A few hours later, I had a ridiculous number of butterflies in my stomach. The morning had passed in a blur that was kind of hard to digest. In a good way, but…almost in a too good to be true way.

Sarah had made one comment that’d been difficult to address. She’d seen Finnegan lying on top of me in the grass, and she’d studied me closely when I somewhat bluntly admitted we had good chemistry. And I owned it, right there in front of her. I believed it as I said the words. It was okay for me to enjoy this. Sarah’s words, after all. It didn’t change anything because I knew what kind of contract I was going to sign very soon. It was business. Only, it wouldn’t stop me—us—from enjoying each other. Finnegan and I happened to get along, and we were obviously drawn to each other.

I didn’t mention to Sarah just how drawn we were. The important thing was, Sarah had agreed with me, and she was glad I could find happiness in this for the moment. As long as the end goal was the same. In three years, she and I would walk away.

I ignored the feeling that’d come over me at that ’cause, frankly, I wasn’t ready to deal with it.

After that little conversation, Sarah had jumped in, headfirst. The four of us had eaten breakfast together on the patio, and she’d said if Finnegan and I were gonna spend more time in the city, she wanted to do the same. We were two girls who’d waited for this for so long. Hell, I hadn’t even thought this day would come. Now, I was in the car with Finnegan, and we were officially on our way to Philadelphia.

Patrick was staying behind with Sarah to help her pack up her stuff and check out of the motel, and then they’d meet us for dinner in the city tonight. Tonight! It was unbelievable. Within the hour, I would walk into Finnegan’s condo, and it would become my home too.

“When was the last time you were in Philly?” he asked.

“When I was fourteen,” I answered right away. Because I remembered it so clearly. Our class had gone to DC and Philadelphia on a school trip. It’d been an awesome weekend.

“But it’s only a couple hours away.”

I lifted a shoulder and looked out the window. The forests were gone, replaced by fields and suburbs. “I haven’t traveled much.” Twice was the most accurate answer, aside from a handful of visits to Philadelphia. When I was twelve, Dad took me to Destin in Florida because my grandmother had lived there. She’d died, and Dad had hoped to make a buck off of her belongings.

He hadn’t.

Finnegan grabbed my hand and kissed it. “We’ll get you a few passports and make up for lost time.”

I looked at him strangely. “A few passports?”

He cleared his throat and let out a chuckle. “I guess we like to fly under the radar in my family. It’s good to have a few names you can use.”

And so it began.

I folded my arms over my chest and stared out the window. Finnegan didn’t strike me as a guy who misspoke. He was going to drop little bombshells like this one until they either stopped fazing me or they became too much. I couldn’t even begin to grasp the fraud that was part of a crime organization. Fake travel documents, fake signatures, fake promises.

I knew this, though. It was the price to pay. I’d gain my freedom at the end, but the cost was steep. Only a week ago, I’d thought I could help the FBI do their job. How wrong had I been? If Finnegan was going to give me these anecdotes of insignificant crimes—in the grand scheme of things—I’d be sitting on a wealth of information before I knew it. And I wouldn’t have the balls to risk getting caught, so he bought a lot more than three years from me. He was buying my loyalty.

“It’s for our safety, Emilia.”

Sure, whatever. “How does it even work?” I asked. “Your face was once plastered across the news.” Granted, I hadn’t seen any recent photos of anyone in the SoM. Finnegan and Patrick had grown up enough in ten years. Still, Shannon…? All the others from the older generation? “Anyone over thirty remembers everything that went down in Philly.”

“Do you remember?” he asked curiously.

“Not much. Names and charges, I guess. There were like, eighteen murders.”

He nodded slowly, switching lanes. “Well, first of all, no one expects to see a specific well-known person when it happens. People might know of me, but I’m a stranger to anyone who doesn’t expect to see me. Second of all, my face isn’t all that known. If anything, it’s my name.” Hence the fake passports, I assumed. And the beard…? Maybe. Patrick was clean-shaven, then and now. “Lastly, if I fly outta Philly, I might use my real passport on the first leg of the trip. Right now, it’s perfectly safe. We’re not under investigation—”

“How would you know?”

