“Patrick Ifrinn put his trust in Hampton. Perhaps that’s wrong, but so too is it to live your life in fear. Hampton is no god. You don’t need to bow down to him.”
“I think I’ve had enough,” Mrs. Sullivan says, rising from the table.
“I will say this has been enlightening.” Mr. Sullivan stands as well. Moments later, they have their coats and are walking out the front door. When it closes behind them, my shoulders slump. The dinner was a disaster. I couldn't keep the conversation flowing in a light, friendly manner, couldn't play the perfect wife tonight.
"What happened in there?" Ash's voice cuts through the silence. "You were off your game."
I turn to face him. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix it. We needed the Sullivans on our side. Instead, you’ve pushed them to the Keans.”
He's right. I failed him tonight. Failed us both. "I wasn't feeling well?—”
"Then you should have told me. We could have postponed." His jaw clenches. "Instead, you made us look weak. Already, we look weak after your attack. And now this? The last thing we need right now is for people to question our stability."
Tears prick at my eyes but I blink them back. I won't cry in front of him. Not when he's looking at me with such disappointment.
"You're usually better than this," he continues. "The way you handled the others, we were making progress. But tonight?" He shakes his head. "Tonight, you might as well have told them we're a bunch of pussy wannabe mobsters."
He has some nerve to criticize me for making us look divided while he's been the one pulling away. But I can't tell him that, can't tell him anything that matters.
"I'll do better next time.”
He doesn't respond, just starts loosening his tie with sharp, angry movements. The silence between us feels vast, like we're on opposite sides of an ocean instead of the same room.
“I’ve got work to do,” he finally says as he stalks off to his office.
I trail up the stairs to our bedroom. I shed the emerald dress feeling beyond exhausted. I slip into the bathroom to wash off my makeup. I look pale. My eyes seem empty, as if no one is home.
I put on my nightgown and climb into bed, but sleep is elusive. I don’t know how long I lie there when Ash comes in.Moments later, he slides into bed, careful to stay on his side. The disconnect between us feels physical now, a tangible void that can’t be bridged.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember what it felt like when he would reach for me in the night, when touch between us was natural even if it was void of emotion. I want to get back to that. To when we worked as a team.
I can’t let one dinner party mishap undo all we’ve done. I can fix this. I have to. The Sullivans may have left our dinner party unimpressed, but I refuse to let one bad evening derail everything we've worked for. Ash might be pulling away, but this is one thing I can control.
Tomorrow, I’ll reach out to Mrs. Sullivan, apologizing for my poor health last night and asking if I might stop by sometime. I'll convince Mrs. Sullivan that tonight was a fluke. I'll get us back on track.
I have to. There's too much at stake to fail.
24
ASH
Ipace my office, staring at the latest report from my men. Another dead end. The Keans remain holed up in their fortress, and we're no closer to taking them down than we were a month ago.
My mind drifts to Hannah and how I snapped at her over the Sullivan dinner last night. The guilt gnaws at me. She's been nothing but helpful these past weeks, putting herself at risk to help me achieve my goals. And what did she get for it? A knife to the arm and harsh words from her husband.
The knife attack changed something in her. Hell, it changed something in me too. Running my hand over my face, I recall how withdrawn she's been since the attack. The sparkle in her eyes has dimmed. She moves through the house like a ghost of her former self, going through the motions but clearly troubled. It’s been the fuel for my revenge that has me working practically 24/7. So much so that I’ve missed just how off she is.
I haven’t spent enough time with her lately, so focused on making Kean pay that I’ve neglected her. And last night, angry at myself for not being able to manage the dinner when she clearly wasn’t feeling well, I lashed out at her.
"Fuck," I mutter, dropping into my chair.
My phone buzzes with a text from Phoenix about another potential lead, but I ignore it. Instead, I pull up the security feed showing Hannah in her art room. She's just sitting there, staring at a blank canvas. No energy. No joy. Just existing.
I did this to her. I took this vibrant, passionate woman and reduced her to a shell of herself. Someone who apologizes for having an off night after experiencing trauma.
I need to make this right. Not just because we need her help with the families but because she doesn’t deserve to carry my guilt.
