Liam
I’ve spent the last few days looking through the Greeks’ accounts.
My father hasn’t asked me a single damn thing about the access I claimed to have.
I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved.
I thought for sure he’d be all over me to tell him what I’d learned with my “little stunt,” but it’s been radio silence since my wedding dinner.
I know I’ll see him again at my reception.
Turns out, that is still a couple weeks away.
I guess when you want to invite hundreds of people to an event, it takes more time to plan.
At least if you “want to plan properly,” according to my mother, so the party isn’t taking place as soon as we all originally thought it might be.
Oh, that’s another thing. I can’t call it a party.
I don’t know why exactly. I just know that my mother purses her lips when I do that, and my bride rolls her eyes.
Taryn spent all day yesterday planning with her girlfriends and our mothers, and I met them for lunch before my mom headed back to Chicago.
My father was nowhere to be seen. Mom says he’s already returned home to handle some business.
Why wouldn’t he ask me about it? Did he assume I was lying? I mean, I was, but he doesn’t know that. How could he? He assumes I have nothing of value to add. Nothing to share. Asshole. It’s two o’clock in the morning and I can’t quit turning it over and over in my head.
The truth is, I have a lot more than Bobby discovered with the tidbit the Greeks dropped intentionally into his lap.
Ryan found a web of subsidiaries, all feeding into one central laundering hub disguised as a shipping logistics firm.
It’s too tidy to be legitimate. Too many fail-safes in place.
The Greeks are using it to funnel money from everything—gambling, extortion, maybe even their trafficking pipeline.
They’re smarter than we thought. Smarter than my father gives them credit for.
We’ve traced half a dozen fake charities, three property management companies, and a handful of construction outfits that don’t have a single permit on file.
All of them point back to a Greek holding group that doesn’t technically exist. Da’s people can’t see this stuff because they’re still breaking kneecaps and shaking down bookies for information.
The Greeks are hiding in plain sight, and he doesn’t even know what to look for.
Would he care if I told him? Maybe. Or maybe he’d grunt and call me an eejit before going back to running things like it’s 1985.
He doesn’t want me to bring him something that makes him rethink the way he does business.
Yet, I know this is leverage. I could use it to choke the Greeks out, cut their cash flow before they even know where the leak started.
We wouldn’t need a war—we’d bankrupt them from the inside out.
The question is, do I even bother telling him?
If I show my hand now, he’ll either ignore me, or maybe, he’ll pat me on the back like I’m a loyal lap dog.
Neither sounds appealing. If I keep this close, and develop a full plan, I can use it to prove I’m not just some smiling idiot he trotted out for a marriage alliance.
I can do this my way. And maybe my way works better.
Taryn shifts beside me. I have about another hour before she does that half-awake thing where she wants to switch positions.
This happens every single night. We start out with me spooning her, my arm over her waist, my chin resting on top of her head.
My body completely cocoons her. That’s her favorite position to fall asleep in, and I’m totally on board with her fine ass snuggled against my crotch.
However, about an hour or so later, about when I’ve hit a deep sleep, she shuffles to push me off her.
She’ll then arrange me so that she can lie next to me, with her head on my chest. She drapes one leg over my lower body and wraps her arm around my waist. Apparently, my arm “gets too heavy” while we’re spooning.
I have no idea how, since it’s not like I gain weight during sleep.
What’s even funnier is how, whenever I ask her why we don’t just start out with her head on my chest, she scoffs.
You see, my chest is too hard as a pillow.
Oh, it’s okay an hour into sleep when she’s half awake.
But as she’s falling asleep? Nope. Not an option.
Yeah, my arm gets heavier and my chest gets softer as we sleep.
I don’t even argue with her logic. I just know I’ll be woken up at some point, so she can get more comfortable. Not that I’m complaining. Much.
Truth is: I couldn’t be happier to have her hair in my face when we’re cuddled together in the middle of the night.
So far—and I realize it hasn’t even been a full week—this marriage has been a dream.
She’s applied to law school in Chicago. She gets along with my mother and my brothers.
