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“He’s just worried,” Ford says, playing the referee as always.
Carmine’s jaw works. I can tell he’s not happy, especially not after hearing the Crowleys are involved.
I can’t blame him. This plan is absolutely insane—borderline suicidal. And yet I still think it’s going to work.
“We have chemistry,” I say, staring at my drink. I can feel both my friends glaring at me now. “We’re not getting involved beyond the deal, but it’s undeniable.”
“Do you like her?” Ford asks. “Before you answer, you better fucking say no, otherwise you’re going to wreck this poor girl. It’s one thing to get into business with her, but it’s another to get her emotionally attached.”
“There are no emotions involved for either of us,” I answer, shaking my head. “She’s young. Way too young. Inexperienced. Not part of our world. There are a thousand reasons why she’s not good for me, and why I’m not good for her.”
“But still there’s a spark,” Ford says, softer this time. “I get that. It’s hard to ignore if it’s there.”
I nod, glancing at Carmine. “We can make this work. We got the spark, which will help a lot. Plus, she’s smart, motivated. She’s in a bad spot in her life, but still.”
“I’m not going to clean this mess up,” Carmine says, tone dark. “When you fuck up and the Crowleys come for blood, my family isn’t getting involved. You can tie your own damn noose.”
“Carmine, bro,” Ford says. “Easy man.”
“It’s fine,” I say, staring Carmine down. “I don’t need you to.”
“Good.” Carmine throws down his drink. “Let’s get back to the table. We shouldn’t leave ourwivesalone for too long.” He stalks off, shoulders set and angry.
I watch him go, not sure what to make of that. Carmine’s softened over the years, especially since he met Brice. He’s been trying to take his family legit, but it’s difficult to give up generations of criminal enterprises, especially when they make a ton of money.
Still, he’s angrier than I would’ve guessed. Might be that he’s worried I’ll get him embroiled with the Crowleys, but he has to know I’d never do that to him.
Maybe it’s as simple as he’s worried about me. Maybe even worried about Fiona.
But regardless of how he feels, I know Carmine would never do something that would get me killed, like tell anyone about my situation.
“He’ll get over it,” Ford says then grins at me. “Wife, huh? She’s hot. Good for you.”
“Thanks.” I squeeze his shoulder, a cold doubt creeping into my guts.
Carmine thinks I’m going to get myself killed, and what if he’s right? What if I dragged Fiona into something I can’t handle?
But no, wecando this. That’s why I told Ford about my spark with Fiona—that’s the basis for a relationship. With that in play, we can fool just about anyone.
As I rejoin the table, Fiona’s telling stories from her college days to the girls. I listen attentively, watching her lips move, thinking about that mouth against mine. As she talks, my mind drifts off.
The guys are right to worry. Not only about the Crowleys—that’s a problem in itself—but about what might happen to me and Fiona as this shit keeps going. I can’t pretend like we’re not flirting, like we’re not testing each other’s boundaries. I catch her prancing around the apartment in tiny little outfits, teasing me like she thinks it’s funny.
And I tease her right back. I want that girl more than I’ve wanted a woman in my entire life—but that’s a problem.
My world doesn’t have room for Fiona. I have goals, dreams, and none of those involve a wife. For now, she’s useful, but long-term? Beyond the Crowleys? I don’t know what’s going to happen.
I don’t want to tangle her up in my affairs and ruin her. I don’t want the other crime families I work for to learn about her, to court her, to try to curry favor with her in order to get closer to me. And I also have enemies, families that want to hurt me and some of my clients. Will that animosity extend to Fiona?
There are a lot of angles in all this.
Yet for me, it boils down to one thing.
The feeling I get when I put my hand on her thigh under the table—and she doesn’t brush it away.
She could. We’re not performing right now.
But she doesn’t.
