Page 30 of Finn

“I don’t need to do anything you tell me,” I shoot back, my voice full of defiance as I stomp up the stairs and open the door. I attempt to slam it in his face, but the man is quick and stops it from closing with his booted foot.

“That wasn’t a request, Alessia. Get your ass in the kitchen.”

There has never been a time in my life when I was so fucking angry I felt like my head was about to explode from pure rage. I’ve heard people talk about being that angry. I’ve even been worried watching the vein in the side of my father’s temple pulse when he was mad, but never in my life have I felt the kind of white-hot rage I do at this moment.

Instead of ignoring him and going to my room, I stomp after him and stop in the dimly lit kitchen, watching as he pulls out the ice tray from the glossy black refrigerator. He tosses it on the white marble countertops with a jarring clatter in the otherwise silent space then grabs two bags from the drawer, setting them next to the trays. He loudly slams the drawer shut before filling the bags with ice. If he doesn’t have any sense of self-preservation then who am I to save him from this argument? He has yet to acknowledge my presence in the kitchen, instead tending to his swollen hand, and I’ve had just about enough of being ignored when he was the one who demanded I follow him in here.

I slap both of my hands on the center island dividing us. “I won’t have you throwing your whores in front of my face.”

His gaze flicks to mine before moving back to the bags. “Is that what goomah means?”

My mouth stays clamped shut in a firm line instead of answering. Unfortunately, the daggers I’m staring at him aren’t actually ripping him to shreds where he stands.

“You were somewhere you shouldn’t have been without checking with me or even telling me you were going to one of my establishments.”

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission to leave the house in the first place. Why don’t you tell me all the places I’m not allowed to go. I’ll make a little list and tack it to your forehead!”

“So violent,” he says, handing me the ice pack. I stare at it and then him.

“Take it.” He shakes the bag a couple times. “I know your hand hurts like a bitch.”

Begrudgingly, I grab the baggie from him because he’s right. Breaking that bitch’s nose hurt like hell without boxing gloves.

“We need to get a few things straight.” Finn leans back against the counter with his arms crossed over his broad chest. To any other person, he looks cool and calm, as though we were about to have a discussion about the weather. To me, though, I see a powerful man who is keeping his fury contained just below the surface.

Here goes. This is the part he tells me he can do whatever the hell he wants, and I have no say in the matter. Well, fuck him. If he can do whatever he pleases, then so can I.

“I do not go there to meet my mistresses. I go to the fights to relieve stress.”

“If that’s not where you meet your mistresses, then what was one of them doing there? They obviously know more about where you spend your time than I do. Otherwise, why would she be there?”

“I’d met that woman before we got married.”

“I don’t care where or when you meet your mistress, Finn.” I throw my hands in the air with frustration. Does he honestly think that’s the important detail here? “Let me be very clear. If you think you can screw around with anyone you want, then so can I. I won’t be one of those women who stays locked in the house and makes you a nice home-cooked meal while you walk in smelling like cheap perfume. I’ll have my own life, and if you want to fuck around, then I will too.”

Finn’s eyes turn dark with anger, and the calm facade he kept in place is about to crack right down the middle. Fear lances through me for a moment, worried I just crossed a very serious line. Hell, I know I did. I jumped straight over it, flipping him off as I went.

He walks around the kitchen island and holds my defiant stare with a determined one of his own.

“Let’s get a few things straight.” I open my mouth to interrupt, and he slams his hand over it before I can get a word out. “You will not talk over me. One, that girl is not my mistress. I’ve never touched her or any woman since you and I said our vows. I don’t care if they were made for a business arrangement. They still mean something, and I don’t take that shit lightly. Two, the reason I didn’t want you at the fight wasn’t so you wouldn’t run into a sidepiece that, once again, doesn’t exist. It was because it’s a dangerous place, and if anything happened to you there, I would never fucking forgive myself. I can’t control what other women do, but that is not the place for you or Gemma to spend your time. And three.” He leans closer and his voice drops to an ominous tone I’ve yet to hear from him. “If you ever so much as entertain the thought of having any sort of extramarital affair, wife, I will find the man who has an obvious death wish and make myself his fairy fucking godmother. I will carve the skin from any part of his body that touched you and force him to watch as I dissolve it in acid over and over before I slit his fucking throat.”

My breath stills in my chest as I stare into his eyes, seeing he means every word, every threat.

“Am I clear?”

I nod and he removes his hand from my mouth.

“Good. Now, about the Suzy Homemaker comment,” he begins, and my head spins at the ease with which he changes the subject from committing gruesome acts of violence to me being a housewife. “I never thought of you as the housewife type.”

I give him a flat look.

“Okay,” he says on a chuckle. “When I got to know you a little, I could tell that it didn't interest you. You’re in need of something to do, and I happen to be in need of a casino host.”

I narrow my gaze and study Finn for a few moments. “What happened to the last one?”

“They were caught skimming.”

So they’re dead.

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