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I hold up a hand. “How rich are you, exactly?”
His face falls into a smug smile. “Very.”
“Yeah, no kidding. This house, afamilyphysician, property all over the city… are you like Boston royalty?”
He pauses for a moment like he’s considering that. “More or less, we’re something like that.”
“I was joking. Seriously, who are you people?”
He comes around the island, pulls a stool close to mine, and sits. I’m intensely aware of his proximity. “My family runs the largest criminal organization on the East Coast.”
My jaw drops open. His face is completely serious, and if anyone else said that to me, I’d assume they were joking.
But he spoke like it’s the plain truth.
And it makes sense.
The clubs, the cash, thecrew. The people doing his bidding late at night.
All of this screams either extremely old-world money or something very shady.
“Right, okay, criminal organization.” My hands are shaking as I take a sip. “Which makes you, what? A mafia guy or whatever?”
His nose scrunches. “Mafiais for the Italians. We are Irish. We run a criminal organization called the Crowley family. My brothers and I are all captains within the hierarchy, along with several other prominent, powerful individuals. Each of us has our own lieutenants, soldiers, and associates to manage, along with businesses to run and rackets to control.”
“Like a freaking movie,” I whisper, trying not to laugh out of sheer insanity.
“Exactly.” He tilts his head, studying me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Nope. Not at all.” I take another sip of coffee. “Definitely not okay. But I think I’m so numb that it’s not really hitting me.”
“Good. Because I have more news.” He shifts closer, puts a hand on my leg. I blink at his fingers lying gently on my bare skin, right beneath the hem of my comfortable shorts. “We’re getting married.”
I jerk back, eyes bulging, and nearly knock over my mug. He catches it before it spills on the floor.
“We’rewhatnow?” I swat his hand away, leaping to my feet to put space between us.
“Married. You know, when a man loves a woman, or in this case when a man can sexually satisfy a woman multiple times per night—”
“No, don’t start playing all nice and flirting with me after dropping something like that.”
“I’m not flirting. Merely speaking truth. How many times was it?”
“You’re trying to soften me up. Stop talking about orgasms.”
“I’m only getting a feel for my future wife.”
“Finn,” I say between my teeth. “I am absolutelynotgoing to marry you.” I cross my arms, trying to seem bigger than I am, but I’m very aware of this massive criminal and the automatic lock on the front door. I couldn’t run if I wanted to. “Coming here was a mistake, okay? I’m only in a bad spot and I thought you could help me, but clearly, I was wrong and this iswaymore than I wanted. Let’s just pretend like I never came here, okay? Great, it was nice seeing you again.”
He doesn’t move, only stares at me with that piercing expression. The strange gold around his irises seems to glitter in the morning sunlight. I wish I could look away, but god, the man is gorgeous, and he’s looking at me like he’s about to get up, shove me against the wall, and kiss every inch of my body.
Maybe I’m projecting a bit.
I’m on the verge of a full-on panic attack, which doesn’t help with my morning sickness, but this man is absolutely crazy if he thinks we’re going from strangers to married.
I amnota part of his world. I’m not going to put his ring on my finger just because he shoved a baby in my belly.
This is the modern freaking world. I have choices. I don’t have to get shackled to some guy because I’m pregnant out of wedlock. Nobody’s going to stone me or throw me out of the village or toss me in a river to drown.
