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There was no point being angry with Dom and calling him names. He wasn't the one who lost a wife; that fucking moron was me.
She'd looked at me when Dom first threatened her, waiting for me to jump in and defend her, and I hadn't. I just sat there when I wanted to pound my fist into Dom's face.
"I don't have any evidence, but I know people, and you were right. She's not involved in her father's business,andI don't think she knows fuck all about Vincent."
"How did you figure that out?" I demanded.
He shrugged. "I could see it. I'm so sorry. I have tunnel vision, you know that. I need to get inside Arsenault's house, into his inner circle. I had no problems using your wife until…"
"Until what?"
"Until she looked like she'd lost fucking everything—all her joy and the light inside her." He rubbed a hand over his chest.
"I don't understand," I said, throwing my hands up in the air. "Why did you keep pushing her, then?"
"Because I can't let white phosphorous get into the hands of any war mongers; especially since, as you’ve noticed, we have a few wars happening around the world. Can you imagine the damage this could do in Ukraine? In Gaza? In Syria? Jesus, Duncan, I see fucking horrors all day, every day, so, I push every advantage I can get." He lifted his hands and rubbed them over his face.
"We're done, Dom. You need something from now on; find someone else to be your errand boy," I said quietly. He was sorry, and I was sorry, but the person who suffered the most was Elsa, and she didn't fucking deserve it.
"What are you going to do?" Dom asked.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
I had no idea what to do. I didn’t know Elsa well enough to tell if her talk of divorce was serious or just said in anger. I didn’t really know my wife at all. If I did, I wouldn’t have doubted her. I’d have known that the only reason she was going in and out of Vincent Arsenault’s house was for an altruistic reason—because that’s who Elsa is.
"You want me to speak with her? Explain this clusterfuck?"
I gaped at him. "You go anywhere near my wife, Dom, I'll gut you. I promise you that."
Dom nodded. "I understand you're pissed. But we need to eyes on Moreau and—"
"Get someone else to do your dirty work," I bellowed. "I am finished with you. Andkeep your hands off Dean as well. He's done working with you. The Archers are finished with whatever the fuck government agency you belong to from whichever country."
Dom frowned. "You know I work for the American government, don't you?"
"No, asshole. And I don't buy it when you say that, because two years ago, you seemed pretty cozy with the Mossad."
He shrugged. "That was just a, well, I can't talk about what that was."
I arched an eyebrow, and he nodded as if understanding that he had so many legends and identities that it was hard for a civilian like me to keep track of who he was and what he did.
After Dom left, I went to the Marais; what the hell else was there to do. I knocked on Elsa's door. I was fully prepared touse the key she gave me. I had no qualms about walking in unannounced, but I'd already fucked up, and I didn't need to add to my sins.
The door opened after just two knocks.
She was in one of her long flower maxi dresses. Her hair was loose, and she looked like a pregnant Goddess who had been crying.
"Baby—"
"I already sent your things to the Ritz," she told me.
"What?"
"Your things? I sent them to the Ritz."
It had been three hours since she was in my office; how the fuck did she manage to do that so quickly.
"I don't care about my things. I want to talk to you."
