.”
“They didn’t have Sprite Zero at the party?”
Tate returned my glare bluntly. “I can probably pull up the receipt through my online banking account, if you’d be so kind as to fucking give me my phone back.”
Luca shot me a look. I nodded.
Luca pulled Tate’s phone out of his pocket and handed it over. Tate’s thumb flew over his screen while I traced my inner cheek with my tongue. I could still taste my wife in my mouth. She seemed to be resilient and tough as nails. Most girls in her position would shy away from men, spiral farther down the dark hole they’d been sucked into, but not her.
Sure, she slept like shit, but she still got out of bed every morning. Made coffee for us and Imma. Tidied up our room. Cooked with Tierney. Hung out with Imma. Sketched. Filled my apartment with random shit as she caught up on eighteen years’ worth of online shopping.
“Here.” Tate stopped scrolling, placing his phone on the table and sliding it toward me. I caught it. The transaction showed Luca’s wedding date, at exactly ten forty-five at night.
Sam ran the distance between the manor to the convenience store and back on his laptop. “How did you get there?”
“I walked,” Tate said.
Sam turned to me. “Everything checks, Callaghan. Do with it what you will.”
I sat back in my chair, blowing air. A part of me was glad it wasn’t Blackthorn. Killing someone so high-profile came with a shit ton of paperwork. Plus, a demented, completely fucked-up part of me didn’t want Lila to be betrayed by one of the few men she actually liked, even if the fact she liked him in the first place made me want to feed him his own fucking cock.
This meant my suspect list had shrunk to the measly count of one person. Angelo Bandini.
We let Tate go, but not before he spent ten minutes showering us with a scathing rant about how we couldn’t hijack planes like we were in a B-grade video game. He then finished it off by saying, “You know, Callaghan, I still can’t fucking stand your ass, but at least you’ve proven to be a better husband than you are a human.”
He offered me his hand.
I stared at it.
“Aww,” Enzo cooed. “Mommy and Daddy aren’t breaking up, after all. Hug it out, bitches. I love feel-good moments.”
“You’re so fucking camp,” Sam grumbled.
Enzo’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, yeah? And you’re such a fucking homophobe.”
Sam tilted his head. “Is that an admission, pretty boy?”
Luca ribbed Sam. “Enough. Congrats on the baby, Tate. Boy or girl?”
“Boy,” he said, hand still outstretched to me.
“He has a name?” I asked.
“Astile.”
Of course, he and his wife were too fucking special to sire a Jake or a Peter.
With a sigh, I took Blackthorn’s hand and shook it.
Tate Blackthorn would never be my friend, but I guess he was no longer an enemy.
CHAPTER THIRTY
TIERNAN
After the polygraph, I stopped at Fermanagh’s to drink a pint of Guinness with Fintan to take the edge off. I didn’t want to face Lila before I sorted myself out. A lot of shit ran through my head.
Relief. Fury. Unfathomable bloodthirst.
Tate not being the rapist was both good and bad. I needed to finish that prick, whoever he was. But if it was Angelo, shit just got a whole lot more complicated.
Finally, I dragged my ass upstairs and opened the door. Lila sat with Imma on the couch. They were both holding and stroking Lila’s belly. It was still mostly flat, but her tits certainly got the memo. They were heavier and more swollen than before. Tender to the briefest touch.
“Hi!” Lila squeaked when I walked inside, hurrying to greet me at the door. She pressed her sweet lips to mine, throwing her arms over my shoulders. I kissed her back, annoyed with how fucking natural it felt.
“Good news!” she signed. “We felt the baby today for the first time. It is doing a fluttery thing. It’s like tiny fish are swimming in my belly. You have to feel it.”