Page 101 of Forbidden Romeo

“Jack Duffy! I was wondering when you’d finally call.” A silky voice comes down the line, and my eyes narrow on instinct. I’m glad he can’t see me.

“I think it’s about time we had a chat,” I say, equally casually. “Don’t you think, Arnie?”

I hear the Italian chuckle. “I know just the place.”

***

The place in question turns out to be a quiet dive bar in Lenox Hill. Not usually the kind of place I’d go under my own steam. But if anyone bothered to track me as I left the Duffy mansion after my performance yesterday, it shouldn’t be too hard to convince them I was getting blackout drunk somewhere I wasn’t likely to be recognized.

Still, I do a perimeter check before I enter. No one pays particular attention to me strolling through the streets of New York with a cigarette in hand. A picture, I hope, of unperturbed casualness that hides the fact every brain cell in my mind is occupied with keeping the dread at bay.

Coming alone probably wasn’t the smartest move, but it was the most strategic. In this game, knowledge is power, and there are too many advantages to gaining exclusive information. Padraic may have caught me off guard atLuckies,but I’m going to make damn sure I leavethisconversation with something I can barter with if it happens again.

I stub out the cigarette, already regretting the dry, ashy taste in my mouth, and head inside.

The interior is as unassuming as the exterior. It’s midday, yet the lighting is low, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. The bartender looks more interested in watching football on the monitor behind him than attending to his customers—who are either slumped at the bar watching with him or nursing drinks in one of the leather booths.

The latter is where I find Arnie sitting alone, already halfway through a bottle of nondescript beer.

He shoots me a cocky grin as I take a seat across from him. “You look different,” he says without missing a beat.

“Do I?”

“Roisin must be treating you well.”

Right. “You want to get into this now?”

Arnie shrugs casually. “Well, you did kidnap my fiancé, so I think we probably should.” He waves over to the barmen and indicates for him to bring over two more beers.

“You don’t seem too concerned,” I say, watching him closely. His relaxed posture hardly screams that he gives a fuck. But I don’t know enough about this guy to lower my guard just yet.

“I know you know it’s in your best interest to keep her safe,” he replies. “But I won’t lie to you; my reputation is at risk if I let you go through with the wedding.”

There it is, the bite I was waiting for. This is a man perfectly in control of himself. Nothing about him gives away his frustration, yet his words are clearly calculated. I’d be willing to bethisanger is icy cold. Perhaps Aimee would be better off marrying him after all. Safer.

The rage I thought I’d stifled flickers again—hotter, more defensive.MyAimee.

Except… Arnie didn’t say that Aimee was his fiancé. He said he’s engaged toRoisin.Padraic might not be able to tell them apart but Connor certainly can. There’s no reason he’d give Arnie Roisin’s name unless…

… Unless Aimee was never meant to marry Arnold Knight.

“Rumor has it, Connor is marrying off his sister to secure the deal."The rumor never specified which sister. I just jumped to conclusions. Shit. The relief comes out of nowhere and I’m blindsided for a second.

The barman places two bottles down in front of us, and I take the moment to recompose myself.This doesn’t change anything, for me at least. The real Roisin, however, might have something to say about it.

When the barman’s finally out of earshot, I reply. “Are you threatening me?”

“Less of a threat, more of a fact,” he says, downing his first beer and moving on to the next. “Roisin is my intended; that’s a fact. What I’maskingis how you intend to fix this.”

I lean forward a little and let him see howIplay the game. “Have you considered that I’m not the person you should be talking to? Roisinchoseme. Not you, not Connor. Me. I’m not going to sit here and discuss her choices when they aren’t mine to make.”

Arnie’s mouth curls into a smile, and he sits back in his seat. “You seem confident that she’d deny my advances.”

I do my best impression of Kate assessing the men whose hopes she’s about to dash before replying, “Have you seen me?”

There’s a brief pause before Arnie lets out a laugh and clinks my bottle with his. It’s an odd sensation to be so cordial with the enemy, but I seem to be making a habit of it these days. I drink as he does, trying not to wince at the taste of alcohol. Hair of the dog and all that.

“It seems,” Arnie says after a moment, “We have a lot in common, you and I.”

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