Page 24 of Finn

Finn nods and lets out a slow breath. “I have a feeling this is one of those times in marriage that I hear people talk about where, no matter what I say, you’re going to get your way.”

I smile. “Get used to it, husband. If you wanted a meek and compliant housewife, you married into the wrong family.”

A grin tilts the corner of Finn’s mouth as he grabs the empty carrier.

“Oh, I definitely married into the right one.” He tilts his head toward the staircase, signaling for me to follow.

“Come on. I’ll show you to your room. I’m sure Lucifer—”

“Lucian,” I correct.

“Right. I’m sure Lucian will warm up to me in no time.”

“You’ll be one big, happy cat family,” Eoghan says, doubling over in laughter again.

Happy may be a stretch, but one thing is certain—like it or not, we are family now.

Chapter seven

Finn

It’s been two weeks since Alessia and her damn cat moved in. I’ve never been a big fan of cats in general, but I’m convinced there’s something wrong with this one. Any time I get within five feet of him, he lets out a disturbing growl I didn’t know cats made. It’s unsettling, to say the least. Thankfully, he hasn’t destroyed anything in the house, but he likes to hide under furniture and dart out between my legs, scaring the hell out of me.

At least the damn cat is paying me some attention. Alessia is even more standoffish than she was before we got married. I thought something shifted after our wedding night. It had for me. When I undid the buttons on her dress and stared at the smooth skin on her back that reminded me of the satiny texture of a rose petal, I couldn’t not touch her. There was a driving need coming from somewhere deep inside me. Maybe it was the whiskey making me bold, or maybe it was simply her, my wife, who now finds any excuse to avoid me.

Granted, I’ve been busy. The casino is busier than ever, and we just lost our casino host. That was the phone call that came in on our wedding night. If stealing from me wasn’t enough to end his life, pulling me away from that moment with my wife would have cemented his place in hell. Why anyone would think they can steal from my family and get away with a slap on the wrist is beyond me. After a week of watching his every move like a fucking hawk, Cillian finally caught him red-handed. To say I was in a terrible mood the first week Alessia was living here is an understatement. Now, I’m short an employee, and we’re still trying to determine if anyone was helping the thief. So far, we haven’t found anything, but I’ve been going through the financial records of every single one of my employees. To top it off, we still don’t know where Cataldi is hiding, and we’ve been running into some pushback at the docks.

She seemed happy with her room, which I had an interior designer come in and decorate for her. The dark reds I suggested confused the hell out of the decorator, but it reminded me of the color of the dress she wore the first night I met her. The damn dress that I haven’t been able to get off my mind.

The one night I was home at a reasonable time for dinner, she’d been out with Gemma, so I ate by myself in the kitchen. While I was cutting into my perfectly prepared steak, it dawned on me I had no idea how she spends her days or evenings. I see her most mornings while I get my coffee and breakfast, but as soon as Alessia finishes eating, she heads to her room, and I lock myself in my office or go to the casino.

In an attempt to thaw this ice wall that’s formed between us, I told her if she’d like to do any redecorating to let one of my staff know and they would make sure she had a credit card for my account. She looked at me like I was the stupidest man on the planet. She stomped away, mumbling something about spending my money and decorating a house was all men like me thought women were good for. I thought making this house her own would have made her a tad happy, but apparently, I missed the mark. It’s as though I’m living with the quietest houseguest in the world instead of the fiery Italian woman I met a few short weeks ago. And surprising to me, I hate it.

Walking through the hallway to the state-of-the-art gym on the first floor, I notice the door is cracked open and hear grunting and heavy breathing coming from inside the room. Cillian and my brother aren’t here, and if one of my men wants to use the facilities, they usually send me a text.

I quietly make my way to the door and push it in slightly so I can get a look at what the hell is going on in my house.

“Stop dropping your right shoulder before you throw a punch. You may as well be waving a neon sign telling your opponent what your next move is,” Enzo instructs.

The man is in workout shorts and a T-shirt, which is the most casual I’ve ever seen him.

“I’m not dropping shit,” Alessia barks out.

“Let’s take a break.”

Enzo steps out of the way and it’s the first time I’ve seen Alessia in three days. Sweat is pouring from her face to her chest, dampening the tight tank top she’s wearing. By the looks of it, they’ve been going at it for some time. Seeing her flushed cheeks shining with sweat has my mind wandering to images of her I’ve been fantasizing about nearly every night when I get home exhausted and in need of a release. The fact that she trains is a more than pleasant surprise and gives me an idea of how I can get to know my new wife.

“Let’s go again,” she tells Enzo as she sets her water bottle on the floor.

Her bodyguard raises his hands with the punch mitts, and they get back to work on her strikes. Her form is near perfect, but Enzo is right about her shoulder.

“You’re dropping your shoulder,” I say, swinging the door open and stepping into the room.

Alessia jumps, clearly unaware that I was standing at the door watching her. Enzo, on the other hand, shoots me a smirk like he knew the entire time. Good quality to have in a bodyguard. She insisted he stay with her even though I told her we have guards of our own. She refused my suggestion, and her father agreed to it. If it makes her feel more comfortable being here with one of her own, I’m not about to take that away from her.

Alessia collects herself and stands straight, irritation flaring in her eyes. “I didn’t realize you were an expert in boxing.”

“I wouldn’t call myself an expert,” I say, my mouth tilting in a small smile. “But I have eyes, and Enzo is correct.”

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