She is as insatiable as I am when it comes to sex.
And, she found her voice again. Thank God.
I don’t know why, but nothing turns me on more than when she puts her hand on her hip and then runs that sassy mouth before rolling her eyes at something I’ve done.
A few minutes later, a sleepy Taryn rolls over to look at me through heavy eyelids. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is great,” I tell her quietly. I’m sure it’s weird for her to wake up to find me staring at her, but I’d be lying if I said it’s the first time it’s happened. I reach out to run the ends of her silky soft hair between my fingers.
“Mmmmkay,” she murmurs before rearranging us and putting her head on my bare chest to go back to sleep.
I continue to play with her hair and breathe in strawberries.
She is perfect in every way. It’s amazing how much has changed this week.
I knew I wanted Taryn the moment I saw her.
However, I didn’t know how much I’d come to need her.
To crave her. Sure, I had imagined a life with her.
Someone beautiful to look at. Fun to be around.
Great at sex. Taryn doesn’t only check all of those boxes, she also redefines each category.
Even my imagination couldn’t dream up someone so exquisite.
I can’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t do to protect her.
“Okay, the staring is getting creepy now,” she huffs before rolling onto her back to look at me.
I chuckle. “Sorry, beauty. Go back to sleep.”
“You also need to sleep,” she shares. “We’re going to mass with my family in the morning. We have to drive into the city.”
I groan at this, and she chuckles. “Father Connelly is boring. But, brunch is decent afterward.”
I kiss her forehead. “Sorry I woke you.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
I sigh. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Tell me.”
I groan. I should have known she wouldn’t let it go that easily. “Was wondering why my father hasn’t followed up on the whole Greek money saga.” I wince as I say the words. I know she’s sensitive about this topic. I shouldn’t have said anything.
She sits up. I was right. Damn it.
“What did you expect him to say?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Liam.” Her voice holds a warning.
“I told him this was all my idea, remember? Like I had a plan to have you invest and then we’d trace the money, right?”
She nods. I can barely see the motion in the darkness of our room.
“I assumed he’d want to talk about tracing the money.
What I’d found out.” I shrug. “He’s said nothing.
It’s as if he doesn’t think I have anything at all worth sharing.
He isn’t interested in what I might know.
Probably because he doesn’t think I know anything.
He’s decided that with no confirmation.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want him to be interested?”
“I want him to consider that there may be other ways of doing things,” I grumble. “Of course, he’d never do that so it’s a moot point.”
“How do you know?”
“What?”
“How do you know he wouldn’t listen? Have you tried talking to him? Coming to him with your ideas?”
She’s so earnest. I sit up and wrap an arm around her to pull her back to snuggle against me. “He’s my father. I know him.”
“Maybe,” she concedes. “But, I thought I knew my father before he promised me off in a marriage.”
I wince. I thought we were past this.
“I also thought I was marrying a mobster who wouldn’t let me work after college.”
I laugh aloud at this. First, her use of the word “mobster” is adorable. Second, so is her use of the word “let.”
“Beauty, I’d like to meet the man who can stop you from doing anything.”
I hear, rather than see, her answering smile.
“My point is that you won’t know for sure until you have the conversation.
You can’t always trust your assumptions.
Wouldn’t it be better to have him disappoint you and be absolutely certain that there’s no changing him?
I’d hate for you not to take your chance, Liam, because you assume the worst. If you have an idea, you should probably say something. Worst case, you were right all along.”
Huh. “Yeah, I suppose.”
She laughs against my chest and then slides down to lie next to me. She cuddles close, turning to rub her ass up against me. My little spoon yawns. “Thank you for telling me what’s bothering you.”
I lie beside her, understanding that she’s done with this conversation. I hug her closer to me and bury my nose into her sweet hair. “Thank you for listening.” I breathe against her before closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep.
I’m having the best possible dream about my wife when a fluttering against my neck has my eyes flying open. Daylight peeks through the edges of my window shade, letting me know I slept longer and harder than I thought possible. I’m usually up with the sun regardless of how late I stay up.