Page 32 of Finn

I wasn’t meant to have feelings for my wife. I was meant to have her as a backup if Mario got any bright ideas about double-crossing me. This attraction is a distraction that’s rather inconvenient, especially considering she’s sleeping one floor up. Or maybe she isn’t sleeping. Maybe she’s waiting to see if I’ll come knocking on her door tonight. There was no mistaking the way her pupils dilated when I held my hand over her mouth or the way she leaned just that much closer when our chests were barely touching. What if I had slid my hand lower and held her pretty little neck in my grasp? What if I would have slid it farther still? I can’t help but wonder how far she would have let me take it or if the temptation of being so close had her panties wet.

Knock it off, fucker. You’re just torturing yourself at this point.

After downing the rest of my whiskey, I head up the stairs to my room. When I pass the door of Alessia’s bedroom, I stop for a moment. What would come out of my mouth if I knocked and she opened her door? Would she invite me in or slam it in my face? It could really go either way with her.

Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes and shake myself out of these stupid questions that are sure to plague me the rest of the night. Instead of knocking, I decide to shut myself in my room, head to my bathroom, and turn the shower on. Seems another cold shower is needed in order to get through this night.

When I step inside my gym in the morning, I spot Enzo throwing some combinations at the bag hanging from the ceiling. Alessia still hasn’t come down, but I am early and thought I’d warm up before our scheduled training session. I’m not sure if she’s still willing to work out with me after last night, but seeing Enzo relieves some of the worry.

“Mr. Monaghan,” Enzo says, stepping back from the bag. “Alessia will be down shortly. Thought I’d get started.”

“I had the same idea. And please, call me Finn.”

Enzo nods and begins his routine again.

“About last night,” I begin. “What possessed you to think it was a good idea to bring Alessia and Gemma to the fights? You have to know how dangerous places like that can be for women who come alone.”

He stops punching the bag and turns to face me. “Have you tried telling Alessia she couldn’t do something? Because I have, and it didn’t work out for me. She’ll go on her own if I don’t agree. I realized a long time ago it was safer for her if I didn’t try to stop her from doing something and instead did my job as her bodyguard, Mr. Monaghan.”

I nod a few times, completely understanding why he would have taken that approach. “I just told you to call me Finn.”

“Well, I figured it was because you didn’t think I was going to argue with you. But I work for Alessia and Mr. Amatto, and I take my orders from them. I don’t mean you any disrespect, and I didn’t want you to think I was being too informal when—”

“When you told me to shove it up my ass?” I finish for him.

Enzo chuckles. “I wasn’t going to put it like that.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would’ve. Thank you for looking out for her.”

“It’s my job, Mr.—”

“Finn,” I correct. “And I’m glad she has you. She obviously trusts you, and that means I trust you, too.”

Enzo nods and turns back to the bag, but I’m not done. There really isn’t anyone I can ask about Alessia, considering we’ve never run in the same circles. Besides, what’s a little small talk since we’re the only ones in here this early?

“You’ve been with her a long time?”

“Since she was in high school,” he pants out, never breaking his concentration.

“She must have been a handful in college. That’s where she met Gemma, right?”

Enzo nods but keeps working the bag.

“She have a lot of admirers in college? How did they handle it when they found out her dad was head of a Mafia family?”

“Jesus Christ, Finn. Stop trying to interrogate my bodyguard,” Alessia says as she walks into the room with three cups of disgusting-looking green juice in her hands. “Here,” she hands me one and Enzo the other.

I lean down to smell the concoction before wrinkling my nose.

“Don’t be a baby. It’s good for you, and it doesn’t taste that bad,” Alessia huffs.

Enzo and I share a look that says it’s definitely going to taste that bad. We raise our glasses in a toast, and the three of us chug the contents of the glasses.

Holy shit, it tastes worse than I thought it would. Enzo’s face is nearly the color of the disgusting liquid, and Alessia is wearing a satisfied smile on her face.

“It tastes like fucking gym socks and lemon,” I say, trying not to gag.

Alessia rolls her eyes and collects the empty glasses, setting them on one of the benches.

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