Chapter 12
Whoever these men are, Finn isn’t happy to see them. Who starts a conversation with a cliché greeting like that? Finn doesn’t let go of my hand, instead, giving it a little squeeze.
“Hollands. Spiegel.”
I wait to see if he’ll say more, but he remains quiet. He didn’t even use these guys’ first names. The taller of the two men takes a step closer to the table. Bad choice, dude. Finn straightens and pushes his shoulders back. He never hunches, but neither does he make his actual size obvious. I remember seeing him do that for the first time at the casino. He could be a pro athlete or pro bodybuilder for his size. I haven’t seen him naked— yet —but I know he’s all lean, chiseled muscle. He’s making sure these guys know. He doesn’t like them encroaching.
“It’s not office hours, gentlemen. I’ll speak to you on Monday.”
That’s one way of dismissing them. Do they work for him? Nothing about them makes me think they’re underlings, but Finn certainly just treated them that way.
“O’Rourke, aren’t you going to introduce us?”
It’s the one who took the step forward. He’s pushing his luck. I sense these two men know exactly who Finn is, and that’s why they came over. I’m watching Finn, not them. I know the guy got closer from my peripheral vision and the darkening of Finn’s expression.
“Spiegel, my cousin owns this restaurant. You know that means cameras. Do you really want to do this right now? Because if you do, say cheese.”
I shift my gaze because the air just changed. There’s a smugness to Finn that only just now came out. Both men appear on the defensive rather than the offensive. Through it all, I’m not tempted to say a word. I’m content to be the pretty arm candy for this. They look like FBI agents or something. I didn’t notice that at first. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stick up when I realize Finn issued a threat that’s tantamount to extortion. These men either don’t want to be seen here, or they don’t want to be seen together. Actually, it’s likely both.
I glance at the men’s left hands. Wedding rings on both ring fingers. The silent guy angled himself slightly in front of the guy who started all this. A defensive position since he was farther away from us a moment ago. They’re lovers, not husbands. At least, not to each other.
“When we talk on Monday, I’m certain you’ll be the bearers of good news. It would be nice to start the week right.” Finn’s piercing green eyes bore into them.
The silent one nudges the other guy, and they leave without another word. I want to turn and watch them walk away, but I don’t dare. Instead, I lean forward.
“They’re having an affair, aren’t they?”
Finn’s eyes widen, and his jaw tenses. Then I’m the recipient of his stare.
“What makes you say that?”
“They’re wearing wedding rings, but they don’t match. Not even similar. The similarity part is just incidental. The quiet one moved to a defensive position to stand in front of the loudmouth. Two men that size rarely need to protect each other during a conversation. A more dominant lover will. Just because he wasn’t the pushy one doesn’t mean he isn’t a top.”
“You got all of that just from how they stood?”
“Of course. You already know that, and that’s what you have on them. They wouldn’t want any proof they were out together.”
“They’re brothers-in-law, so them hanging out isn’t implausible. But you’re right about the rest. And no, they would rather I not use proof to go along with what I could share.”
“They thought to embarrass you in front of me, and they wanted to use me as a shield to issue thinly veiled threats to you. They assume I know nothing.”
“Which you don’t. I won’t tell you their first names, Thea. You figured out something that impresses me, but it’s something dangerous. This isn’t how I wanted to prove there are risks to being with me. As much as they don’t want anyone to know they were out together, they know I don’t want your name or face splashed around. They were using you as a shield. That pisses me off.”
I can’t help but wonder what it means when someone pisses Finn off. Like is that an understatement, and they’re going to have concrete shoes? Or is he mildly annoyed? I attempt to keep my expression impassive, but he smiles.
“I’m not putting a hit on them, Thea.”
Yet?“Okay.”
I return his smile as the waiter comes to our table. The rest of the meal is shockingly normal. We chat about what a typical workday looks like for both of us and how our jobs have evolved over time. Maria came up naturally in conversation. It wasn’t like he asked. He’s known her pretty much her entire life. At least since they were old enough to play rec sports. Will I ever get used to how fucked-up their world is? That their parents used to stand around on Saturdays and watch their kids play together. Then Monday rolled around, and they were trying to kill each other— figuratively or literally.
