Page 34 of Finn

The dress reminds me of the one she was wearing the first night we met. Instead, this one is black, but it hugs her just as well as the red I loved seeing her in. I’m half tempted to have her go upstairs and change simply because I don’t want the eyes of every man in the place all over her tonight. It would be an impossible feat for any red-blooded man to accomplish. Plus, I already hear her telling me to fuck off if I dared ask.

“Ready?” she asks, but I’m stuck staring at those damn red lips to register that I’m still holding her coat over my arm.

“Finn, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

That snaps me to attention, and I hold her jacket open so she can slide her arms in. When she pulls her hair from the collar, a whiff of something flowery and light hits my nose. The temptation to bury my face in her long, dark waves is strong, but instead, I take a step back and open the front door.

“Your chariot awaits,” I say, holding my arm toward my car that Enzo has started.

She looks at me and quirks her brow. “Why are you acting so weird?”

She’s right. Since I saw her walk down the stairs, my brain went a little haywire. I don’t have an answer for her, so I simply shrug and walk with her down the stairs and open the car door.

On the way to the casino, I work to get my head on straight and focus on the binder I had Cillian put together for Alessia. It’s filled with short bios and preferences of the men that are going to be playing in the poker game tonight and a few of the other regulars that spend a shit ton of money in our establishment on a regular basis. Alessia studies each preference sheet and nods, making little notes when I mention something that isn’t on there.

“What about the girls?” she asks. “There’s nothing in here about any of their preferences for the escorts.”

I specifically had Cillian leave that out. I’m not sure why since that’s something a good host would know about the high-end clients, but we have a house madam that takes care of those needs should one of the players request some time with one of our girls.

“That’s handled separately,” I tell her.

She studies me for a moment then shrugs. “Seems like something I should be aware of, but it’s your casino.”

Enzo parks the car in a private garage reserved for staff. It’s one of the small ways I show my appreciation for their time and discretion working for my family. Parking in Boston can be a pain in the ass, and this way, they never have to worry about finding a spot or someone messing with their car while they’re here.

The casino is beneath one of the most exclusive and high-end bars in Boston, owned by my family. Our name is nowhere near any licensing for this place. If some cop or FBI agent looked into the owner of this establishment, it would lead them to several different shell companies ending up in the Cayman Islands. Some creative paperwork and some generous deposits in the bank accounts of a few city officials were all it took to get the licensing needed to open the doors. This is a members-only establishment, which offers some anonymity to our clients when they enter. The upper level where the bar is has a speakeasy feel to it, a nod to my family's past of running the biggest bootlegging operation in Boston during prohibition. But the real action happens a level below.

Alessia looks around the bar with the deep-emerald-green wallpaper and rich, dark oak accents that match the low ceiling. Several tables are scattered around the main floor, with more private tables lining the walls.

I nod to the bartender on duty, who is getting everything set up for opening, before walking down a short hallway to a door that blends perfectly with the wall. Alessia watches with interest as I move the picture of my grandparents to the side, revealing a small keypad.

“Everyone has their own code, including staff, so we know who’s entered and when.”

“Fancy,” she remarks with a small tilt to her red lips.

I enter my code and push the door in, revealing another staircase. When we get to the bottom, it opens into a small alcove where we’ll have a security guard and one of the girls greeting guests upon arrival.

“You’ll be up here at the beginning of the night and greeting everyone when they come in. All guests are required to leave any of their weapons in one of the several lockboxes we have for them.”

“That must go over well.”

I look her in the eye with a smirk playing on my lips. “No one argues with me.”

Alessia hums but doesn’t say anything.

Thick curtains hang from the ceiling, partitioning off the alcove from the rest of the casino. When I open them, the impressed look in Alessia’s eyes sends pride shooting through me. I’ve worked hard at taking the back room gambling den my grandfather started and turned it into a high-class casino you would find at the finest resorts in Vegas or Atlantic City.

It’s not often I get to see someone’s expression when they first enter, and Alessia’s reaction doesn’t disappoint as she takes in the expansive underground space with dark wood and felt-lined blackjack and poker tables. I wanted it to have a similar feeling to the bar upstairs—classy and expensive. We have a few roulette wheels and craps tables set up throughout. Everything is the same high-end quality you would find in any legitimate casino, minus the tired-looking dealers and straight-off-the-street gamblers in jeans and T-shirts. We require a strict dress code in the casino, not that we’ve ever had to enforce it. Our clientele comes here for an experience they won’t find in any of the smoky, backroom gambling halls that are in so many of the dive bars in Boston.

“It’s beautiful, Finn,” she says, looking at me with a small grin. “I’m impressed.”

“Not the back-alley thugs you’ve always assumed we were?”

Alessia laughs. “No. I’d say this is definitely a step above what I imagined. I almost feel underdressed.”

My gaze travels over her, and I shake my head. “Trust me. No one would ever say that.”

A light blush covers Alessia’s cheeks, and I clear my throat of the words that are stuck there. I want to tell her that she's one of the most stunning creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. That she looks too good in that dress, and I want to see what she’s wearing underneath. Instead, I tilt my head, signaling for her to follow me to the other side of the room where there’s another set of thick drapes separating the three offices we have down here from the floor.

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