Well, fuck.
My face didn't move. Years of bartending for rich assholes who thought tipping was optional had given me a decent poker face. But my ears? Traitors. They got hot.
"I see." She sipped her vodka. "And which one was it?"
"With all due respect—"
"Ah." She gave a small nod. "You don't know."
I blinked. Wait, what?
Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "My daughters are identical quadruplets, Mr. Angelo. And while they each have... cultivated their differences, I wonder if you could truly tell them apart in the dark."
Something cold slithered down my spine. The implication hung in the air between us.
"Mrs. Valentine, I—"
"You care about them." It wasn't a question. "That's the problem."
I didn't deny it.
"That makes you dangerous," she continued. "More dangerous than some fortune-hunter who only wants their money. Money can be protected with contracts. Hearts are messier."
