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Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I ask, “Is that why you never remarried?”
“That’s why my wife is dead,” he answers quietly. “Marco got his hands on her while we were engaged. I kept her hidden, but I couldn’t stop taking assignments. It would look suspicious. I wanted the men who helped him find her and used her while I was gone.”
Shit. I never knew it was because of some stupid tradition. I’ll set the world on fire before Marco can touch Valentina.
He leans over the table, fists white. “I assume that’s why you’re here. You want to take them down. Whatever it is, I’m in.”
Nodding, I glance out over the bar for onlookers. “We’re going after them, but I need something first.”
He smirks. “It’ll cost you.”
“I’ll pay with a favor.” Gabe sits up straight; he knows this is serious. “I need you to let everyone know where I am. Sound the alarm.”
He falls back against the booth, eyes wide. “You want the hits to find you? You barely survived, Quinn.”
He’s not wrong. I still have nightmares about the blood under his body. But it’s part of the plan.
“Trust me,” I say, winking. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Your plans usually suck,” he gripes. “Does your sister know about this?”
I slam back his drink, wincing at the afterburn. “It was her idea.”
“That explains it.” Signaling the bartender, he asks, “What do you want me to say?”
Sliding him the USB, I grin. “Already covered. You just send it out and let us handle the rest.”
“If you die,” he begins, quietly, “I will not carry that on my conscience.”
I snort. “Please. Like I’d die right after finding the love of my life? Ye of little faith.” Or however that goes.
Gabe hands off his empty glass to a server, exchanging it for two full ones. I’m impressed he does it without uttering a single word.
“Be careful, kid,” he mutters, lips hovering over the rim of his tumbler. Kid, really? “If you survive the hits, you’ll still have Scipione to contend with. And no matter what you think of him, he’s smart. He won’t let Valentina go without a fight.”
I smirk, clinking my glass to his. “Good thing I’m ready for one.”
Because no one is taking my wife from me.
No one.
31
VALENTINA
Briar slumps in his chair, swinging back and forth, as the screen on his laptop runs some program I don’t understand. The lime-colored numbers dance across the screen so quickly, it’s enough to make someone dizzy.
His black tank top shows off his pale shoulders and the various scars from a life on the run. Running my hands over his skin, he shudders under my touch, reclining to allow better access.
He’s so receptive.
He should sleep, but my husband loves to run scenarios. Only a few days together, and I’ve witnessed his recklessness, but that’s only a part of who he is. He’s a thinker—a worrier. He relaxes only when he has every route mapped, and every result keyed in.
I wrap my hands around his neck, tilting his chin high. My lips lower over his, caressing them into a soft kiss that draws a groan from deep within his chest. Those are my favorite.
Everything is so new with him. A rushed wedding, barely any dating, but it’s as if we’ve known each other our entire lives. Fate put us together because this was always meant to be. I’m constantly exploring what makes him tick, moan, or smile—and yet, it’s as natural as breathing to touch, hold, or tease him.
Pulling back, I lick my bottom lip, signing, “How’s it going?”
