Page 39 of Beautiful Sinners

“She was at the same school as us in Switzerland,” Hendrix pipes in from the seat in front of me.

Only the male children of the Council were allowed to attend the exclusive Swiss boarding school. Daughters were expected to attend an all-girls school in Connecticut.

“Oh?” I reply, hoping to sound casual as that familiar green-eyed flicker of jealousy tries to worm its way out into the open.

Hendrix winks at me over his shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no.”

“Andie’s birth mother was a McCarthy, but they disowned her when she married Maximillian Rossi,” Evan says and slows the vehicle to turn into what looks like a parking garage.

I hold my hands in a T for time out. “Thank you but I’ll forgo the genealogy lesson for now. You can fill me in later once my brain doesn’t feel like it’s been tossed in a blender.”

It’s almost four in the morning, and I’m dead tired, sore, and in need of a gallon of coffee.

The SUV stops at an understory guard station, and we’re greeted by several men who are clearly packing weapons under their shirts.

If Cillian is Irish mafia and Andie is also a McCarthy, then… good grief. Are all my relations in the mob?

Evan’s window lowers with a quiet whir as two guys approach the Escalade carrying upside-down mirrors on long poles.

“They’re checking for bombs and tracking devices. We may be asked to step outside for a pat down.”

I meet Evan’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Seriously?”

Tristan tenses beside me when a terrifying-looking brickhouse of a man leans down and braces his tree trunk arms on the driver’s side door. His face is slashed with scars, and tattoos run up his neck and swirl around the back of his shaved head. His stone-cold gaze briefly flicks to me.

“She’s waiting for you,” the man says with a thick Russian accent.

“Thanks, Pearson.”

What an odd name for such a menacing brute.

“Holy shit,” Hendrix says as we drive forward and pull into a parking space near the elevators.

“Pearson is ex-bratva and Declan’s right-hand man. And FYI, he and Declan are together.”

Together?Oh. They’re lovers. Got it.

A light somewhere above us flickers and creates a strobe effect inside the car. The flashes also bring to attention two more men standing guard outside the elevator.

I peel myself from Tristan’s side and look out the window. Nothing but concrete and empty parking spaces.

“A skyscraper in the middle of the city isn’t where I would expect a mafia kingpin to live.”

Evan shuts the engine off, twists in his seat, and peers back at me. “Declan isn’t mafia. He’s an arms dealer. Andie is a bit of both. Her husbands used to work for Maximillian Rossi… you know what? It would be easier for her to explain things.”

Husbands? As in plural? Surely, I misheard him, but apparently not because Tristan says, “I thought she just got married to Keane Agosti.”

“She did, but she’s also married to Jaxson West, Liam Connelly, and Rafael Ortiz. Open ceremony. Not exactly legal, but—” Evan blows out a breath. “I’m shutting up now.”

I gawk at him, then raise eyebrows at Hendrix when a wicked smile glimmers to life on his gorgeous face.

“No,” I preempt whatever crazy thought he’s having.

Marriage is something I’ve never allowed myself to think about. And from the examples I saw growing up, not something I ever wanted. The wives in the Society were expected to look pretty, spread their legs when summoned, pop out a legitimate heir along the way, and turn a blind eye to the copious affairs their husbands were having. My parents were the exception. Or so I thought untilthat night. The fight they had in front of me right before the bullets started flying, the things they said without coming right out and saying them, makes me wonder what secrets they were keeping from me. Papa had hidden me away in Ireland. He’d accused Mama of betraying him. He insinuated that she was willing to trade my life for… what, I have no idea.

Evan opens the car door and gets out.

“Ready?” I ask Tristan.

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