The fire truck breezes past us at the top of the hill. Aleksandr executes a U-turn and drives calmly down the road, away fromthe Irish rathole behind us. The rest of my men spread out in anonymous, mismatched vehicles of their own, vanishing into thenight like we were never even here.
“The day of the—the event…” Aleks ventures, carefully avoiding any mention of the word “wedding,” which has becomeforbidden terminology in the two weeks since it happened. “… Vittorio was pissed that Bee was taking so long. He stormedinto her bridal suite while she was in the bathroom. I caught him in there trying to intimidate Wren. She was convinced that hewasn’t buying her surrogacy story.”
“What did he say to her?”
Aleksandr’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I don’t know, brother
