Page 18 of Finn

My mom shakes her head as I bark out a laugh. “Which has you more upset? The cut or that I let him get one in?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” Her gaze softens as her blue eyes search mine. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“A little late to call it off, don’t you think?”

My mom was never fully on board with this plan. She’s a good Catholic woman and tried to raise us the same, even with my father being the head of the family for so many years. She believes marriage is a sacred vow made before God that can’t be broken. I don’t know what would bother her more. If she knew about all the men I’ve sent to their deaths or if I got a divorce?

“It’s not too late. When mass is over, and you’re tied to Alessia for the rest of your natural life, then it would be too late.”

I have the feeling my mom is under some misguided impression that I should be holding out for the love of my life or something. That’s not something I’ve ever given thought to. I don’t and never will harbor the idea that there’s that one person in the world who you’re destined to marry. My parents may feel that way about each other, but it’s not realistic for me. What is, though, is making my family one of the most powerful on the East Coast. That’s something I have control over, and I’ll do whatever it takes to grab it, including marrying Alessia Amatto.

My mother stares into my eyes for a few moments, noting my silence before straightening my already perfect tie, then smiling widely at me.

“Well, I suppose it’s time you walk an old lady to her seat then.”

I look around the room with a slight frown. “What old lady?” I ask, then turn to her with a wink.

“Save the charm for your bride, son. You’re going to need it.” She laughs, and I take her arm, leading her out into the old Gothic-style church covered in blush-pink roses and white gauzy fabric to my father, sitting in the front pew.

My brother is standing off to the side of the altar, waiting for me to take my place with a shit-eating grin on his face.

I smile at the guests and lean over to whisper in my brother’s ear. “You’ll pay for that, asshole.”

“Such language. And in the house of the Lord.” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue.

I look around at the saint's faces in the stained-glass windows that line the long walls of the sanctuary. If they had a little brother like mine, they would surely understand and forgive the coarse language. Before I can tell him all the ways I’m going to pay him back for running to our mother, the music changes, and the doors at the back of the church open. Alessia told me Gemma, her best friend since college, was going to be the only person in her bridal party. This is the first time I’ve laid eyes on the woman walking out in a knee-length pastel-pink dress, and I notice my brother stand a bit straighter. I’ll have to make sure to tell him she’s off-limits, though that might make her more desirable to him. The last thing we need is Eoghan screwing around with the wrong person and creating any more tension for me or this deal.

When Gemma takes her place in the front, the music changes and everyone stands. I look at the doorway once more, and Alessia is there with her father. The air is knocked from my lungs. Goddamn, the woman is stunning. I’m glad everyone is looking at Alessia and not me, so I have a moment to compose myself. Her dress looks like she’s been sewn into it, the intricate lace hugging every curve of her body until it reaches her knees then flares, creating a train that trails behind her. I catch her eye and smile, but she remains stoic as she walks up the long aisle.

I don’t know why that bothers me like it does. This isn’t real, at least not in the way two people getting married for love would be. But her air of indifference tugs at something in me. For a brief moment, I feel like a thief, stealing her moment to be a real bride, marrying someone she actually wants to spend the rest of her life with. Not someone she’s marrying to gain power for her family. This is the life we live, though, and the commitment we’ve both made for our families. I’ve never been interested in marrying for love, but I can’t help but wonder, as she glides toward me on her father’s arm, if she had dreams of this day as a young woman. Maybe she feels as though she’s missed out on her chance to have a real marriage with a wedding she’s actually excited about. Not one she signed a contract for.

Alessia reaches me, and her father kisses her on the cheek before she turns toward me. Now that I can look her in the eye, there’s no little girl with broken wedding dreams looking back at me. Instead, her green eyes are hard, and her shoulders are straight as she glares daggers at me. What the hell was going through my head when I felt a pang of regret only moments before? Alessia Amatto—well, Monaghan now—doesn’t seem to possess one shred of girlish fantasies or dreams.

Throughout the entire ceremony she repeats the words she’s supposed to. She kneels and stands on cue, but there isn’t one iota of sadness in any of it. There’s no joy or love or happiness, not that I would have expected there to be. She’s performing her duty and leaving emotions where they belong—far away from here. It’s not like I’m all of a sudden thinking she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and am a lucky son of a bitch to be marrying her. It’s not as though I thought she looked like an ethereal goddess with every word she spoke through her nude-colored lips. Lips that I’m excited to kiss even though I know it’s fake, for show. No, those thoughts haven’t crossed my mind once. And it’s not as though her indifference unsettles me—frustrates me every time I look into her eyes and see not even a spark of emotion. Just an infuriating nothing.

When the wedding mass is finished and I’ve kissed her, feeling all the emotion of a fucking corpse from her, I smile wide and lean close to her ear.

“I liked the red lipstick better,” I whisper and pull back with a happy grin on my face.

Alessia doesn’t miss a beat and turns her fake-as-hell smile toward me. “Don’t worry, I’ll wear it to your funeral,” she replies.

Any outside observer would think we were whispering words of love and devotion. I must be crazy, but there’s a certain thrill in knowing my wife isn’t afraid to speak her mind. She doesn’t pretend to be the demure Mafia princess I mistakenly assumed she was. Admittedly, I don’t know her well, but she’s sharp as a tack and tougher than many of the men I know. She doesn’t cower to me or her father in a world where most women are expected to. She can stand in front of all these people and look like the blushing bride while whispering her plans for my death as sweetly as any other woman would express their affection for their new husband.

I’m obviously fucked in the head because I like it more than any reasonably sane man should.

Alessia and I have talked to nearly every guest at the reception that’s being held in one of the premier hotels in Boston. I have to hand it to her mother, she puts together a nice wedding on short notice. The champagne silk draped across the ceiling gives the room an ethereal feel, along with the low lighting and tall centerpieces of white flowers at every table. It looks elegant and sweet, two things that scream Lilliana, which clues me in that Alessia probably had very little to do with the planning. My new wife is elegant, certainly, sweet, though? That would never be a word I’d use to describe my bride.

Alessia works the room as though she’s been training for this her whole life. I admire her for the pleasant smile she’s kept on her face the entire evening. She’s a great little actress. I’m going to have to remember that.

It’s important this marriage looks believable and unbreakable to the outside world. Several of Mario’s associates are here, and we need to appear as a strong, unified front for anyone thinking they’ll be challenging us in the days to come. The way I see it, the other Italian families are our biggest threat for the takeover of the ports in the coming weeks. If everyone thinks Alessia and I have a strong relationship, and by extension, her father and I have one as well, they’ll be less inclined to challenge us. Family ties play an important part in this business, and now, two strong organizations are connected through marriage, fake as it may be.

After dinner, I spot my brother talking to Gemma at the temporary bar set up against a fabric-draped wall and an idea strikes. I head over to the round table filled with Alessia’s cousins, whom she introduced me to earlier in the evening.

“Hello, ladies.” They all turn their attention to me. “I don’t suppose any of you can relate to having an annoying little brother or sister?”

The girls exchange cautious looks with each other, and I continue. “My brother over there needs to be put in his place, and I need some help doing it. Any takers?”

While the rest of the women glance at each other in confusion mixed with apprehension, one of the women leans forward. “What do you need?”

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