Rake: A Dark Boston Irish Mafia Romance (The Carneys Book 1)

by Sophie Austin

  “I cornered one of the janitors—found him stealing some trash bags. Told him I’d let it go if he informed. Naturally he did.”

  “Trash bags?” I say. “You were going to fire someone for stealing trash bags?” Seems kind of absurd.

  “And this is why you’ll never be any good to me, Finn. No head for business. First it’s trash bags, and next thing you know they’re walking out with the slot machines.”

  “Seems like quite the leap,” I say. Who steals trash bags? A voice at the back of my head tells me it’s people who can’t afford them. People who aren’t being paid a living wage and feel entitled to take them.

  Good thing he doesn’t know about the money I’ve taken from him for various home improvement reasons. The deed to the building is in my name, too. It was one of the properties he signed over to hide assets during that particularly challenging audit he had to undergo to apply for the casino license. It was what gave me the idea to make a play for the other, more valuable deeds. And I knew Callan would be game, too.

  “The customers really like Jamilah,” I say. “Staff, too. Are you sure firing her was the right move?”

  He fixes me with his cold blue eyes. “Am I sure?” he spits. “Who do you think you are, Finn? Tell me that. Who the fuck do you think you are? You’ve been worse than useless to me your whole life, and you think you can tell me how to run my casino?”

  I unfold my hands and turn them palms up. “I’m just saying that firing a popular employee at this point in time may not be in your best interests.”

  “Making an example of people always works, Finn. Always.”

  “Sometimes it gives unhappy people something to rally around instead.”

  “Did you read that in one of your books?” He folds his arms across his chest. “You’re a waste of space.”

  “Should I leave, then?” I ask. “I don’t want to take up more of your time.”

  “No. I have a job for you. Do it successfully and I’ll reconsider excising your useless ass from this family. Everyone else besides you brings something to the table. Even your whore sister Catriona has been helping to build our brand.”

  “Good for her,” I say.

  “Do you ever take anything seriously?” he snarls.

  “I’m taking this very seriously.”

  “I want you to finish the job on that bitch Saunders. No one gets away with humiliating me like that.” His face is tomato red. I haven’t seen him quite this worked up in a while. “I don’t care how you do it, but I want her gone.”

  “No.”

  My father’s red turns slowly to purple.

  “It’s a bad idea.” My personal feelings aside, the timing on this is atrocious. “If the union representative disappears right around the election, it will look terrible for you. Even with all of your connections.”

  He smashes his fist into his desk. I don’t flinch.

  “Her brother, then,” my father says, taking a deep breath. “Find a way to punish her, or I will, Finn, and you know it’ll be worse than anything even your sordid brain can come up with.”

  I could kill my father right now for talking so cavalierly about hurting Sasha and Benjamin. For not seeing them as people, like he doesn’t see me as a person. But I won’t. He deserves suffering that death would end too quickly. I’ll figure something else out.

  “Fine,” I say. “Anything else?”

  “It won’t be as easy this time, boy. I told her what you did.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fortunate that you couldn’t be bothered to walk her out this morning once you’d used her. I ran into your latest conquest on the way into work. Let her know you’d had her grabbed and delivered to you like a piece of meat.”

  She should’ve learned that from me.

  Fuck.

  Shame burns through me. It slicks my throat like so much bile, and I need to get the hell out of here before my father figures out I have any kind of feelings for Sasha. Before I vomit all over his desk.

  “Better that she knows,” I say, pulling my legs in and standing up. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  My father’s eyes follow me as I leave his office, that snide smile still on his face. I pass by a metal barrel filled with sand on the way to the parking garage and kick the absolute shit out of it. The thing is completely destroyed, spilling sand on the sidewalk when I’m done.

  At least no one will slip there.

  I’m still fucking furious when I get to my car. I want to tear my father’s head from his body. God, what must Sasha be thinking right now? She must hate me. I don’t want her to hate me and that scares the shit out of me. A cold chill runs up my spine as I imagine how angry, how violated she must feel. Because of what I did. What my father did to her was abominable, but what I did was worse. I acted on selfish bad faith and convinced this woman who’d been terrorized by my family to be vulnerable with me. And I couldn’t resist sleeping with her even after I knew what it would do to her if she found out what kind of a person I am.

  I don’t want to be that person.

  My father doesn’t expect me to succeed in taking care of his problem with Sasha. He doesn’t want me to—otherwise he wouldn’t have told her what I did and make the job even harder. He wants me to fail. At this point, I don’t think he’ll actually cut me off, because he enjoys keeping me in line so he can humiliate me at every turn.

  And I keep playing along, doing petty little things to spite him until I can pull the rug out from under him for good. But is my revenge worth the pain I caused Sasha? Is it worth giving this innocent woman more fodder for her nightmares?

  I lean against the leather seats and close my eyes. I was glad Sasha was gone when I woke up this morning. I didn’t want to have to deal with her feelings.

  But the reality is that I didn’t want to deal with my own feelings. And now I wonder how she must have felt when she ran into my father, fresh from my bed. From her first time sharing herself in that way with someone.

