Page 33 of Protecting His Finch

“Do you drink tea?” she asks. “Chamomile?”

“That sounds great.”

She has an electric tea kettle, and she puts it on. It takes only minutes for the thing to bubble and steam, and she fixes us two mugs. They’re both ceramic, handmade, and mine says “World’s Best Aunt” with a hand-painted flower on the side.

I clutch the mug and let the steam heat my face.

“Thank you,” I say. “Again.”

Tasha sits across from me. Her eyes are serious but not unfriendly. “Girl, I love you, but you know you’re going to have to give me some answers.”

I open my lungs with a deep breath. “Okay. So. You know how…I said my parents died and left me an orphan?” She nods. “Well…it’s a little more complicated. Yes. They died. But I was adopted. By a…pretty famous family.”

“Like the Kardashians?”

“No. Like…the Rossis.”

She squints. “Like…mob boss, Godfather shit, Catherine Rossi?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

She lets out a heavy sigh and rolls her shoulders. “Christ, Fin,” she says. “You really went and took family drama to the next level, huh?”

And then I spill. I tell her everything. I tell her about how my father was a drunk and a gambler, how he got us involved with the Rossi family. I tell her about how Catherine Rossi ordered a hit on my father and then, when she found me, adopted me into her fold (I skip the fact that Archer was the one to complete the hit—that feels like a small, necessary detail to leave out). I tell her about Raphael, how he’s been pining for me for years, the proposal and the fallout. I skip quickly over details about the cellar—talking about that still makes my skin crawl. But I confess how I attacked Raphael out of self-defense and how Archer whisked me away. And then the hotel, and Jacobi, and—

“And now we’re here. At your mercy. Literally.”

My tea is no longer steaming, but it’s untouched. When I finally take a sip, it’s gone lukewarm.

Tasha is quiet as she considers everything I’ve told her. “You’ve gotten into a hell of a mess,” she says.

“I know. And I understand if you want us to leave. We’re…the people after us…they’re dangerous. The last thing I want to do is get you tangled up in this. That’s why I’ve kept you in the dark until now. I just…” I can feel tears smarting the backs of my eyes. I bite into my bottom lip and force myself to hold it together. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

Tasha’s shoulders soften at that. She lets out a sigh.

“My parents are out of town for two weeks,” she tells me.

“We won’t be here that long.”

She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Fin. Your family—your real family—is right here, okay? You stay here as long as you need.”

Tasha and I stay up a little longer, sipping tea and talking in the soft, nighttime shadows of her kitchen.

Eventually, she leads me back upstairs. She’s stuck Archer in her room, and now she gets me set up in her sister’s room next to his. She gives me a towel, an extra comforter, and shampoo. “We’re down the hall if you need anything,” she says. “Anything at all.”

When she closes the door, I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, clutching the bath towel in my lap, and stare at the wall. I don’t know this room—nothing about it is familiar. Yet I feel more comfortable here than I ever did in my own room at the Rossi estate.

When I cry, it’s happy tears, not sad ones.

19

FINLEY

Archer sleeps through the night and most of the next day.

I help Tasha around the house. I try to make myself useful. Sid is kind but quiet and mostly keeps to himself. I check in on Archer periodically. Sometimes, I touch my fingers to his mouth just to make sure he’s still breathing.

When the evening hits, I help Tasha make dinner. The root vegetables we’re cooking with are straight out of her garden, and my knees and hands are dirty from picking them. Tasha tells me she’s got it from here, so I decide to take a quick shower before dinner.

---