CHAPTER 17
DOMENICO
I paced the study, fingers curled around the whiskey tumbler like it was the only thing tethering me to sanity. The call had been dragging on for almost twenty minutes, but Roman was still going on about the shipment delays in Colombia.
“—and I told them, if the crates don’t arrive by the fifteenth, we pull out entirely,” Roman’s voice crackled through the phone.
“Mmm,” I murmured, letting my gaze drift toward the large window facing the driveway. I hadn’t been paying attention—not until I saw her.
Maureen.
She was stepping out of a sleek black car, laughing at something that bastard was saying. Andre.
The same man from the office. The one who hugged her like he owned a memory of her skin. I had filed his face into the part of my brain labeled problem—and now her