  And that person turns out to be a different kind of monster.

  Fuck.

  Now what? I’m glad I kept any emotion out of my reaction to my father’s orders. I didn’t want him to know that harming Sasha or her brother would bother me in any way. He wanted to hurt her for humiliating him, but it’d be extra sweet if he knew it’d get to me, too.

  How do I fix this?

  I need to talk to Sasha.

  But how? She won’t want to see me, and it’s not like I can have P.J. muscle her back into my life.

  Not that I would do something like that again.

  And why would she believe anything I had to say? That fantasy of being with her, her honey gold hair spilling over my lap as I read to her, flashes across my mind and adds to my guilt.

  A man like me has no right to dream of a future with someone like Sasha. Even the small, romantic moments we had are tainted by my impure motives. I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to the Athenaeum. I’d be destroyed remembering how she kissed me in that reading room with a sweetness I’d never earned.

  I drive back to my apartment far too fast. It’s lucky I don’t get pulled over. Taking the stairs two at a time, I head to my office to think. There has to be an answer to this puzzle.

  I get a terrible idea and call Siobhan.

  She’s never been impressed with me, less so since she started dating Kieran Doyle.

  “Finn. Is everything okay?”

  I never call her. We don’t talk, not like that. And I was such an asshole to her about Kieran, smug just like our fucking father, thinking I knew everything about her, about Kieran, about their relationship.

  I don’t know a goddamn thing about people loving each other.

  “I need your help.”

  She sighs quietly and then says, “Is it about the woman? The one Bridget told me you took to the gala?”

  “Good news travels fast,” I drawl.

  “You have to admit that it’s unusual
for you to take a date to a family event. We haven’t met most of your lady friends.”

  “I know.” I swallow the sharp comments I want to make. I’m angry, and Siobhan doesn’t deserve to be the recipient of that. “I like her. But I fucked up.”

  I can’t believe I’m saying it. Least of all to Siobhan.

  But I tell her what happened anyway, all the grisly details.

  “How could Dad do something like that? And how could he ask you to hurt that poor girl or her brother again?”

  Jesus. To have access to that sort of belief in our father, still. What’s that like?

  “You have to know that the family business involves collateral damage, Siobhan. I know you’re cut out of a lot of it, but you’re no fool.”

  Still, she and my father have always had a decent relationship since she gave him what he wanted; she’s a talented, professional musician who elevates the family name and hides some of the uglier things he does.

  Who could believe that world-class violinist Siobhan Carney’s father is a criminal?

  “Do you want me to talk to him?” she asks.

  “No. You’ll just be another target and I don’t want that for you.”

  “Finn, you don’t have to take this all on yourself.”

  “It won’t change anything,” I insist. “I can handle what Dad throws at me. I just don’t know what to do about Sasha.”

  “Have you apologized to her?”

  “How?” I snap. “How the hell do you apologize for something like that? You know how much I love language, but I don’t know what the fuck I should say. I don’t know how to make it better.”

  “It’s not about making it better,” she says. “It’s not about getting her to forgive you. It’s about admitting you were wrong and acknowledging the damage you did to her. It’s about finding ways to address the fallout so things don’t get worse. She gets to set all the terms, Finn. She gets to set up all the boundaries, and you have to respect them, no matter what.”

  Even if she never wants to see me again.

  I’ll tell her the truth, then. All of it. Even the part I’ve never told anyone.

  “And don’t just show up at her house,” Siobhan adds quickly.

  Damn. She knows me better than I’d like to admit.

  “Let her pick when and where, if she wants to meet you.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate this. I know I haven’t been supportive of you.”

  She laughs. “That’s an understatement. But Finn? I know what it must’ve taken for you to call me and ask for advice. I’m proud of you.”

  “Okay, I’m not interested in therapy time here…but I appreciate what you’re saying.”

  “Let me know how it goes. Good luck.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I stare at my phone. Sasha’s number is in my phone from when she texted me that ridiculous card last week.

  Has it really only been a week?

  I think about what Siobhan said and write out a message to Sasha.

  I owe you an apology and an explanation. If you want to hear either, tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.

  I hit send, and all I can do now is wait.

  17

  Sasha

  What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?

  I stare at Finn’s message on my phone and take a swig of shitty red wine.

  Drinking a glass of wine locked up in my childhood bedroom while my father drunkenly rages about some hockey trade downstairs is the cherry on top of a real peach of a day.

  But I’m mixing my fruit metaphors.

  Benjamin’s at a friend’s house for the weekend, and I’m just glad he’s away from this hellscape and in a place with a decent security system at the very least.

  I did a lot of research at work, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about the Carneys’ threats. A crime hasn’t been committed, so I can’t go to the police. They have to wait for me or Benjamin to get hurt before they can follow up.

  It’s not a surprise—I’ve seen enough true crime shows to know that women often take their fears to the authorities and are met with sympathy, but little else.

  Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to up and leave—first and last month’s rent alone would wipe out my savings, and I’d need to find something Benjamin and I could share. The house is in my father’s name, so even though I cover most of the mortgage I have nothing to show for it.

