Page 21 of The Mafia Bachelor

“Ten years. It was absolutely no more than ten years ago, I won’t hear any argument on this point,” I grumble.

Her laughter is bright and warm and unexpected. “Okay, agreed. Time stands still on that point. The laws from ‘ten years ago’, or maybe a smidge more, are interesting to me. And I love stories from the past. History books, and historical fiction.”

“Do you know the story of the Farrells, then?” It feels like a test question, and I’m sure it will sound that way. But really, I suspect that if Avery is interested in history, she’ll have looked up my family.

“A bit.” Her dark hair sways as she moves her head from side to side.

“Go on then, tell me.”

I watch her carefully. She’s a smart girl, and I can almost see her brain sifting through what’s best to say. What parts of my scandalous past should she reveal she’s aware of?

“Well, your family came from Ireland in the early 1800s. Cormac Farrell was a ‘navvy’ or ‘navigator’ which is a term for men who dug the canals and built railway lines. Railways and bridges in the case of Archway. The name of this area refers to the railway bridge, which has since been demolished for a more practical, modern one, which seems a pity to me.”

“That was a little before my time, I take no responsibility,” I hold up my hands in mock surrender. Our gazes meet, and there are sparks between us.

“I forgive you,” she says innocently.

“So generous.”

“I am.” She smiles. “It’s unclear exactly how and when the mafia was formed, but by 1900, Archway was run by the Irish mafia, and Farrells were at the centre of it.”

I nod.

“The extension into Highgate seems to be more recent, under your grandfather,” she continues. “Then later, all the way up to the house that’s now the headquarters, at the edge of Hampstead Heath.”

“That was only a ‘long time ago’,” I comment wryly.

She winces. “Yes. You and your father.”

“Mmm. It was a good time for us.” The memories strike me as I glance over at my dad, who is shamelessly listening in. I can tell by my mother’s expression that she’s already had to stop him interrupting Avery to add nostalgic details and mafia secrets.

I switch my attention back to the young woman who is the future for me, rather than the past. “Impressive. You know a lot.”

She glows with the praise, then a thought goes across her face. “Your mother came to study in London, fell in love, got married to your father. You were born some years later. But one thing I haven’t been able to find out is…” She trails off.

“Go on.” If she’s curious, I’ll tell her.

“You might not want to…”

I wait.

She bites her lip, and my cock throbs at the sight before she blurts out her question. “Why are you called the Devil of Archway?”

Ah.

“You see, the area of London we’re in, it’s called Archway,” I drawl.

Her nervousness transforms, and she gives me a cross look. Like an angry kitten. “The devil bit.”

I take another mouthful and chew slowly. This isn’t a story I really wanted to tell, but it’s inevitable. “It’s from when I was a child, so.”

“But what did you do to deserve it?” She watches me intently.

“What does anyone do?” What’s odd is that for her, I wish I didn’t have that nickname. I wish I’d been better. I wish bringing her close to me didn’t feel so much like salvation for me, and a risk for her.

“There wasn’t…” She tilts her head.

I set down my fork and lean back. I hate this story. It reminds me of who I was once. Helpless. Inexperienced. Unable to protect what I loved. And what I did to change all that. “You really want to know?”