Page 12 of Finn

He stepped forward and wrapped me in his arms. For a moment, I allowed myself the indulgence of feeling his warmth. It was odd how safe I felt in the embrace of a ruthless crime lord. It was as if nothing could hurt me—which was so far from the truth it was laughable. Being anywhere near Finn O’Reilly’s orbit put me in danger. Even worse, it put him in danger as well.

Which was why I had to step back. Distance myself, even as I felt the physical pain of withdrawing from him.

“Please, Finn.”

“No. This is between Brian and me. Do not interfere, Una. Let him grow up and deal with the consequences of his actions.”

He stepped past me, stopping. For a moment, he said nothing, then he uttered my name. “Please, Una. I’m doing what is best.”

I looked up. “For whom?”

“Him. You. All of us.”

Then he pressed his mouth to my forehead, his lips lingering in a long, sweet caress.

And he was gone.

* * *

FINN

I sat in the darkness of my suite, whiskey in hand, staring out onto the bright lights of the city below me. Unlike Roman, who’d had a room here but lived elsewhere, this hotel was my home. I had a full suite on the top floor, larger than most condos in the city. It was totally self-contained, although I was the first to admit I rarely used the well-equipped kitchen, never once had sat at the dining table to eat, and the guest room had never been occupied. I had no life outside of my businesses, and it was wisest to live where I had access to everything I needed. I ran the hotel and casino. The warehouses and other office buildings I owned were used for various aspects of my world. Many illegal. I had trusted men who ran my operations. I had many people who paid for my protection. There were deals and bribes. Palms that needed to be greased daily.

I also had real businessmen who looked after my legal entities.

Many thought that being a member of a syndicate was dangerous and exciting. While at times it was dangerous, it was more paperwork and overseeing than anything. I had people who did the reinforcing when needed. My reputation helped keep that to a minimum. I ruled with a strong, firm hand, making sure to keep those around me in line. The ones who chose not to follow were eliminated. It kept me safe, and it kept all the others depending on me safe as well.

But it wasn’t my businesses on my mind right now. It was the woman I’d held earlier. The one who was permanently etched into my heart and wanted nothing I could offer her—too afraid of the consequences of loving me.

I sighed as I drained my drink, then poured two more fingers of the whiskey into my glass. I shut my eyes, letting my thoughts drift back to the day I first met Una Murphy.

I made a habit of knowing my men’s families. Making sure they were looked after. Jim Murphy was from the old regime, but he was loyal and trustworthy. I went to his house as a guest. He had invited me for dinner, and I made sure to accept those sorts of invitations when extended. It gave me a chance to see my men be themselves. See how they interacted with their own family. It told me a great deal about the sort of person they were.

I knew his wife was deceased. That he had a nineteen-year-old son and a daughter who had just turned eighteen. His intentions for his son were clear—to join his father in the ranks and be one of my men. The daughter, I had no idea about. I knew little about her. Often, that was the case in syndicate families. The males were doted on, while the women faded into the background. Expected to marry and produce children. Sometimes marriages were arranged, but I refused to be part of that. I believed a person should be allowed to love and live with whom they chose. Whom their heart chose. Some families were more progressive and the women were treated as equals. I applauded that. I expected, given Jim’s old-fashioned ways of doing things, his daughter would be part of the former.

What I didn’t expect was the old soul that dwelled in the young girl. From the moment she met me at the door, she acted like the matriarch of the family. Made sure I had a drink, sat primly, chastising her older brother like a mother when he’d run his mouth too long. She was articulate and well-read. She made and presented a roast dinner a much older person would have had trouble pulling off. One that reminded me of meals from long ago back in Ireland.

She was still a child, yet I caught glimpses of the woman she would become, and I had a feeling she would be a force to be reckoned with. I found myself talking to her, asking her about her studies, her goals.

“I want to run a hotel,” she informed me. “The very best. Small. Exclusive.”

“The hospitality industry is hard work.”

“I’m aware. I plan to take courses, then work in as many hotels as I have to in order to learn from the best.”

I was impressed with her mind-set.

“Where?” I asked.

“Tobermory or Niagara.”

“Given this a lot of thought, I see,” I said. “Expensive proposition.”

She lifted her stubborn chin. “I will save. Work hard. Get a job. Two, if I need to. Get a singing gig on the side.”

I was intrigued. “You sing?”

For the first time, her father interrupted our conversation. “Like an angel.”