Page 54 of Point of No Return

“Sometimes they exchange paperwork. Most of the deals take place at his office though.”

“I need you to figure out what kind of deal they’re making.”

“That would mean I’d probably have to break into his office. I don’t-”

“You wouldn’t have tobreak intoanything if you had gained his trust already.”

“He’s not-”

“Whatever it takes…” Her voice is sharp, shutting down any further conversation, as she takes a slow sip of her drink. “You haven’t forgotten, Lottie, have you?”

My shoulders slump forward in near-defeat. “What are you looking for, Moma? You made an agreement with Tyson. Shouldn’t…”

When a bartender walks by, I quiet, taking a deep breath before I swallow a sip of my own drink. My mother smiles, continuing to swirl her glass before looking at me again.

When the bartender passes, I continue, “If you both agreed, shouldn’t there be a contract or… or something to ensure he holds up his end of the bargain?”

Eva’s eyes are dark as she sweeps her long black hair over her shoulder. The movement sends a wave of her expensive perfume wafting toward me, the scent cloying like sweet fruit and wine.

“I don’t know where Tyson keeps the contract. Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. If we got what we wanted in the first place, there would be no reason to do this.”

There would be no reason to kill them.

But that’s just it. This marriage has been years in the making and yet it was still a bargain my mother couldn’t win. The knowledge is both a hindrance and a comfort. Maybe my mother did everything she could to save me from this marriage…

Or maybe this was her plan all along.

Either way, stealing from the Benenatis will be only the first of a long list of grievances.

I sigh, doing my best not to let my irritation show. “So, I figure out what’s going on between Omenin and Teams. What else?”

She hums contentedly, gently pinching the apple of my cheek as her eyes wander over me. “I’d like to think that you’ll find a way to get close to your husband, dear. Because I’d hate to take matters into my own hands.” She gently pets my face, smiling sweetly. “Things just get so messy that way. And your dear father has worked so hard to make the arrangements for when we’re finished here.”

I hate the sour taste that fills my mouth at her words. I hate the guilt that builds in my gut and the fear that makes my throat tighten. We both know just howmessythings can get when she takes matters into her own hands, and the scar on my shoulder throbs at the reminder. The Prevyain at the races would be nothing compared to the hell my mother could dredge up.

“All in due time,” she tells me, patting my hand as she waves down the passing bartender again. “Another paloma for my daughter. And anything else she desires.”

Wordlessly, she opens the sparkling diamond clutch she brought with her and slides a bill toward the bartender. When he disappears down the bar to make my drink, she reaches into my lap and squeezes my hand one last time. As she does it, I feel the familiar weight of another trinket meet my palm, and my mother stands.

“Don’t you ever forget why you’re here, Lottie.” She turns, strolling down the length of the bar just as the bartender returns with a newly chilled glass.

The rim is decorated with a red sugar rim, and a thick red syrup sits on top of the drink. The only thing I can think of as the thin trails of red fall into the drink is blood.

By the time the car arrives to take me to dinner, I am thoroughly wiped. My mother’s warning echoes in my head, a firm reminder of what I have to be:“You are whatever they want you to be.”

I’d like to think that I’ve done a good job of pretending, but the truth is staring me down. I’ve gotten distracted. I’ve forgotten the plan. I haven’t pushed enough. If I can’t get my husband to trust me, then I’ll have to take other drastic measures.

Breaking into my husband's office won’t be a problem.

When the SUV appears in front of the country club, I’m surprised to see it’s Crew who holds the door open for me. He’s wearing a pair of khaki cargo pants and a black henley and boots, and though I only spot a single pistol at his hip, his presence alone is somewhat alarming.

I quirk a brow as he shifts his weight, motioning me toward the dark car interior. “What did I do to warrant a visit this time?”

He lifts his hands in mock-surrender. “I was asked to personally work detail tonight.” I smile as I take a seat and buckle myself inside. Skar is noticeably absent, and Crew chuckles as he holds onto the door, peering in at me. “After your run-in with a knife last time and all.”

So we’re meeting at the races then.

The memory of our first visit wanders back to me. I haven’t paid much attention to the scar that’s been permanently carved into my shoulder. The thin silver straps of my dress tonight barely cover the thick rope of skin, and my attention is drawn to it for only a moment before I respond.

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