Page 10 of Finn

Cillian and I stand from the couch, and Alessia walks straight to Cillian, leans in, and kisses both his cheeks. “So nice to meet you, Finnegan,” she says, batting her thick eyelashes at my lieutenant.

I clear my throat. “I’m Finnigan, that’s Cillian,” I inform her with a smirk on my face. As if I don’t know exactly what she’s doing.

“Oh,” she says with a light laugh and backs away from my uncomfortable-looking lieutenant. “I’m so sorry. All you Irish boys look the same to me.”

“Alessia,” her mother admonishes. “Don’t be rude to our guests. Finnegan is going to be your husband.”

“Please, call me Finn,” I say to Lilliana.

Alessia rolls her eyes, and a tinkling laugh follows. I shouldn’t like the sound of it so much, especially considering she just tried to emasculate me and the entire male side of the Irish population.

“I was kidding, Mama. I’m sure Finn knows that.” She shoots me a saccharine smile and tilts her head. “But the husband part hasn’t been decided on, now has it?”

Mario hands Alessia a scotch, and she nods her thanks.

“Yes, yes, we’ll discuss all of that after dinner, my dear. No need to keep the cook waiting.” Mario holds his hand out for his wife and leads her out of the room.

Being the gentleman no one has ever accused me of being, I do the same with Alessia and place her hand in the crook of my arm.

“Sorry you don’t have a companion this evening, Cillian. Next time, I’ll be sure to have one of my cousins here,” Alessia says.

“Will she have a hard time telling us apart like you pretended to? It might get awkward seeing one of your family members kiss your husband.”

“I would never be jealous over a man. Besides, I’m sure by then I’ll remember which of you is which.” The smile she sends isn’t cold, but it is challenging.

“Are you trying to make yourself as unappealing as possible to me, sweetheart?” I ask in a low voice.

“You know as well as I do, my face could be covered with hairy moles, and you would still find the idea of marriage to me enticing. It isn’t me you’re after, but the power my father can offer you.”

I keep the surprised look off my face, but to realize she knows the parameters of this deal her father is offering takes me by surprise.

“We don’t have to be enemies. That doesn’t exactly make for a happy marriage.”

Alessia’s shrewd green eyes study me as she considers my statement. “We don’t have to be friends either, and happiness is overrated.”

She stops behind her chair, and I pull it out for her.

“That’s your call, sweetie. Just remember, we’re both getting something out of this deal and if you continue, I may not be so inclined to sign a marriage contract.”

Fuck, I’m beginning to wonder if Cillian was on to something with his warning during the drive here. I always assumed Mafia princesses were raised to be meek and gentle, not whatever this is. Her comments aren’t untrue or outright mean, more like she’s a little resentful she’s in this position to begin with.

We all have a seat at the large table adorned with a stunning centerpiece of fresh flowers and plates of meat and cheeses in front of us. Between the baroque wallpaper and ornate crystal chandelier, I’m beginning to sense a theme throughout the house, and it’s one that screams old money. I’m not poor by any stretch of the imagination, but my family comes from humble beginnings. It’s more than apparent the Amattos do not.

One of their staff members fills each of our glasses with red wine while we nibble on the assortment in front of us.

Alessia’s mother takes the opportunity to regale the table with stories about what a sweet girl her daughter was growing up and how she loved to dance and sing and chase after her brother. I don’t ask where Giovanni is. He died nearly ten years ago. So many rumors circulated over the cause of his death—he owed a rival family money and was shot when he refused to pay, a lovers’ quarrel, maybe a secret relationship that ended badly. The rumors are endless. Mario remained quiet on the subject at the time, so stories ran rampant. I never delved into it myself since it didn’t have anything to do with my family.

After the meat and cheeses are cleared, a delicious-smelling pasta is laid before us. Jesus. I would gain a hundred pounds in a year if I ate like this every day.

“My mother’s recipe,” Lilliana says.

I take a bite and groan in appreciation. “Absolutely delicious.”

“I’ll make sure Alessia has my old recipe book when she moves into your house.”

A tight smile forms on my lips. “Well, according to Alessia, that hasn’t been decided yet.”

Mario waves his hand. “We’ll discuss all of this after dinner. No need to worry about business when we’re in the middle of our meal.”

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