This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  Kellan beat the others to it and offered me one, already lit.

  “Thanks.” I paced some more and inhaled from the smoke, waiting for that breakdown. “Where’s Grace?”

  “With the twins.”

  “Is it safe being out here?” I asked.

  Ian looked up at the night sky. “From anything but a drone attack, I reckon.”

  “They have drones?” I shouted. That had my heart galloping.

  “No! No, sweetheart.” Ian cringed. “A joke in poor taste on my part.”

  Sweet Jesus.

  Shan sighed and clapped him on the back, then approached me with concern written all over. “We think we know what’s going on, so yes, we’re safe. This isn’t some fortress, but Finn takes security seriously. You have nothing to worry about.” He touched my shoulder and tilted his head. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

  “I know, it’s not normal.” I rubbed my temples and exhaled some smoke. “Okay, so what’s going on? Does this happen a lot? I don’t think I can handle that.”

  “This is a first from the Avellino family on US soil. They don’t operate here.” Shan addressed Kellan next. “I need you to put together a security crew that can be here first thing in the morning—ah, Finn’s here.”

  Finally!

  “I’ll make it happen, sir.” Kellan stalked toward the main house.

  I aimed toward the gates instead. A familiar rush of emotions pummeled through me, though it wasn’t at all related to the shitshow that took place earlier. I miss him, I need him, I think I love him. I flicked away my cigarette on the paved road and started running when Finnegan exited what I assumed was my new car.

  He didn’t even shut off the engine—or park very neatly. The urgency wasn’t in the way he moved as much as it was in his features. That was how he gave away what he felt. The worry, the panic, and the desperation swam in his gunmetal eyes.

  He exhaled in a whoosh of relief when I jumped him and wrapped my arms and legs around him, quickly embracing me in one of his tight hugs.

  “I think I just lost ten years of my life,” he whispered raggedly. “Are you okay, baby?”

  I nodded and buried my face in the crook of his neck where everything was safe, warm, and smelled amazing. A blanket of serenity covered me, and everything slowed down. Tears burned my eyes and trickled down my cheeks. The shivers came and went over and over. He was here, holding me, tightening his strong arms around me, whispering to me, kissing my shoulder and my hair.

  “I’m gonna kill them.” He didn’t mean that part. I felt us moving; he was walking us over to Shan and Ian, but I felt like I was done for the day. Exhaustion hit, making it so easy to hand over the reins to Finnegan. “Seriously. The Avellinos? I thought that old fuck retired. Fill me in,” he told…one of the others. “I’m guessing their roadblock was to send a message they’re here?”

  “Aye, it’s the only thing that makes sense,” Shan replied. “We’ve never dealt with them, and they asked Emilia about John.”

  “We’re involved enough,” Finnegan stated. “Otherwise, they would’ve targeted Chicago, not come all the way out here. How many were there?”

  I sniffled and let all the tension roll off me. He stroked my back.

  I played with the fine, soft hairs at the back of his neck.

  “Emilia said she saw five or six men. Two cars, three four-wheelers.”

  “That’s one hell of a message.” Finnegan released a heavy breath and pressed his lips to my neck, lingering. “They crossed a fucking line. Our women and children are off-limits. They wanna let us know they’re here, they can knock on the door or do it in skywriting. They don’t cage in my fiancée and expect me to be okay with it.”

  I relaxed further, and the tears stopped falling.

  “You’ve raised a man who’s born to be boss, mate,” Ian said. “He’d do Ronan proud, God rest his soul.”

  “Born to be boss… My father started grooming him when he was seven,” Shan muttered. “All right. We have to talk to John and get to the bottom of why the Italians are here. Finn, thoughts on security?”

  “I want our immediate family here,” Finnegan answered. “It’s less than four weeks till the wedding, and I don’t wanna risk anything. Give them forty-eight hours’ notice, and those who won’t come out gotta have watchdogs on them for a while. At least until we know more.”

  “Sounds good,” Shan agreed. “We should handle this tonight, so…”

  Finnegan nodded with a dip of his chin. “Just give me a minute first.”

  “Of course, son.”

