Page 6 of Finn

“How can you tell?” I ask, standing from my seat and leaning in to give her a hug.

We both sit and the waitress promptly makes her way over to our table to take Gemma’s drink order. Her ice-blue eyes zero in on my glass of prosecco, and she lifts her brow. “I’ll have the same,” she says, pointing to my glass. The waitress smiles then hurries away.

“You always seem to sit a little taller when you’ve spent the morning shooting. Like the weight of the world isn’t pressing on your shoulders.”

“Am I that stressed out normally?” I ask with a laugh.

“It’s not obvious to everyone else, but I know you too well—you can’t hide it from me.”

I smile at my best friend as the waitress returns with her glass of bubbly, and she takes a sip.

“So, why are we day drinking?” Gemma sets her glass on the table and pins me with her spill-it stare. It’s not as intimidating as she thinks, at least not to me. To the world, she’s a ball-busting beauty with long blonde hair, always perfectly styled in waves down to the middle of her back. When she turns her gaze on any man, they just about drop to their knees, wanting to give her the world. Or they run in the opposite direction because she’s about to verbally cut them off at said knees. With her, it could really go either way, depending on her mood. To me, though, she’s just Gemma, and I love her unconditionally, just like she loves me.

“I need to make a decision about the Irish proposal.”

“The oh-so-romantic one that didn’t involve a ring or even a question from the prospective groom?” Her disdain for what she considers an archaic tradition drips from every syllable.

“That would be the one,” I reply, not wanting to get into all the details of why the proposal makes sense from a business standpoint, not that I could. I’d never talk to an outsider about my family’s dealings. It’s as much for her protection as it is mine.

We both attended Yale, me for a degree in finance and Gemma for marketing. She worked her ass off to be able to afford Yale, working nearly full time and applying for all the financial aid and any small scholarships she could. Coming from a single-mother household, she didn’t have the opportunities afforded to me by my family’s sizable bank account. She never allowed the stigma of growing up poor that some of the rich assholes in our college days tried to attach to her to discourage her in any way. Instead, it made her work that much harder. She didn’t have any sort of backup plan or a rich daddy who was going to hand her a job after graduation. She fought tooth and nail for everything to make ends meet and soar to the top of her class. I’ve always admired her tenacity and the way she attacks every obstacle in front of her. That went a long way in her being the youngest head of marketing for a premier fashion house in Boston.

Gemma and I were assigned as roommates our freshman year, and after deciding dorm life wasn’t for us, we rented a little apartment. She didn’t recognize my last name because my father kept the Amatto name out of the press, unlike the Cataldis. When she first asked about the security I had trailing me between classes, I told her my family was well-off and my father was overprotective. She gave me what I’ve come to know as her signature I know there’s more to the story, but I’ll let it slide look, but she didn’t pry further.

It wasn’t until our second year that I admitted the truth: my father was head of a powerful Mafia family. It could have been the need to be honest with my friend, who had become as close to me as a sister, or it could have been the tequila. I guess we’ll never know, but the next day when I remembered what I told her, I was petrified she’d look at me differently or be one of those weird Mafia-obsessed groupies I used to see around my brother before he passed. Instead, she made us a greasy breakfast and waved off my concerns with a flick of her slim wrist. “Alessia, there aren’t many people who don’t come from families with skeletons in their closets. I’m certainly not about to judge you for yours,” she told me. Since then, I never felt the need to hide anything from her, even if I couldn’t give her every detail about my life.

“Do you ever wish we were back in our apartment and the only things we had to worry about were studying and which party to go to on a Friday night?” I ask, suddenly nostalgic for a simpler time.

She tilts her head back and forth as she sips from her glass. “Sometimes, I suppose. But I’m not the one who has to settle into some arranged marriage for her family’s sake.”

I told Gemma about the proposal with Finn but didn’t go into specific detail. I just explained uniting two powerful families would be beneficial for both of our organizations, and there’s no tighter bond than marriage.

“I never imagined having to make this decision at twenty-eight,” I begin. “I mean, it’s not unusual in my world, but I don’t know, I guess I thought I’d somehow escaped this particular fate.”

Usually, these arrangements were made when the woman was much younger than I am. My father was content to let me use my degree and work alongside him at one of his real estate companies. I never thought he'd be pressuring me now, but then again, no one thought Francesco Cataldi would get sent to prison or that his son would be on the run after trying to take out an MC president and the US attorney who put his old man away.

“Then say no,” she says. “I don’t know what exactly you’re going to gain from this, but if you’re having reservations or you’re scared—”

“I’m not afraid,” I interject, knowing where her line of thinking is headed. The one and only serious relationship I had was with a man who didn’t have the same distaste for violence against women as my father or as the Irish are rumored to possess. No one will ever hurt me like that again. I’ve spent hours in the gym and gun range to make sure of that.

Gemma’s eyes soften, and she reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just hate the thought of you tying yourself to a man because it’ll help with some business deal or something. That’s not a good reason to get married.”

My reasons are definitely bigger than just a business deal, but without divulging the issues my family is having and why, I can’t really explain it to her.

The waitress comes to take our order, and we settle into more neutral topics of discussion.

“So, who’s your flavor of the week?” I ask, joking with Gemma about her love life. She never had a serious boyfriend in college, insisting it wasn’t the time to be tied down to one man when there were so many to choose from. Her thinking has followed her well into her late twenties, and I don’t see it changing anytime soon.

“Well…there’s a new guy at that kickboxing gym down the street from my apartment. Oh my God, Alessia.” She sits back in her chair and dramatically fans herself. “You should see the abs on this guy. And the way he spars? So much intensity and precision. It’s hot as hell.”

Gemma used to join me and Enzo when we trained, and she developed quite the appetite for hand-to-hand combat. And the fighters she would spar with.

“Have you worked your charm on him yet?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “We went out for drinks last week, but I’m playing it cool.”

“So, you didn’t invite him back for a one-on-one demonstration of his skills?”

She clutches her imaginary pearls and gasps in feigned shock. “What kind of woman do you take me for?”

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