He stares at me as though I’m supposed to understand some telepathic message. At last, he says, “Because it’s blood money, Finch. The proceeds of crime—of murder and misery and sin.”
I can feel the blood draining from my face, my lips numbing. I stand up, throwing a handful of the newsletters at him childishly. “Just when we were starting to get along, too. Fine. Be noble and poor if you want. I guess if you had some real bank behind the programs, you’d actually have todosome fucking work in the community.”
Aidan shakes his head, concerned. Torn, even. “Finch, if you want to help, I can’t stress this enough, you’re more than welcome to donate your time as you have been, and like Celia does. But as far as the financial side of things—”
“Screw you,” I tell him, and I get the hell out of there.
Chapter Twelve
Finch
It only occurs to me that it’s Date Night when I get home, but Luca tells me he didn’t want to plan anything in case I didn’t feel like going out. I get annoyed with him and accuse him of babying me, treating me like I’m breakable china or something, and he just shrugs and agrees.
“I want to spend time alone with my sexy husband,” he says. “So sue me. Come on, are you gonna snarl or are you gonna feed me this meatloaf you made, and then curl up with me to watch old movies?”
“I’m gonna snarl,thenI’m gonna feed you meatloaf,thenI’m gonna milk your cock till it hurts,” I snap.
“Are you sure you’re up for—”
“Yes,” I bark. “We haven’t had sex since you left for Chicago, and that’s way too long. Wejustgot married, for fuck’s sake. Can’t be time for bed-death for another few years at least.”
We’re in the kitchen, where I just declared myself tired of gourmet meals every night, as preparation for presenting my meatloaf, but Luca got in first and suggested fucking Olive Garden. The man has lead taste buds. Which is fortunate, because I don’t think my meatloaf is going to be as tasty as Celia’s.
Luca is looking me over, ignoring my loaf creation, and frowning. I know what he’s thinking.
“I’mnotmad because of my Pops, or Maggie, or any of that other shit going on,” I pre-empt him. “Don’t Psych-101 me. I’m mad because of a certain stubborn non-priest, and his bullshit church rules about who can donate and who can’t.”
At that, Luca actually looks alarmed. “Baby bird, don’t tell me you donated to the Church?” he asks urgently.
“No, because I couldn’t! The asshole wouldn’t let me. He said a whole lot of shitty stuff about us and—hold up, why don’tyouwant me to donate?”
“Because the last thing I want is the IRS taking a closer look at our charitable donations,” he says darkly. “Finch. I’m serious. You can’t just go around making grand gestures. If you really want to donate, we’ll talk to our accountants and find a way, but you can’t drawattentionto us.”
“And I haven’t!” I shout. “That’s thepoint!I got told my money wasn’t good enough for them. He made me feel like—like I was trying to buy my way into heaven or something. AsifI’d wanna end up somewhere so boring.”
Luca comes around the island and gathers me up in a big hug, and I want to hate him for it, but I don’t. His arms feel strong and safe, and like I can let go if I want to. Let go of all this anger that’s been building up in me this week. I thought I was okay after I said goodbye to Pops, and I am, but…
My father’s death has made me reevaluate my own life.
I say as much now, muffled in Luca’s shoulder. He’s wearing the Hugo Boss suit I got him last week. I still give an internal chuckle at my own wit.
Boss for the Boss.
“I thought you had a whole bunch of plans,” he says into my hair. “You talked big after we put down Joey Fuscone. We were gonna conquer this city together.”
“But what does all thatmatter?” I insist. “Look at Pops. He spent his life getting rich off of other people’s misery, like the damn priest said, but it’s not like he could take it with him.”
“No, but he could anddidpass it on to his kids.”
“Maybe we should adopt,” I say.
“Oh, God.”
“I’m serious.”
Luca pulls back to look over my face. “Yeah, I think you are, right now. That’s what worries me. Angel, you’re still reacting to a loss. Adopting a kid or buying a puppy or donating your inheritance to the local church—none of those things are going to help you through it. You just have to, you know. Go through it.”
“But I don’tlikeit,” I whisper. “I feel…bad.”
