“I think you’ve been through enough to acknowledge logic won’t be one of your personality traits for a while, especially given the dismal state of your sex life prior to him rowing your boat. Your deprived ovaries would be rabid to cling to a good thing.”
I cringe, mydeprived ovarieswithering in agreement. Or maybe it’s just the pit in my stomach opening wider to create a chasm.
“Believe me, I get it,” she continues. “A man with his confidence is bound to have enviable skills.Butas strong, somewhat mentally stable women, we need to recognize when to take the ‘ho’ out of psycho. There’s a time and place for unhinged and obnoxiously complicated sex… and it’s not when you’re in your thirties with a CEO title to maintain.”
I agree. Mentally. Rationally.
But emotionally? Physically?
No matter how hard I try, I can’t lessen the pain beneath my ribs.
What I feel for Raffael goes beyond the thrill of sex. He stole a piece of my heart and replaced it with his brand—a scarring, indelible mark that seems permanent.
“You can’t share this with anyone.” I raise my gaze to hers, wiping my running nose on my wrist like a Neanderthal. “Their father still has a lot of criminal?—”
“Don’t worry. Raffael gave me the same speech. And I’m not exactly free of implication to rat on him anyway.”
That chasm becomes a gorge. “Why?”
She shrugs. “When I noticed you were missing my impulse control called in sick and violence took the wheel.”
“Explain,” I demand.
“It’s nothing. I just broke into Raffael’s car, waited for him to slide inside, then held a syringe to his neck and threatened to sedate him permanently if he didn’t tell me where you were.”
“Quinn,” I shriek.
“Don’t worry.” She waves me away, utterly unbothered. “Raffael and I came to an understanding. He knows I’ll keep my mouth shut if that’s what’s best for you. And he’s well aware his secrets will be made public if I go missing.”
“And Eliseo… what about him? Do you think involving the cops is a bad idea?”
“Iacknowledgeyou can’t go to them without putting the Cavallo lineage under scrutiny.” She hesitates. “But I’m also Team Isla, which makes me biased in wanting their entire bloodline eradicated for what you went through. So it’s best if you think this through on your own.”
I groan. “I don’t know what to do. If I don’t tell the authorities then Eliseo will get away with what he did.”
“Oh, sweetie, he’s definitely not getting away with anything.” A slow smirk tilts her lips. “I’ve spent the last eighteen hours brainstorming consequences that don’t involve the justice system, and I promise you he’s not going to like any of them.”
Chapter
Thirty-Four
RAFFAEL
Quinn stridesinto my boardroom in a tailored suit, hair pulled tight, every inch the self-appointed executioner. Isla trails behind her, softer, smaller, white blouse drowned beneath the cream blazer and skirt that hang off her like she’s shed twenty pounds of spirit.
It’s been three days of radio silence. My calls unanswered. My texts unopened.
Isla left me to stew in a slow boil of turmoil, losing my mind one hour at a time until a formal email broke the drought—Quinn requesting a meeting.
They sit side by side in front of my position at the head of the table, Quinn’s posture authoritative and refined while I internally bleed at how Isla’s structural integrity matches that of a wounded sloth.
Exhaustion clings to her features. The pallor of her skin a paler shade of her usual exuberance.
“Thanks for taking the time,” Quinn states firmly as if impersonating a high-priced lawyer. “As you know, we’re here to discuss terms regarding the current situation. I’ll be speaking on Isla’s behalf.”
“She can’t speak for herself?” I raise a brow, another nail hammering itself into my guilt-riddled coffin.
Isla keeps her gaze averted, denying me eye contact no matter how loud I mentally demand it.