Damian Fairchild took in her uneasy expression before speaking again in a low voice, "Is he Cian?"
Seraphina Quinn's fingers tightened slightly, but her expression quickly returned to normal.
She stared unblinkingly at Damian Fairchild and said angrily, "Can we please not talk about that disgusting scumbag? Isn't he supposed to be dead and buried?"
Damian Fairchild clenched his jaw. "A sly rabbit has three burrows. He's spent more than a decade navigating the criminal underworld without a scratch. How could he possibly die so easily?"
Seraphina Quinn hadn't expected that Damian Fairchild had long suspected that the man who died wasn't Cian at all.
Or rather, that Damian had long been suspicious of Willis York's identity.
Yet, she didn't know why she was so unwilling to tell him that Cian was, in fact, Willis York.
She didn't know what she was conflicted about, or perhaps, what she was running from and what she feared.