  It grew quiet, and I understood we’d been left alone.

  Part of me wondered what had happened to my curiosity. Much was evidently going on, yet I was content to wait, and it was unlike me. This was the highest level of mafia talk, for chrissakes. I should be running in the opposite direction, not…literally clinging to it. To him.

  Finnegan dug out his keys and carried me inside.

  I wasn’t ready to let go of him, so I wouldn’t.

  “What the fresh hell—did a unicorn take a shit on our walls?”

  My mouth stretched into a grin against the skin of his neck, and I couldn’t suppress the giggles.

  “You can ask your mom about that.”

  “Aw, fuck. Because we painted her art studio. I should’ve known.” For several seconds, he stood quietly in the middle of the living room. I didn’t like that he wasn’t holding me as tightly anymore. “You, uh… I don’t know what to do now. Are you tired?”

  I frowned and inched back to look him in the eye. “What?”

  That was when I saw the weariness in his eyes—and the wistfulness and wariness.

  “Tell me what to do, princess.”

  “I was on my way to you,” I whispered.

  A spark of hope mingled with the longing. “You were?”

  I nodded and scratched a finger over his beard. I’d missed feeling it on my body. “I forgive you if you give me permission to maybe slap you upside the head sometimes. What you did really burned me, and when I think back on all that, I get pissed.”

  Rather than cracking a smile at my sort-of attempt at keeping it light, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead to mine. “Thank God.”

  “I assure you he had nothing to do with it.”

  He breathed a small laugh and shook his head. Then he swallowed hard and glanced over at the couch, and the glimpse I got of his eyes packed a punch. He was struggling to hold it together.

  “We’ll be okay.” I cupped his cheeks.

  He nodded once and sat down with me on his lap, and he cleared his throat. “I expected to be more relieved when I saw you’d signed the contract, but…it’s not enough, Emilia. Not anymore, not with you. It can’t be just a marriage on paper.”

  I was at a loss for words, because this meant—what did this mean? No, I knew what he was implying. That he wanted the real deal. That it meant more to him. And as my heart thumped and soared, it scared me too. All I could do was lock my arms around his neck and hug him hard.

  “Do I at least stand a chance?” he whispered. “I get that you won’t make any promises. I have a lot to prove—”

  “Yes. I mean, yes, there’s a chance.” I could say that much. I could allow myself to be open to the possibility, despite that my hopes might get crushed if I ended up burned again.

  He kissed me softly, with barely restrained urgency. “A chance is all I need.” With a few more tentative kisses, he deepened the next one, and I responded with passion. He shuddered and hugged me the way he was supposed to. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if anything happened to you. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m sure.” For now anyway. “No more talking.” If all I had were a few minutes before he…went to work, for lack of a better term, then we were going to spend them kissing and holding each other. It was a slow dance with our tongues, sweet brushes to get reacquainted, nuzzling to convey how much we’d missed one another, and a torturous bu
ildup that promised more heat later.

  I woke up the next morning to the sound of two guitars.

  Faint, light strumming.

  It was beautiful.

  Pushing myself up into a seated position, I squinted around me, disoriented, and remembered I was on the couch. Finnegan had tucked me in last night after bringing down pillows and our duvet. He’d said he wasn’t sure when he’d be back, but he was a call away. Judging by the untouched spot on the other side of the L-shaped couch, he’d either slept somewhere else, or he hadn’t slept at all.

  I spotted him and Alec out on the patio, with their backs to me.

  “You’ve been practicing, cub. It sounds good.”

  It was a rare treat to hear Finnegan play. He’d played the piano at home a few times. This was the first time I’d heard him on the guitar, and I should’ve known he’d be brilliant at this too. Though, after Grace shared a recording of him playing the tin whistle at a memorial for a family member, it was the instrument I wanted to hear the most. The sound was just chillingly beautiful, not to mention unquestionably Irish.

  Wanting to join them in the sun, I went upstairs and freshened up before changing into my bikini. I snatched a pair of boxer shorts from Finnegan too and folded the waistband to make them shorter. Then I redid my ponytail and went downstairs again.

