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Chapter Twelve
Finn
WatchingAoife in the kitchen was almost as hot as watching her writhe underneath me.
Yeah, fucked up, but true.
She was so graceful in there that I got a kick out of watching her work, and there was the added bonus of the meals she created.
It was probably chauvinistic of me to get so turned on by the fact she loved cooking and baking, because it was so ultra-feminine. But it was what it was.
It wasn’t like I had a say in how hot I found it that she loved the whole domestic Goddess shit, and it wasn’t like I was about to tie her to the stove or hand her a mop and bucket—we had a team of housekeepers that would do anything and everything to maintain the penthouse. And, if she didn’t want to, she didn’t have to cook. I’d eaten before her, and we’d eat without her being in charge of the kitchen.
I knew, though, that she’d get pissy if I even made the suggestion. Something about cooking relaxed her, and watching her in here was like watching a dancer in motion.
A part of me knew she liked feeding me, too. Maybe it was an Irish thing. Who the fuck knew?
As she stirred a pot that had her cheeks flushing from the heat, I watched her a second before I averted my attention to my laptop.
Her old building was due for demolition in three weeks’ time, and my project managers were quarrelling on instant messenger. They didn’t need my input, but I kept an eye on things—I always did.
My phone rang and spying Declan’s name, I quirked a brow. Of all the brothers, he called me the least. Not because we weren’t close, but Declan wasn’t close to anyone. He was quiet, kept his head down, and did his job. I loved him, but he could be a boring bastard.
“Dec, what’s up?” Not only was it weird that he’d called me, but it was late for him, too.
“There’s been another robbery.”
Well, fuck.
I hissed between my teeth. “Where?”
“The strip joint on Fourth.”
We had six in this area, and while they weren’t in my official purview, this current issue was a Family problem. That meant all our necks were on the line if we didn’t try to fix it up.
“Has Eoghan pinpointed where their base is?”
“No. The bastards have managed to keep things tight. But you know why. They’ll be working with the Mexicans. We’re approaching gang warfare, Finn.”
My brother’s tone was grim and for a reason. I ran a hand through my hair as I leaned over the counter and pressed my elbow to it. Ducking my head, I countered with, “We need help from the Russians.”
Aoife released a deep breath, and I knew she was listening. It didn’t make me get up and move, though. I didn’t want her involved in the business, but I needed her to know how in danger she was before she married me.
Our vows would be to the death.
There was no out with a Catholic marriage, and there was no out from a Points man.
I’d never let her go. I couldn’t. But I needed her to be aware. Aware helped her be, as she’d told me the other day on the ride back from Aidan’s place, prepared for every eventuality.
Declan cursed. “Those pricks can’t be trusted.”
“And the Latinos can?” I ground out. “At least they run shit like we do.”
“No fucker runs things like we do.”
“Is your Da there?”
“Yeah. ‘Course. He had me call you. He’s fucking foaming. Pricks sliced this chick up good.”
