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“Mmhmm. Give me a few minutes and I’ll feed you.”
I slid my hand down to her lower stomach, splaying my fingers wide. “What did you have for lunch?”
Her breath stuttered. It was quick, and if I hadn’t been holding her, I wouldn’t have noticed. But I had noticed, and once again, I went alert.
“A terrible curry chicken sandwich at this café near Rossi. I’ll have to check what the name was so you can make sure you never eat there.”
Reaching around her, I turned off the stove. Saoirse yelped when I spun her to face me.
“Yeah, that’s bullshit.”
Her mouth fell open. “What? I don’t—”
I tapped her lips. “You don’t lie. You’re really bad at it. You’re lying to me now, and I want to know why.” She tried to turn her head, but I caught her chin, keeping her in place, so she clamped her mouth shut. “Are you really going to do this? I’m standing in front of you, telling you Iknowyou’re keeping something from me, and you’re—”
“I promised Clara,” she snapped. “Okay? I promised her I wouldn’t say anything.”
Taking her hand in mine, I dragged her out of the kitchen and pulled her with me to the den. This was where she was comfortable. Where she relaxed.
If she was going to go back on her promise—and she was—it would happen here, where everything was soft and away from the hot stove and sharp knives in the kitchen.
“Luca, I can’t do this. Talk to Clara. I’m going to finish dinner.”
She started to rise, but I tugged her right back down, holding both her hands in mine.
“No. I could give a fuck about dinner. Clara shouldn’t have put you in this position and she knows it. You know it too. I don’t know why you would agree to lie for her—”
“She’s your sister.” Saoirse yanked her hands out of mine and folded her arms over her chest. My pretty girl was pissed, but she had to have known it would come down to this.
Still, I softened at her reasoning. Saoirse understood the importance of family in the same way I did. Her willingness to go above and beyond to help Clara simply because she was my sister affected me on a visceral level. It made me want to take this woman in my arms and hold her and tell her not to worry about anything. That she could keep her secrets and continue with her lies without explanation.
But that would never happen.
I could let a lot of things slide, but lying wasn’t one of them.
“I appreciate you’re trying to protect and help Clara, but she was out of line to ask you to keep something from me. You don’t come between a husband and wife. Clara was wrong to do that. I need you to talk to me, Saoirse. No more lies.”
For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to tell me. Her teeth clamped down hard on her bottom lip, and her gaze shifted to the side, to the ceiling, to my balled hands, until finally, it landed on me.
“Clara asked me to talk to Miller. I had lunch with him today. I really did eat a terrible curry chicken sandwich.”
Closing my eyes, I released a slow exhale so I didn’t allow my anger to get the better of me before deciding just how pissed to be and where to aim it.
“Why did you have lunch with Miller?”
Her fingers flexed on her arms. “She is afraid he’s cheating on her, but of course you know that. But something else happened. Miller opened a secret credit card in his assistant’s name and used it to send flowers and a book to this woman in Tennessee. Clara didn’t want you to know. She was afraid you would kill him.”
“He’s fucking someone in Tennessee?”
I would kill him. I absolutely would. If not with my bare hands, then I would make use of one of Elliot’s shadowy contacts. I didn’t know for a fact that he knew hit men, but I would be surprised if he didn’t know how to hire one.
And Miller would fucking die if he hurt Clara. If he stepped out on her, he would wake up with his shriveled dick in his mouth. He should have known better than to fuck with a Rossi. Clara might have wanted peace and a nonviolent resolution, but we weren’t the same in that regard.
Saoirse quickly shook her head. “No. I don’t believe he is. I think—” She sucked in a deep breath. “Obviously, I’m not a mental health professional, but I left our lunch with the impression Miller is stressed to the point that he’s unwell. And I don’t really know how to pinpoint why I think this, except something was off. More than his worries over Clara leaving him.”
I gnashed my molars down, clenching my jaw. This wasn’t the time for me to say all the filth running through my mind. Saoirse had a tender heart. She was worried about his mental health. All I cared about was my family—and as far as I was concerned, from here on out, that did not include Miller.
“Do you have the name of the woman in Tennessee?”