  Both heads turned as I stepped out onto the patio, Finnegan’s eyes darkened, his gaze raking over me. I’d missed that too. Never before in my life had I felt so desired.

  “I see you woke up on the indecent side of the bed,” he murmured.

  “Great! Now I can’t wear my yellow bikini,” Alec quipped.

  I grinned and joined Finnegan on his lounger. “Keep playing, please.”

  To be a little jerk, Alec set down his guitar. “He can’t now that you’re here, silly Tush. It’s a wedding surprise, you see.”

  Oh? I looked at Finnegan.

  He nodded once and set down his guitar too. “You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid.”

  If it was a surprise for the wedding, I supposed I could deal. Reluctantly. God, now I wanted to know what they had planned.

  “Sleep well?” He took a sip of his coffee and patted the spot between his legs. I took the hint and scooted closer, and he returned his mug before strapping his arms across my chest. His left hand was hidden under his right arm so he could be a sneak and cup one of my boobs. I shot him a look of warning. Seriously, we had a twelve-year-old right next to us. Finnegan’s eyes glittered with amusement, though what I noticed the most were the shadows underneath.

  “Did you sleep at all?” I countered quietly.

  He shook his head. “I’m on my seventh cup of coffee.”

  I scrunched my nose. “You worked all night? I’ll have to tuck you in, then.”

  “I’ll take a nap later. Lot to do today.”

  “Aye, I’m being shipped off again,” Alec said with a sour look. “I know how kids of divorced mums and dads feel now.”

  That made me frown. “Why’s he leaving?” I asked Finnegan.

  “John’s call,” he replied, facing Alec. “You’ll be back in a month, cub.”

  In the distance, we heard Grace hollering for Alec, saying it was time to get going, and he let out a string of curses no twelve-year-old should utter. There were one too many c-words.

  “Oi.” Finnegan gave him a wry look that held just enough of a warning. “Wash your mouth and don’t skip confession next week.”

  I pressed my lips together to withhold my snickers, and I reached out and grabbed Alec’s hand. “We’ll text like pros, kiddo.”

  “I’ll miss the stag night now, though,” he grumbled.

  Finnegan laughed. “Alec, you would’ve missed that anyway. Don’t be in such a rush to grow up.”

  As funny as this was, he was right. Alec was much like a little adult, with the same expectations on himself as a grown man. The only difference was that he still lived to terrorize his sister, although I wasn’t sure that would ever change. Just look at his family. Finnegan and his own mother pulled pranks on each other.

  “Fine.” Alec turned his stern gaze on me. “We gotta text a lot, Tush. We have plans to make for when yer leaving the boss for me.”

  Finnegan barked out a laugh, and I bumped fists with Alec.

  After hugs were exchanged—and some good-natured ribbing between the boys—we said goodbye to Alec for now, and then Finnegan updated me on what they’d done all night. Namely, trying to map out the intentions of the Italians. The fact that it looked like I wasn’t going to freak out about the whole ordeal last night kind of amazed me. I took it as a win. Personal growth—or possibly the disappearance of my sanity. Because I listened to Finnegan talk about retaliation and personal vendettas, and it barely fazed me.

  “Can you tell me about this vendetta crap?” I sat up and turned around to face him better. “Yesterday, that man said his boss and John are family—that they’re brothers. How’s that true?”

  He watched me pensively and lit up a smoke. “You ready for some family history?”

  “Hit me with it. I took the Wikipedia crash course. I know you guys go way back for generations. The Murrays are from one place in Ireland, and you’re from another. But, like, from the same province or something.”

  He chuckled. “All right. Yes, they’re from Cork. We’re from Killarney. Both are in the province of Munster.” That was it. Munster. Hence the name of their syndicate. “I won’t go back that far. Shit was perfect up until my grandfather appointed his best friend to be his right-hand man.” He hesitated. “You’re young, so I don’t know how much of this you remember. My grandfather was Ronan O’Shea. He was the boss for over twenty years, until he was killed about ten years ago.”

  I’d read about it. The memories were too fuzzy. “His friend was killed too, right? Um…Ennis?”