We’re about to step out of the restaurant when Cormac comes in. “I was looking for you.”
How’d he know we were here? Cormac wouldn’t randomly drive around.
“I stopped by your place, then remembered you were out. I was going to go to my office to call you.” The look they exchange says more than they’ll say aloud.
“Should I head to the car?”
Finn’s gaze sweeps the restaurant before he looks out the door. He doesn’t like either option. I think he knows how awkward it would be for me to just stand here.
“I’ll walk you out. Cormac, I’ll be right back.”
Joey opens the door for us. I saw him having dinner at the sushi bar.
“I’ll try not to take too long.”
“Take as long as you need.” I kiss his cheek and give his forearm a squeeze.
He looks torn, but he nods and heads back inside. I think this is a look into the life I’m accepting. He wants to put me first, but family and the mob will always take precedence. I can’t blame him, but I think it’s going to hurt. A lot. Often. At least in the beginning. It’s something I have to be okay with. I’ll get there. Part of why it sucks is I know it means whatever’s happening is something at the very least illegal, but far more likely dangerous.
I’ve already rationalized why I can accept what Finn does, but I can’t accept what Uncle Corey does. I’m in the car with the door shut, looking out the window at the restaurant. I pull out my phone and do the thing I told myself not to. I search the internet for anything about his family.
Immediately, shit shows up. A lot of shit. I open another tab and search the Mancinellis. Just as much. I try Diaz and mafia. That’s too common a name not to search something specific. Tons come up for them, too. I comb my memory for the fourth family’s name. It takes a moment, but I search Kutsenko. They’re the only ones who seem to turn up only articles about legal shit. They’re corporate moguls. I noticed that the dates for the Kutsenko articles were only within the last ten or so years. The dates for the other families go back further.
I toggle to the tab with results for the O’Rourkes. With trepidation, I click the first link.
Mob Boss Dies in Plane Crash
Which of Finn’s family members was this? Looking at the dates, my guess is an uncle or grandfather. I scroll and read. It names the victim as Liam O’Rourke. It said he died at sixty-three, so my guess is Finn’s grandfather. The article hints it was one of the other syndicates. That whoever organized it made to look like a mechanical failure that caused something in the fuel line to ignite, then explode. My heart breaks for Finn as I think about how traumatic that must have been.
Then I keep reading. The article names several court cases filed against Liam. They accused him of some pretty fucking heinous shit! Like holy fuck! If he did what the article claims, then he was a fucking sociopath.
I look up from my phone and stare out the window again and toward the restaurant. Juries acquitted Liam because something always came out that benefited the defense in each case, and double jeopardy prevented the government from prosecuting again. I’m certain they made sure no one filed civil suits. Is this what Finn does?
I can handle the extortion, the racketeering, the money laundering, the coercion. Why I can is something I truly need to dig deeper into, but I can. But if he does the things they accused Liam of… It’s not just shooting someone in the head or heart. It’s torture. But there were never any bodies to identify or gather physical evidence from. The lack of those things is largely why he was exonerated, but there were also allegations of witness tampering and intimidation.
I go back to the search results and click another article. This one is about an explosion at the docks about three years ago. It happened in an area where the article alleges several shipping companies with affiliation to the mob operate. It names Shane as an owner of one of the largest ones. Whoever it was targeted his company. It says law enforcement suspects it was a rival syndicate. It doesn’t specifically state the Russian bratva, but it hints heavily that it was them. Once again, there was no evidence at the scene to make any definitive claims. Shane declined to comment each time reporters approached him.
