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Finn
Dad’s behind his desk at the far end of the room. He’s a compact man, gray hair, clean-shaven today, in a black suit with a dark red tie. Orin Crowley’s the boss of the Crowley family, the leader of our organization, and one of the most powerful men in the country.
Sitting in a chair to the side of his desk is a girl.
I stare at her for a long moment. Nothing else exists but her. She’s got dark brown hair, big brown eyes. Mousy, tall and willowy, much too thin. I can’t help but compare her to Dara. This girl’s skinny where Dara’s curvy, dark where Dara’s light. Dara had lovely chestnut brown hair that fell in waves down to her shoulders. This girl has straight hair pulled back in an austere bun. Her cheekbones are high and her scowl says she’s as excited for this as I am.
Dara was laughter and lightness and pleasure.
This girl’s severe. Pretty, yes, but pretty the way a shiny steel pipe’s pretty.
“There you are,” Dad snaps, standing. “You’re late. Finn, I want you to meet Clive McLaren and his daughter, Robin McLaren.”
I almost didn’t notice the man sitting next to her. Another typical Irishman: squat, pale, wrinkly, with salt-and-pepper hair and an easy smile.
“Good to meet you,” Clive says, coming over. He shakes my hand with overblown enthusiasm. Landing a Crowley son for his daughter’s probably the victory of a lifetime for a guy like this. “It’s nice we finally see the man that’s going to marry my daughter, eh, Robin?”
The girl slowly gets to her feet. I walk past her father and stand in front of her, trying to get a feel for what she’s like. She’s gangly, all skin and bones. Dressed well enough, but the glare she gives me doesn’t inspire much hope.
In fact, I feel absolutely nothing looking at her.
The contrast is undeniable. With Dara, heat rolled down my skin even watching her from a distance. My first glance at that girl, sitting alone on a bench looking at her phone like it was delivering the worst news imaginable, sent shivers down my spine. I couldn’t look away; she was incredible. Dara was the sun, blinding and intense. She stole my attention like a black hole, sucking me in.
If Robin disappeared right now, I would barely notice.
“Nice to meet you,” Robin says, offering me her hand.
I shake it. Why the fuck not? Might as well try getting used to her. Unfortunately, her palm’s clammy and doesn’t fit right in my hand.
Not like Dara’s did.
“You two are officially engaged now,” Dad says, sealing the deal.
It’s an anticlimactic moment. Robin barely registers it in her face, just a slight upturn of her lips.
I drop Robin’s hand. “Just like that?” I ask, glancing at him. “No ceremony? No rings?”
“Here.” Dad holds up a box. “Give this to the girl.”
Robin looks disgusted by the whole charade, though her father’s beaming as I awkwardly shove an engagement diamond down her finger. I wonder where Dad got the ring, but it doesn’t matter. “There, now it’s real,” I say, more to myself than anyone.
“Real enough,” Robin murmurs. The first sign of life from her yet.
“Wonderful. Congratulations, you two.” Clive claps me on the back. I want to break his neck. “This is just the beginning of our relationship, of course. The McLaren family hopes to work very closely with the Crowley organization. Your father and I have discussed the details.”
“I’m sure you have.” I glance at my old man. “Are we done here?”
Orin’s jaw works. He’s clearly pissed that I’m not playing the part of the politicking youngest son. He wants me to woo this old asshole, make him feel important, maybe sweep the daughter off her feet a little bit, all so we can get access to their drugs, their guns, and their political connections. McLaren has half a dozen cousins, and half of those have federal judgeships. The other half are good lawyers.
I’ll marry her. I’ll grit my teeth and even smile while I do it. But I won’t act like this is what I want behind closed doors.
“How about you give the girl a tour of the grounds while I speak with her father,” Dad says, glaring at me. “Since she’ll be your wife in a year’s time. You might as well get acquainted.”
“Works for me.” I offer her my arm. “Shall we?”
Robin accepts, looking like she’s putting her hand on garbage. “I’d be happy to.”
Doubt that.