  I could still go to the Globe, and that’s my reserve plan. With the election on Tuesday, it doesn’t make sense to stir the pot. Not yet.

  So it’s waiting. And worrying. Which is where the wine comes in. It’s not as good as the glass Finn gave me last night. Jamilah told me that was a two-hundred-dollar glass of wine. I hope Finn appreciated the part of the evening where I chugged it after telling his father to fuck off.

  I look at his message again. Do I want to meet him?

  A wave of excitement and disgust passes through me. I can’t help but remember coming under him last night, and an echo of that pleasure moves through me. Intellectually my attraction to him is gone, but physically? Still there.

  It’s hard to reconcile the pleasure with the pain of his orchestrating that second assault.

  Apparently his father caught him up on our morning conversation.

  Is this another setup? What’s the smart thing to do here? Even if I do hear him out, how can I believe anything he says? I couldn’t see through his lies, not at all.

  I drink another glass of wine, looking around my bedroom. There are still vestiges from when I was a little girl, and it’s depressing what a small life I’m leading. I’m trapped here by my responsibility to others, just like I was trapped in Finn’s apartment. Not directly by him, but by the fear of what would happen to me and the people who rely on me if I left before he was ready for me to go.

  Until now, I’d been focused on getting through to the end of the summer, but even if I manage to get Benjamin in school, then what? What’s next for me?

  It’s unrealistic to think I could pick up and move to California with Benjamin. We don’t have that kind of money, and even if we did, he needs his own space to grow. As much as I hate to admit it, Finn was spot on about that. He can’t be a man if I don’t get at least partially out of the way.

  I turn my phone over in my hands a few times.

  Fuck it. What have I got to lose at this point, anyway?

  Dunks on the corner of Broadway and Union in Everett. 9:00am. Tomorrow.

  It didn’t have to be that early, but it satisfies the petty part of my brain. Finn’s a late riser. Fucking bizarre that I know that about him already.

  It means I have to be up super early the next day to get ready, and I am. I can’t face Finn without some kind of armor on. I pull on the skinny jeans and a long-sleeved off-shoulder top. It’s elasticized and clings to my curves. I’m tired of being embarrassed by my body.

  Strapless bras will take some getting used to, but the neckline of this shirt dips too low for a regular one.

  I walk over to the Dunks, snow crunching under my boots. My ankle is a little wonky, but so much better than a week ago. I still have to cover the bruises on my neck with makeup, but those are fading too.

  I get there by 8:57 exactly, buy a coffee, and wait for Finn at a table in the corner. I shrug my coat off.

  He comes in the door right on time.

  My stomach does little flips when I see him, and I have to force myself to remember why we’re here. The barista does a double take as he passes by. No one that good-looking comes into this Dunkin Donuts. His long strides have him at my table in seconds.

  His hair is messy, and his usual five o’clock shadow is a little thicker. I push my legs together as he asks if he can sit down.

  I nod, and he pulls out the tiny chair. His legs don’t fit under the table, so he has to sit sideways.

  “You look gorgeous,” he says, licking his lips. His eyes linger on my cleavage and the heat creeps up my cheeks.
>
  I can’t get caught up in his sex appeal.

  “How could you have that horrible man come after me again?” It all comes out in one long, breathless run-on sentence. “How could you let me lay in your arms like an idiot, knowing you did that?”

  His eyes are sad. I wait for his expression to clear, but it doesn’t.

  “I’m sorry, Sasha. I didn’t know P.J. was one of the people who hurt you. I shouldn’t have done what I did at all, and I’m not making excuses, but I promise that I never intended to subject you to the man who did that to you again. And I didn’t intend for him to hurt you so badly.”

  “But you did intend to have him lie to me about why I was there.”

  “Yes. I knew you wouldn’t trust me because of who my father was. I figured you’d be more willing to work with me if you thought my father and I weren’t on the same side.”

  He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

  “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not on the same side.” Maybe it’s mean, but I say it anyway. “Your father hates you, Finn. You must know that.”

  “I do,” he says.

  I expected to feel some kind of pleasure at the revelation, but the defeat on his face just makes me feel worse.

  “But how my father feels about me doesn’t matter. What matters is that I hurt an innocent woman doing his bidding. You didn’t deserve that. I’m going to regret what I did for the rest of my life. I was selfish, and arrogant, and didn’t think of how my actions would hurt you. I just told myself that we’d both get what we wanted. But I decided what you should want for you, and that was wrong too.”

  We sit in silence for a minute. The absurdity of the bright pink and orange brand of the donut shop as the backdrop of this encounter isn’t lost on me. The sugary, yeasty smell of the donuts is comfortingly familiar, though.

  “My grandmother used to take me and Benjamin here,” I say. “For special occasions.”

  I watch him process this as a special occasion kind of place.

  “We come from two very different worlds,” he says, his voice low. “I saw that in the Athenaeum. It’s not that I’m unaware of how much privilege my family has, it’s just that I’ve always felt trapped by my circumstances and finally figured a way out. And I was afraid the union would ruin that for me. I should’ve had the kind of integrity you do.”