The reporter noted it was around that time that an obituary posted for Declan O’Rourke. I click over to that. Whoever wrote this was blowing smoke up everyone’s asses. It sings his praises like he was fucking Mother Teresa. It definitely doesn’t match how they describe Declan in the article. It pretty much made it sound like he was a chip off the old block from his uncle, Liam. I try to piece together how everyone is related. Since they’re all O’Rourkes, I assume it’s through Finn’s dad’s side of the family. They list the cause of death as a heart attack while he was working out. He was fifty-seven. Possible but improbable.
I return to the search results yet again. The next article is one about Finn and his cousins. They’re at some gala, all wearing tuxes. I find genetics fascinating. While we don’t do genetic testing on every newborn who has a difficult condition to diagnose, the tests we perform can provide crucial information. I also think it’s super cool how some inherited traits are absolutely predictable, and others are like roulette. Looking at this black and white photo of Finn, his brothers, Cormac, Seamus, and Dillan, they could all pass for one another. From a distance, I know they could pass for one another.
The American Academy of Ophthalmology says— and let me tell you, those reports are just scintillating reading —green eyes are the rarest. Yet, all six men have them. Red hair is also the rarest color. All of them have both. Genetic lottery of hot recessive genes.
I return my attention to the article after letting my mind wander. Fuck that’s a lot of money. It says the family donated fifteen million dollars to support the ASPCA and the AVMA— American Veterinary Medical Association —during a fundraising project to raise money toward rescue services for abused animals. Not exactly the big-name type of philanthropy, but it’s sweet. Apparently, they not only donated the massive sum, but they also sponsored the entire event. They worked in conjunction with the organization to raise an additional fifteen million dollars. They did a donation match. I can’t fathom having that much money. It says the donation came from their personal assets and not any businesses.
The contradiction is mind-boggling. One moment, I’m reading articles about their relatives being worse than fucking Pol Pot or Vlad the Impaler. The next, I’m reading that they shut down puppy mills. Then again, it’s proof of what I’ve already seen. I know what they do, but I also know how the guys I’ve met have been around me. You wouldn’t guess if you didn’t know.
I move to the next article, and there’s a nearly full-page image of Finn dancing with one of the most gorgeous women I have ever seen. The way they’re holding each other shows more than simple familiarity. They’re smiling at each other and completely at ease. I glance at the caption. Finn and Colleen O’Rourke. The photog took it at Salvatore and Sylvia Mancinelli’s wedding reception thirteen years ago. He would have still been in college. But they have the same last name, and just their body language. Finn was married.
I nearly jump out of my skin when the door opens. I drop my phone in my lap as I look up.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, cailín.”
“It’s all right.” I scoot over, but Finn doesn’t get in. He bends over.
“Joey’s going to take you home. Something came up with an overseas shipping company that lost some cargo last week. I need to deal with this. I’m sorry to cut our date short. I know we were going to…” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Were you married?” Where the fuck did those three words come from?
Finn stares at me, clearly as shocked as I am by what I blurted.
“No.”
“Who’s Colleen?”
A flash of soul-deep sadness crosses his face before he masks it.
“No. Don’t do that, Finn. Don’t hide from me. You told me you’ll lie to me. You probably just did. Don’t shut me out when you don’t have to.”
“How do you know about Colleen? Did you google me?”
“Yes.”
He stares at me for a moment, and he’s obviously debating something. He glances back at the restaurant before getting into the car and shutting the door.
“Colleen was my cousin. Dillan’s little sister. She was the ringleader of everything. But she was also the kindest soul you’ll ever meet. She was a veterinarian.”
The fundraiser. Was?
“She was murdered nearly four years ago. Dillan was there when it happened.”
I feel like the worst sort of bitch. This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. I just picked at a scab. It’s clear the wound hasn’t healed. His grief is practically palpable. His hands are just resting in his lap, so I cover them with mine. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at his lap.
“Finn, I saw a photo of the two you at a wedding reception. You looked so happy and loving with her. She had the same last name. I made an assumption and made an ass of myself because I was jealous. I’m so sorry.”