  He smiled and inclined his head. “That’s right. Ennis Murray—Uncle John and Ma’s pop.” This, I’d heard. And it always gave me pause when I was reminded that Grace was a Murray originally. After reading about the in-house drama, it was a wonder they still met up for family reunions. “So the tradition we’ve had in our organization goes back to when everything started. When a boss retires or dies, the rank goes over to the other family’s appointed new boss, usually the eldest son. It’s how we’ve kept the peace all this time. Before my grandfather, it was a Murray who ruled. Before then, another O’Shea.”

  That made sense. “So then, it was John’s turn, and he’s the boss now.”

  Finnegan’s smirk was a little on the dark side, and he flicked away some ash. “Not necessarily. And this is personal to me for a lot of reasons. Growing up, Pat and I always heard we were like Ronan and Ennis. It was a running joke for years. Because of my, uh, conservative ways, I guess you can say, and Patrick’s looser morals. While he was chasing skirts, I was shadowing my grandfather to learn respect, loyalty, and honor. And there used to be honor in what we do.” He was legit irritated by how they committed their crimes. “Ennis had his head stuck in the clouds. He crossed his fingers and hoped for the best, and he didn’t see what he wanted to see in John. He didn’t give John his vote to be the next Murray in charge.”

  I stayed quiet, getting sucked in.

  “I used to respect Uncle John,” he went on. “He was supposed to be the next boss, and my grandfather thought so too. But, since he’d chosen Ennis to be his adviser, it meant Ennis’s vote mattered almost as much as Ronan’s. With one vote, no one can dictate a successor, but they can veto and rule one out. John had a feeling his pop was gonna eliminate his chances of becoming boss, so he took matters into his own hands. He struck deals with foreign syndicates we don’t want to have anything to do with. He dismissed sit-downs with my grandfather and got into a turf war with a gang in Chicago with trigger-happy fingers. He raised hell, in short.”

  “Then your grandfather and Ennis were murdered,” I said.

  “Yeah. And pretty much everyone with a brain knows John was behind i
t.”

  Jesus. My mind began spinning, and I pinched my lips together. If John had Ronan and Ennis assassinated, were there any limits to what he would do? He’d killed his own father in that case.

  “He started sending his men to Philly next.” Finnegan finished his smoke, his features clouded by what he no doubt remembered vividly. “Ronan’s and Ennis’s most vocal supporters dropped off the face of the earth. Pat and I were ordered to go to Europe for uni studies—our folks didn’t want us in the city.” So that was when Finnegan attended Trinity College in Dublin. “It didn’t take long before it escalated further. As soon as the first bodies were discovered, it became a full-blown war and media circus. Patrick and I came home to help out. More men were killed—even a couple wives, and one kid died.” That was awful. “All in all, from the moment my grandfather was murdered… It was a couple years of mayhem, and it ended for me when I was thrown in prison. A ton of us were. Most of us got set up. John had planted his people fucking everywhere, and Patrick and I trusted the wrong guy in our crew.”

  There were so many conflicting thoughts here. Part of me was ready to blurt out, you knew what you signed up for. To expect criminals to be honorable seemed…naïve at best. Another part of me knew right and wrong weren’t always in step with legal and illegal, and Finnegan had grown up in the middle of this. Right and wrong were about whether or not to keep his family safe and do the work he’d been brought up to do. Even though he knew exactly what was wrong, what was he supposed to do? Let his uncle kill his family members and get away with it?

  Listen to yourself.

  I flinched back an inch or two, reeling from the arguments I’d built up in defense of what Finnegan did.

  Why did it feel like I was about to get lost in gray areas that had once been so black-and-white?

  I cleared my throat, needing to push that aside for now. “I take it your uncle dealt with the guy his dad wanted to be boss too?”

  “And that brings us to the punch line in today’s lesson.” Finnegan rubbed his hands together. “Like Patrick, Ennis’s little junior on the O’Shea side, Ennis couldn’t keep his dick in his pants at the sight of a beautiful woman.” Oh, no. “We don’t even know how many bastards he fathered, but we do know one of them is older than John. Ennis wanted to include this bastard in our family, and he almost succeeded.”