She sits on the bed, perching on the side. I can see she has news, but is looking for a way to begin.
“Finch is still showering,” I warn her. “You might end up seeing a little more of your brother than you bargained for.”
She nods, distracted enough by whatever she has to tell me that she doesn’t even smile. “I won’t be long. I just wanted to let you know, that information about Mom being an IFF recruit during her first years in Boston—well, it’s true. I’ve been told it was a rebellion against her parents, a protest at them moving her out here, cutting off her contact with Tino Morelli, and maybe it was. But…” She shakes her head, lost for words.
It’s not a surprise. And yet…it’s still shocking to hear. “I don’t know how Finch will take this.” I give her a closer look. “And you, of course. I’m sorry if this has—”
“It is what it is,” she says, but her pale cheeks show she, too, has found the news difficult to take. “Besides, what Mr. O’Leary said about her breaking away from the IFF, that was true, too. Still, I wonder now if those ties made it easier for my father to approve of my sister Maggie’s assassination idea.” Disgust creases her forehead, but she moves on. “So,” she says firmly, “now we know that, at least.”
But we’re still none the wiser about what information the IFF is looking for. “I’ll let Finch know,” I say. “Unless you’d prefer to speak to him about it yourself?”
In the bathroom, the shower stops running, and Tara stands. “It probably makes me a coward,” she says quietly, “but I’d prefer to leave it up to you. I don’t think I could bear to hurt him yet again.”
No more can I. But I understand what she means: that the blow will land more softly coming from me than from her. And I happen to agree.
* * *
But Finch,when I tell him, takes it squarely on the chin. He even wriggles out of my arms when I try to hug him, and paces the room instead. He’s still naked from the shower, so I don’t object to the view.
At last he stops, hands on his hips, and stares at me. “We need to know more.”
I do my very best to keep my eyes above his waist. “I’m not sure how much more wecanknow, baby bird. And whatever it is that the IFF is looking for, it must be something they think only you know, or—” I stop abruptly as a thought occurs to me that should have occurred to me quite some time ago. I can’t even blame the drugs; Darla has tailed them off considerably this week.
“Or what?” Finch demands. “Something only I know, or—?”
“Or something only youhave.”
“But I don’t have…” He trails off, the same thought occurring to him. “Shit. Mom’s diary.” His hands fly up to his hair, clutching at it. “Shit,” he says again, and then with mounting despair in his inflection, “Shit, shit,shit.”
This time he lets me hug him. “It might be alright,” I say softly.
“No,” he tells me despondently. “Those stupidfucks.”
I can’t help but agree. Because if it’s Orla Fincher Donovan’s diary that they wanted, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance that the IFF destroyed it themselves when they set our Fifth Avenue townhouse on fire.
Still…we can’t be sure it’s the diary. And we can’t becertainit was destroyed in the fire. I push Finch back gently, holding his shoulders, and look down at him. “We need to check. We need to be sure. We can’t allow any possibility of it falling into their hands.”
Determination replaces the discouragement in his eyes. “Damn straight.” He bounces up to kiss me, a quick peck on the lips. “Well? Say the word, husband.”
I pull him closer for a real, lingering kiss, and then I tell him what he wants to hear. “We’ll return to New York tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
FINCH
I’ve had a lot of tragic shit happen to me in my life. Hell, I’ve caused more than my fair share of it, at least according to my dead sister Maggie. But seeing my home on Fifth Avenue, the one place I’d come to feel safe and secure in, now a fire-blackened, open-fronted mess of a construction site? It really hits below the belt.
Gio pulls the car up in front of it and tries to avoid my eyes in the rear-view mirror. I know my face has to look bad, because when Luca leans forward and says, “Give us a minute, Carlucci,” and Gio shoots out of the car like a fucking cannonball.
Luca takes my hand and squeezes it. “We shouldn’t have come here ourselves,” he says. “I should have sent someone—”
“No,” I choke out. “No, I…I wanted to see it for myself.”
I just never thought it would hit me so hard to see the ruined bones of abuilding. I didn’t even feel this bad at Pops’ wake. It’s just that even after I became an orphan in the truest sense of the word, I still felt like I had a place I belonged: my townhouse.Ourtownhouse.
I’d gone out of my way to invite people over. By day it was a hive of activity for the Morellis, for Aidan and me to go over our charity stuff, for card games and conversations. At night it was a place where I could find solace in Luca’s arms.
And now it’s just a goddamn wreck.
