He sets me on the top step and rings the bell.
An older gentleman answers the door. “Ah, Finn!” he says, smiling broadly. “And this must be Sasha.”
I’m too nervous to smile.
He ushers us inside. Finn takes my jacket, hanging it on a peg in the waiting room.
That seems like the wrong word for it. It’s like we’re in someone’s house. I’ve never seen a doctor’s office in someone’s house before.
“Come with me, young lady. You’ll wait here?” He’s looking at Finn, who nods.
The doctor takes me into an exam room. It’s not the sterile, overly bright environment I’m used to. I’ve been to a lot of doctors these past six months. The room is furnished with a few nice armchairs and a settee, which the doctor tells me to sit on.
“Ms. Saunders,” the doctor says, pulling up a rolling stool and sitting in front of me. “Finn tells me you had an encounter with his father’s thugs?”
I’m taken aback, and he sees the surprise register on my face.
“It’s the worst kept secret in Boston, my dear. I’m Dr. Smith, by the way.”
“How do you know the Carneys?” I ask.
“I’ve treated them for years,” he says. “I don’t approve of a lot of what they get up to, but I took an oath, and I’ll fix anyone up who comes to me.”
“Does Finn bring, I mean, do other people who’ve been hurt…” I don’t know how to ask the question.
“Finn isn’t the scrapper of the family. That’s Patrick. But no, I don’t get a steady stream of the family’s victims coming in here. I asked him to stay in the waiting room because I need to know if you’re safe and if you need me to call the police for you. Do you understand what I’m asking, Ms. Saunders? Did Finn do this to you?” He points at the bruising on my neck.
“No,” I sigh. “Some guy named P.J. Hennelly.”
“Do you want me to get the police?” he asks again. “I’ll stay with you. You won’t be alone.”
It feels like a punch to the gut. I struggle to keep from breaking down into sobs. This stranger cares more about me than my own father. He’s got kind eyes. I’m probably incredibly stupid for trusting someone just because I think they have kind eyes. Maybe I’m more broken than I thought.
Or maybe I just need to badly remember that there are men in the world who fix things instead of breaking them. Men who care. This doctor with the kind eyes seems to reach beyond my scars and pull out feelings I’ve pushed deep down to survive. The pain Finn alluded to earlier.
“It won’t help,” I manage. “The police came last time and…”
“Last time?” he says, his voice going flat.
I reluctantly pull my phone out of my bag and show him the medical file I keep on it.
He wraps his hand around the bottom of his face, covering his mouth, nose, and chin as he reads through it.
“Even if they have his name they won’t pursue it, Dr. Smith. They have a lot of connections. P.J. Hennelly may get arrested, but he’ll just end up dead. And then maybe I will too. I’ve been working on the case to organize the casino staff.”
Dr. Smith hands me my phone. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he says, the pain evident in his voice. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’m going to take a quick x-ray of your ankle, and then I’m going to run an idea past you.”
After the x-ray, he has me wait in the exam room while he takes a look at the film.
“No breaks,” he says, entering the room and shutting the door behind him. “Just a sprain, but with your history your body is going to have a pretty intense inflammatory response. I’m going to fit you with an air cast, and I want you to wear it for a few days. I’ll get you some crutches too. Keep off of it if you can, but if you can’t, make sure to use the crutches for at least three more days. Ice and ibuprofen.”
He sits on the stool in front of me.
“I think you’re right about the police, but there’s more than one way to corral James Carney.” He pats my knee. “James’ wife has been in for stress. That casino cost them more than they’d like to admit, and they need everything to run as smoothly as possible. No bad press.”
Oh. I had no idea. I figured the Carneys hate unions because of a general disdain for the working class, but this is an added incentive to keep wages low and staff silent.
“You understand what I’m saying, Sasha? Tell your story to the press if you have to. Write something up and leave it with a friend. Tell him you’ll pull the trigger if anything happens to you or anyone else involved.”
“But what if no one cares? He’s got so many people in his pocket.”
“True,” the doctor says. “But people would be disgusted that his thugs nearly killed a young woman to keep his staff from making ends meet, especially since he lives so ostentatiously. Do you think the teamsters who truck in his supplies will keep doing it if this story blows up? The contractors who maintain his equipment are probably union too. Do you think people will feel comfortable spending money in his casino with the picture of your abuse plastered all over the walls?”
“No one cared before,” I say quietly. “When it first happened. It wasn’t even a blip.”
“Carney’s people suppressed the story, most likely. You need someone who isn’t on his team. Try Alannah Brecht at the Globe. She’s a friend of mine and she’s done a lot of work with the Spotlight division. The same group who did the expose on the pedophile priests. That was a powerful group too, Sasha. Carney is powerful, but he’s not bulletproof.”
He straps an air cast around my leg and hands me a pair of aluminum crutches.
“The Cadillac of crutches,” he says. “They’re lightweight and have extra padding at the top so it won’t hurt your underarm.”
“I wish I’d had these for my broken leg,” I say, smiling. “Thank you, Dr. Smith.”
He pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry—James Carney will get the bill.”
I hop up and move to the door.
“Sasha,” he says.