“We’re all O’Rourkes. Three sisters married three brothers. Our two sides of the family haven’t been closely related in at least ten generations, but there have been enough sons to carry on the name. My mom and aunts didn’t have to change theirs when they got married. Joey’s an O’Rourke on my dad’s side. If you’ve been investigating, you probably found Liam, Donovan, and Declan. They were O’Rourkes on my mom’s side.”
I didn’t read anything about a Donovan.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what, little one? For getting bored because I abandoned you for half an hour during our date? For wanting to know about the guy you’re dating? A guy who’s a motherfecking mobster.” He spits out the last word.
He appears so dejected along with grief-filled. I tilt my head as I study him. He’s sad about more than just talking about Colleen. I let go of his hands, and he makes to grab them as I pull them back, but he stops himself. I push his hands apart and move to sit on his lap. He instantly relaxes. Ah.
“Daddy, I’m not going anywhere. It’s scary to hear what happened to Colleen, and I feel awful bringing it up. My heart breaks to hear what you lost. I read the article about the veterinary gala. It makes sense now. The past half hour has given me a look at what my life will— not could —not might —will be. You have work to do, and Cormac’s waiting right now. I’ll be waiting until you’re free to see me again.”
He cups my nape, and his thumb sweeps over my cheekbone as he stares into my eyes. He nods, then we’re kissing. My toes curl in my shoes. This one isn’t a heart pounding, passion-filled one. It’s a heart-stopping, tender kiss. When we pull apart, we rest our foreheads together.
“Cailín, there’s a good chance you won’t hear from me for a couple days. I’ll be out of cell phone service.”
Where the hell is he going?
“You’ll be traveling.”
He’s back to debating what to say.
“No. There is somewhere here in New York that’s a controlled location when we have things to do. I will never tell you where, never take you there. You must not try to find it, Thea. You’ll endanger everyone. When I’m there, my cell phone is off. If there’s an emergency, call one of the guys. Let me program their numbers into your phone. They’ll get in touch with me.”
Things to do. Torture. My mind skips back to the article about Liam. Is Finn a sociopath or a psychopath? Neither is a desirable mental condition to have in a partner.
“Little one, I don’t enjoy what I do. I can still tell right from wrong and wish things were different. But in this life, right and wrong have vastly different meanings and standards than in the one where you live.”
“You read my mind.”
“I know what I would think if I were you. It’s easy to guess.”
“You said it’s controlled. That means you’re untouchable, right?”
“Yes. Our phones are never on, so we can’t be tracked. We have protocols.” He hesitates. “Sometimes things aren’t under our control. If you’re at my place, and I call you to tell you to wait in the guest bedroom, I need you to do that. Don’t greet me at the door. Don’t offer to help. I’ll need space to calm down and clean up. It means I don’t want you to see me like that. Not how I’ll look and not how I’ll act. I’ll come and get you as fast as I can, but it might take me a while. I’m sorry.”
Biowaste disposal. That would be a more technical name for cleaning off blood and guts. Decompressing is semantics for turning off the psychopathic part of him. No. Yes. I don’t know. I think he has remorse in the grand scheme of things— a sociopath. But I doubt he holds any remorse when he’s pushed far enough to do what he does —a psychopath.
No. I refuse to see him that way. This isn’t how his brain is naturally wired. Conditioned, maybe. Survivalist is more like it.
“Daddy, you can always tell me what you need. Even if it’s just space after a crappy day, I will give it to you. I don’t have to be up your ass 24/7.”
He pinches my ass. “I wouldn’t mind being up yours tonight.”
“Daddeee!” I hiss the word. But my grin is irrepressible. “As soon as you get back.”
“I have to go, cailín. Joey wound up having his brother take care of your window. He works for Shane’s construction company and had a tall enough ladder on his truck. He got what he needed and headed over. I won’t press you to tell me what’s happening, but if something else does, go to my family. If I come home, and I find out there was another threat, and you didn’t go to them, it’ll be more than just my hand. Your safety is the one thing you will never get me to budge on. Never.”
I’m halfway in love with this guy.
“I understand.”
And I’m pretty positive I’m going to disobey.