Information is one of the only defenses we have at the moment.
Tara helps me clear the table and stands by the kitchen counter to watch me divide out the zabaglione into three crystal parfait bowls. “That’s so cute,” she says to me. “That he calls you ‘baby bird.’ Where did it come from?”
I’ve never told anyone about my first meeting with Luca. It seems so long ago now, although I held on to that memory for five years, warming myself to it, dreaming of the ice-eyed Lucifer who took out a gang of four with minimal help from me.
I’m about to open my mouth and spill the whole tale, before I remember who I’m speaking to. Tara is my sister and I love her. But she’s notFamiglia. For all I know, Maggie sent her in to get the lie of the land.
“From my name,” I tell her. It’s the truth, after all. “Finch. He thought I looked like I’d just hatched or something, the first time we met.”
“Howdidyou two meet?” she asks, curious. “Pops never said much about how the wedding actually came about.”
“Eh, long story,” I say with a shrug. “Not one I want to think about tonight.”
She nods, picking up two of the parfait glasses to take them back to the table. “Róisín and I were just horrified when we learned the circumstances,” she confides softly. “We didn’t know on the day—I’m sorry if it seemed like we were celebrating something traumatic—”
“Not at all. I’m very happy with Luca. There’s something to be said for arranged marriages.”
She eyes me, thinking, and then nods like she’s come to a decision and retakes her seat. “You two certainly are a power couple.”
Luca comes back in then, his expression neutral. But I’m close enough to him to know that things are fine. No emergencies.
No deaths.
“Actually,” Tara continues, “that’s something I wanted to discuss with you both.”
“Yes?” Luca asks, and I can practically see his ears prick up.
“I don’t like the direction Maggie is taking the family in. The Donovans, I mean. The only good thing Pops ever did was try to move into more legitimate streams of income.Mm—oh, wow. This isincredible,” she burbles around the spoonful of zabaglione in her mouth. “Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes.” She dips her spoon back into the creamy dessert, then looks up at both of us. “I think Maggie needs to be removed.”
After a moment, Luca says, “And by ‘removed,’ you mean—”
“Executed,” Tara says, and takes another big mouthful. “Guys, this stuff isso good. What’s in it?”
Chapter Sixteen
Luca
“I’m not sure which sister of yours is the scariest,” I say to Finch later that night in bed, as we both lie there awake. “Maggie: angry, powerful, has already tried to kill you more than once. But then Róisín—”
“Religious nut?” Finch contributes.
“—touched by God, I was going to say. People like that cause revolutions. And lastly, Tara.”
“Yes,” he says. “Then there’s Tara.”
“I truly did not expect her to suggest a capital crime tonight. Shedoesunderstand that ordering a hit might land her on Death Row, right?” Tara has hidden depths to her, just like Finch.
“Youorder hits all the time,” he yawns.
“I do what’s necessary,” I correct him. “Besides, I’m not Tara. She surprised me, is all.”
I roll over to throw an arm around him, and he responds as though I’m suggesting round two—no, three—of sex tonight. “Baby bird, I really can’t,” I groan. “Seriously. My dickhurts. I can give you a hand job or something, but—”
“No,” he mumbles. “You’re right. It’s just that I’m tired and I can’t sleep. And now I have one sister joining a nunnery, one determined to kill me, and one I can’t figure out. I mean, what the hell is thisnewbaby sister gonna be like when she grows up?”
And just like that, my thoughts start firing again. From Tara, Maggie and the Donovans, to the baby, Frank, Celia, how the hell we’re going to protect them.
“Where are you?” Finch complains.