I turn to face him.
“This won’t be easy. Please call me if you need me.” He presses his card into my hand.
I feel a lump rise in my throat and my eyes well up again.
“I have a feeling people haven’t been very kind to you. It’s making you doubt your abilities. It’s putting you in dangerous positions. You deserve to be safe. You also deserve to be happy, and it’s not a failure if the trauma you’ve endured makes it impossible to keep doing this work. If Trinity Casino manages to unionize, it’ll be quite the accomplishment, but even if Carney crushes the election, you have a lot to be proud of. Give yourself a break.”
I wish I could afford that right now, but hopefully soon. The reporter idea is brilliant. I wish I’d thought of it, but I’m grateful to have it regardless.
“Thank you.”
He pats my shoulder again. “I’m not trying to make excuses for Finn, but he was brought up in violence too. He’s a brilliant young man and I really hoped he’d break out from his father’s shadow. It’s a shame really. Still, I’m glad he brought you here.”
I am too, though Finn will probably end up regretting it. Dr. Smith holds the door open for me as I maneuver into the waiting room. These crutches are so much better than the ones I’d used before. It’s incredible. Everyone should be able to have nice crutches when they need them.
“Remember what I said. Keep off of it when you can. Ice and ibuprofen.”
I thank him again, as does Finn.
“Thanks for seeing her on a Sunday,” he says. “I appreciate it.”
“She’s a special young lady. I hope you can make sure nothing else happens to her.” There’s a parental edge to his voice that makes Finn shrink in a way I’ve never seen before. He shakes it off in seconds, smiling graciously at the doctor as he walks me out.
“I need to make a quick stop before I drop you off.”
What’s one more delay? I don’t want to stay with Finn, but I don’t want to go back to my house
either. I don’t want him to know that, though. Still, I nod in assent.
He throws the car into gear and starts down Beacon Street.
10
Finn
We drive mostly in silence. The doctor no doubt asked Sasha if I’d been the one to hurt her. She wouldn’t have to lie, because I hadn’t, at least not directly. Besides, while I’ve been in my share of fights, I’ve never laid my hands on a woman.
Still, the look on Dr. Smith’s face when he’d brought her back out made me feel something I didn’t want to own up to.
Something that would make me beat the bloody hell out of P.J. now if he made threats against Sasha in front of me. Damnit, I need to get back in control.
This is not going the way I hoped it would. Sasha’s loyalty to the casino staff was clearly going to be hard to overcome, but I genuinely thought her loyalty to her brother would supplant that. What can I do in the face of ethics like that?
I planned on taking her home anyway—I’d kept her at my place with the intention of forcing closeness so I could find her weaknesses and get her to trust me enough to go with my plans. I’d found her weaknesses and I even think she trusts me. Something I don’t feel great about, to be honest—I don’t deserve that trust—but she won’t even give up one name.
And I hate how I admire that. How jealous I am of the people she’d die to protect.
But I’d meant what I said to Sasha. It’s not her protection I want, and I certainly don’t want her pity. I’ll find a different way to get what I want, by making the staff believe we’re working together. Or that we’re fucking. Whichever suits their narrative better.
If they think someone with morals as strong as Sasha can be corrupted, they’ll be less inclined to keep fighting.
I don’t want her to lose her reputation of integrity, but I don’t want her to die, either. Unethical decisions are sometimes necessary if the outcome is worth it.
I glance at Sasha as I pull in front of the Athenaeum. I don’t want to hurt her. That forced closeness impacted me more than I’d intended. Liking Sasha or admiring her wasn’t part of the plan.
And I didn’t expect to be so fucking attracted to her. When did she become more than just a means to an end for me?
But my personal feelings are irrelevant. There’s more at stake here than that. And Sasha will be able to move on once this is over. She’s resilient. She’s had to be. I’ll find a way to make it up to her once the union is struck down, even if it has to be behind the scenes.
There’s an open house at the Athenaeum. There’ll be all kinds of people there. People who will see us together.
“I have to return this book,” I say, pulling a small volume out of my pocket. “Have you ever been inside?”
She shakes her head.
“Come on,” I say. “It’s one of my favorite places.”
“I’m not dressed for a place like that,” she says quietly.
“It’s just a library.”
“No it isn’t.”
Okay, she’s right.
“Please?” I ask. “I’d like to show it to you.”
She doesn’t want to and I understand why. But that doesn’t matter. I walk to her door and open it up.
“It’ll be a quick trip,” I say.
She presses her full lips together.
“Sasha,” I say, “if you stand out, it won’t be for the reasons you think. You’re genuine, and sure you’re not wearing the latest fashion from New York but it’s more about how you carry yourself than what you’re wearing.”
“Finn, I’m on crutches. I’m wearing the same clothes I had on when your dad’s goon grabbed me on Friday. And you look like, well, that.” She gestures at me broadly. “How am I supposed to carry myself? Especially next to you?”
I give her my best smile. “Like the beautiful woman you are.”
She rolls her eyes. Jesus she’s a tough one. But I mean what I’m saying.
“I’m telling you the truth. You’re beautiful. Expensive clothes can make anyone look good. You don’t need them. You just need the opportunity to shine.”
