Page 7 of Finn

“The kind that isn’t a buttoned-up prude like you’re pretending to be?”

“Fair,” she replies, and we share a knowing smile. “But no, there was no one-on-one anything. I don’t know; I’d like to feel a connection for once. Maybe get to know a guy before I kick him out of bed the next morning. Maybe I wouldn’t be so inclined to get rid of him if I actually like someone for their personality and not just the way they look in tight shorts.”

“Don’t knock those tight shorts, sister. There’s nothing wrong with seeing the whole package before you see the package.”

Gemma lets out a bark of laughter, scaring the waitress who sets our plates down in front of us.

“Scandalous talk from a married woman,” she says, arching her brow.

“Not married yet. Also, not dead yet.”

Gemma smiles and lifts her glass. “I’ll cheers to that.”

An hour later, Enzo is driving me home. I’m full and feel lighter than I did at the range. Though Gemma and I didn’t talk more about my potential marriage, I feel better just having spent time with my best friend. She may not agree with the idea of me having to marry for the sake of family, but there’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll stand next to me and support me through it all.

Enzo parks the car around back and I head into the house through the kitchen entrance, grabbing a glass of water before making my way to my father’s office. After two quick knocks, he calls for me to enter.

“How was lunch?” he asks, placing his readers on the desk in front of him.

It strikes me just now how much stress my father’s been under for the last few years and how it’s aged him. I suppose that could be attributed to the passage of time, but seeing him sitting behind his desk with exhaustion lining his face and dark smudges under his eyes, I’m reminded he won’t be around forever. This life has taken its toll on the man who always seemed indestructible. But he’s not. He’s human, with worries, fears, and an unwavering need to do what’s right for his family—the ones that live in this house and the ones that have been working for him since before I was born. The weight of that responsibility lies heavily on his shoulders, and it surprises me that this is the first time I’m seeing it so clearly.

“It was good.” I sit on one of the leather club chairs in front of his oak desk, remembering when I was a little girl and my feet didn’t touch the ground.

Old family pictures line the dark wood-paneled walls. My parents’ extended families are back in Italy, and the photos proudly display our lineage. Though my father’s immediate family has been here for several generations, my mother didn’t come to the United States until after she met my father. He was visiting some of his cousins and saw my mother at the market early one morning. The way he tells the story, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and the second she smiled at him, he was a goner. He came home from his vacation as a married man, and my grandfather was less than thrilled. He wanted my father to marry a daughter of one of the New York families in order to make an advantageous alliance. After five minutes with my mother, though, my grandfather was nearly as smitten with her as my dad. Lilliana Amatto has that way with people. It’s something she’s tried to instill in me. I have a feeling I’ve disappointed her more times than not on that front.

Letting out a quick huff of air, I look at my father. “Let’s talk about the Irish.”

One of my dad’s bushy eyebrows quirks in question. “You’ve made your decision?”

My lips press together as I nod. “I’ll agree to the marriage.” Once the words are out, it feels as though a ball of lead has dropped in my stomach, while my father looks relieved. “But we need to go over the contract before I walk down the aisle. I don’t want any surprises once Finn thinks he has me where he wants me.”

“Somehow, piccola demone, I have no doubt you’ll keep him on his toes.”

“We need Cataldi out of the way for good,” I begin. “Then, when that happens, we need to have co-control over the ports. If Farina wants to use them, he can still pay the same fee he was paying to Francesco. Now that the old man is in prison and Carlo is in the wind, it’s the perfect time to push in.”

My father nods as he listens, giving me his full attention. It’s something he’s always been good about. I talk, and he listens—the respect between us goes both ways.

“Farina doesn’t have the foothold the Monaghans do in Boston, and I need to know he’s going to use that influence to protect our incoming and outgoing shipments as opposed to only caring about his business. No more disappearing merchandise.” My family has been using ships to transport guns and cocaine for as long as I can remember. Lately, too many of those shipments have come up “missing” under Cataldi’s supervision. “I also want a guarantee that there will be no human cargo running through the ports.” Carlo had become particularly fond of that side of the underworld. I refuse to stand for it. If I’m willing to give up my freedom for this deal, I’ll be damned if that continues under my watch.

“It’s a nasty business I’ve never wanted to be a part of, either,” my father states.

No one in this life is going to be nominated for sainthood anytime soon, but even with criminals, there are some lines you should never cross, and selling people to sick assholes is my hardest of lines. Carlo Cataldi doesn’t have the same distaste for it as my father or myself. Sure, our organization deals in prostitution, but the women my father employs are there of their own free will and are well compensated for their time. No one is selling them to the highest bidder to do with as they please. If anyone hurts one of the girls, it’s dealt with swiftly and violently.

“He’s going to want a Catholic ceremony,” my father states. “His mother is devout, and if I know anything about Irish boys, they never want to disappoint their mamas.”

I nod in agreement. “That’s fine, but I want it at St. Michael’s. If I have to sit through a marriage mass, I’d feel better with it being at our church.” I’ve been attending mass there since I was a baby. I’m sure my dad can make a sizable donation to the church to forego any of the premarriage counseling.

My dad notes it on the paper in front of him then raises his gaze to me. “We should discuss children.”

My mouth goes dry with the thought. “Why?” It's a stupid question. Of course, there needs to be an agreement on having kids. Finn and I will be expected to do our part to carry on the family name.

“This isn’t two people falling in love, getting married, and deciding to start a family type of situation, sweetheart. Nothing about this is typical, except in our life. Having a clause in regard to children is standard.”

“How often do people agree not to have children?”

“I’ve never heard of it, but if the thought upsets you that much, I’ll leave it out. The Irish don’t usually put together marriage contracts like this, so he may not even notice.”

“We’re going into this lying already?”

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