Page 44 of Finn

I sit back casually in my seat, keeping my ball cap low across my forehead. “I didn’t tell her, but she’d understand. She knows how important it is to find Cataldi.”

“Yeah. Wives are always understanding of their husbands watching a bunch of naked women dance around.”

I roll my eyes but keep my posture as casual as possible.

One of the bleach-blonde dancers comes over to our table and trails her hand over my shoulder and down my chest, stopping before she reaches my belt.

“How about a private dance, honey? Your friend can come too if he wants.”

Her fingers tease the waist of my pants, and I gently remove her hand from my body.

“Maybe later,” I say, not meaning it in the least, but not wanting her telling the other girls we aren’t interested. It’s strange that the best way to call attention to yourself in a club like this isn’t getting a lap dance but turning one down.

“Okay, I’ll be back. Maybe I’ll bring a friend with me.”

I smile, and she saunters off in her sky-high heels.

“How long do you think we should stay?” I ask Cillian.

“If we don’t spot him in the next couple hours, we’ll head to the casino, and I’ll pull up some footage from around the club. My source left for the night, but she didn’t see him leave.”

Cillian has a decent computer setup at his place. But I sank a shit ton of money into the one at the club, and I may have had a talented hacker friend of mine come in and open a few back doors that get me into the BPD camera feeds. I don’t want to start banging on doors, but I don’t want to sit here all night either. The problem with this club not being affiliated with our organization is we don’t have the same allowances afforded to us. They wouldn’t hesitate to call the cops if I made a scene.

“Fucking Cataldi. I can’t wait till we get rid of this guy. He’s seriously fucking with my plans,” I mumble.

Cillian just sips his beer and leans farther back in his chair.

Looks like I’m in for a long night with the wet blanket sitting next to me.

Chapter twelve

Alessia

Finn didn’t come home last night, and there was no text or missed call from him to tell me he was staying out all night. When I woke this morning and felt the cold sheets on his side of the bed, my heart sank into my stomach. Don’t overthink this, Alessia.

My brain is saying one thing, but the memories I have of late nights waiting for Orlando to come home after telling me to meet him at his apartment flip through my head like a movie reel. So many nights wasted waiting for a man who found a better offer at some bar or strip joint he was at. Of him always coming home and being surprised to find me in his apartment because he was so high or drunk he’d forgotten we’d made plans. I should have left, should have stopped returning his calls, but I was barely nineteen and so, so naive. Every time he promised nothing happened, I believed him. He said all the right things and when I pushed back, he found a way to make me think I was the crazy one for not believing him. When that stopped working, he resorted to other measures to keep me quiet and under his thumb.

I wasn’t a stupid girl by any stretch, but Orlando had a way with words and apologies. Fucking prick.

My phone rings, jarring me out of my memories.

Grabbing it from the bedside table, I see Gemma’s name flash on the screen.

“Hey,” I answer, not trying to hide my maudlin mood from my best friend.

“Uh-oh. What’s going on?”

I haven’t really talked to Gemma about the attraction that had been developing for my husband over the last few weeks. Gemma isn’t the type to cast judgment, but I was still a little embarrassed. I’ve spent the last ten years swearing off any man who was a part of this world, only to start falling for the first one I spoke more than three sentences to outside of the occasional party my parents had with the rest of the families. Not only that, but this was supposed to be a business arrangement, not a love match. Hell, Finn and I barely knew each other when we said our vows. But he was right when he said there was some spark there the first time we met, even though I didn’t want to admit it to myself.

“I think I made a huge mistake,” I grumble into the phone.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, sweetie.”

“I slept with him,” I whisper.

“With Finn?”

“Of course. Who else would we be talking about?”

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