“And the polish, Finn. I don’t have the polish. You know it’s true.”
She gives me a pleading look that almost breaks me. If I ask again she’ll come with me. That knot forms in my stomach again. She is right that people will judge her appearance. But even in her cheap clothes with no makeup on, she’s beautiful.
“Please?”
She sighs and eases out of the car. It’s too high for her, so I take her by the waist and help her down before getting her crutches and leading her up to the big red door. I’m surprised to find it’s more than just being seen together that drives me on. I want to share this place with her.
“There are open hours for the public,” I say, “but you’re right that most of the good stuff is reserved for paying members. You have to make appointments to see most of the collections.”
I rest my hand on the small of her back as I show her the general stacks and the artwork. People watch us. Sasha is self-conscious, and she’ll be even more so when she realizes there’s a photographer here. I want to keep her mind off of that if I can and lead her into the quiet reading room by the Chief Conservator’s office.
I pull out a chair, and she sits while I pick up a book I’d asked to be pulled for me earlier this morning.
“It’s an original edition of Burns’ poetry,” I say, handing it to her. “They’ve got the majority of Washington’s library from Mount Vernon. This was in that collection, and it’s even signed by him.”
She holds it gingerly, running her fingers across the worn leatherboard cover. She traces the gold lyres embossed on the cover, and I’m mesmerized watching her fingertips glide across its surface.
I sit beside her and drape my arm on the back of her chair.
She opens it carefully and turns the pages like she’s holding a relic. It strikes a chord with me. I’ve seen so many people treat the treasures here cavalierly. It’s always the richest members. The people who’ve never had to make something last because they couldn’t afford a replacement. But there are some things that can’t be replaced.
I gaze at Sasha’s face as she pages thoughtfully through the book. Her expression is placid, almost reverent, but I suddenly feel stupid for showing her this. Maybe I’m making too many assumptions about what she cares about, and even if she does like books the way I do, it’s foolish of me to prove her point further—that my family and I have access to things others don’t, and there’s no real reason for it other than money. My father would say it was a result of his hard work, but he doesn’t work harder than the woman sitting next to me. And she has so little to show for it.
While I’m going to do what it takes to maintain my hold on those properties, and to keep the casino successful long enough to pay off the loans, my interactions with Sasha have expanded the possibilities in my mind of what I’ll with the income from them. I don’t like how quickly she’s made an impact on me.
She closes the book and looks up at me. I’m self-conscious now, feeling naked in a way I never do.
“I thought you might like to see it,” I offer. It’s hollow to even my own ears. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles sweetly at me.
“It’s wonderful,” she says. “Thank you. I never thought I’d get to touch something Burns signed. My grandma would be thrilled. The only thing she’d like better would be Bonny Prince Charlie’s underwear or something.”
I laugh and smooth the hair she’d pushed behind her ear.
“I don’t know if they have those, but I’ll ask.”
“Might raise some eyebrows.”
God I love her smile.
Her pull is magnetic. I lean forward and kiss her, softly, next to her mouth. I start to pull away, and she stops me, pressing her lips to mine.
And it’s that exact moment the photographer catches.
He’s gone before either of us can blink the flash away.
“Wh
at was that about?” she asks.
“I guess there’s an event happening?”
I know there is, but the less Sasha knows the better.
“Figures,” she says, running her hands over her hair.
“Don’t worry, my big head was in most of the shot.”
It’s true, but I’d be asked later who the mystery lady was, and I’d be sure to give them the answer. Sasha may hate me for it. I don’t want her to hate me, but I can’t worry about that right now.
She’s delighted as I show her more collections, and now that her self-consciousness has worn off, she doesn’t seem to see how people are looking at her with a kind of envy. Her enthusiasm is contagious. When it’s time to leave, I’m surprised to find that I don’t want to go, but she’s tired, and I need to get her home.
Back to her monster of a father.
I bristle at the thought of him laying a hand on her.
We talk about books and history the whole ride to her house, and when we pull up to the curb, she looks at me with a reluctance that makes me hate what I’m going to do next.
“We’re having a gala on Thursday,” I say. “At the casino. You have to be there.”
“Finn, no.”
I take in breath. “It’s not a request, Sasha. I’m sorry. I’ll pick you up at 7:30.”
“I won’t go,” she says. “You know I won’t.”
“You will,” I reply. “Because if you don’t, I’ll invite your brother.”
Her eyes go wide and her beautiful lips open in shock.
“He won’t go with you either!”
“He would.” That lump in my throat is back. “I’d tell him we’re going to find P.J.”
“Goddamnit, Finn. How could you do something like that? Why can’t you just leave us alone?”
“You didn’t leave my family’s business alone,” I snap. I wonder if she hears the edge of guilt, though. “And my father won’t leave you or your brother alone either.”
She looks like she’s going to cry, this time because she’s disappointed in me. I can’t handle it.
“I know you’re self-conscious about your clothes, so I want to give you some money to get something.” I pull out my wallet.
Rake: A Dark Boston Irish Mafia Romance (The Carneys Book 1) Page 9