He smirked and checked the rearview. “We have friends.”

Oh God.

Friends in law enforcement. Fuck. What if they knew Agent Caldwell? Or Agent Caldwell knew someone who was on Finnegan’s payroll? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yeah, no more talking to the authorities for me. I’d stay quiet. Would Finnegan hurt me? It was difficult to comprehend, but he wasn’t the only one in the Sons. I’d be surrounded by people who’d taken lives.

“You won’t involve me in your work, will you?” I asked, uncomfortable.

“Fuck no.” He side-eyed me with a frown. “Emilia, I realize it’s hard for you to trust me. That’s why I’m opening up a little. There will always be secrets I have to keep from you, but I’ll prove my loyalty. In time, you’ll see that you can have faith in me.”

Maybe. Probably. He was a freaking sorcerer, after all. He’d gotten me this far, despite what I said in the beginning.

How deep could the rabbit hole be?

* * *

Finnegan’s home provided a false sense of security. It drew me in and made me gasp, and it was…just so much better than I’d imagined. It was homey, cozy, and didn’t broadcast its lavishness—other than the downtown location. The walls were all white, except for the one with three huge windows, which was red brick. And I could see the entire place from the entryway. It was a one-and-a-half story condo, with the bedroom located above a…what I could only describe as a musician’s nook. There was a baby grand, two guitars on the wall, and a cushy reading chair.

Only the kitchen was separated from the rest of the place, with the dining area set up outside of it.

“Welcome home,” Finnegan murmured in my ear.

I remained standing there and smiled behind my hand while he dropped his keys and the mail on the round kitchen table. One floorboard creaked where he stood.

“The grand tour isn’t so grand.” He flashed a smile and pointed behind me. “One bathroom there, another up in the bedroom. Kitchen.” He nodded down the narrow kitchen. “Living room.” Another nod toward the corner where the ceiling was high. A large couch with a chest-high bookcase behind it divided the area, and the flat screen was preposterously big. “And my horribly underused piano corner,” he finished. “If you wanna redecorate, be my guest, but the acoustics are best there for—”

“I’m not gonna change a thing,” I said. I didn’t know I had any preferences until I saw his—our…?—place. It was complete, from the biggest furniture to the smallest accents. Blankets and cushions in rich colors, candles, and pictures. “Did you do this on your own?”

“I was unusually demanding when I bought this place.” He glanced around him. “But my mother did most of the work.” He faced me again. “I’ll show you Pat’s place later. You won’t believe we’re in the same building.”

I could actually imagine that, because the lobby downstairs was fancy. They’d covered up the old with gloss and marble.

“I’m trying to picture you guys running to your neighbors to borrow sugar.”

He chuckled and returned to checking his mail. “He doesn’t have any neighbors. The top floor is his. I have one across the hall. Mrs. Cardigan—which isn’t her real name, but you’ll never see her without a cardigan she’s knitted herself.”

“That’s sweet.” I smiled.

“So are you.” He came over to me and grasped my shoulders. “Question. Think you can hang out alone for an hour or two? I have to run over to Pop’s office and talk to him for a bit, and then I gotta pick up some shit I was supposed to have shipped to the compound.”

Damn, they really did call it the compound.

“Um, yeah. Sure.” I could snoop around and see what Finnegan filled his bookcase with.

“Perfect.” He kissed me on the forehead and crossed the room to the metal stairwell that led upstairs. He jogged up the stairs and removed his belt. “I’ll be home with a late lunch and clothes for you, Miss Porter.”

“Clothes?” I looked up at him as he yanked his shirt over his head and threw it over the railing.

“Karla’s hooked you up with a new wardrobe.” He disappeared from view, making me wonder how big the bedroom up there really was. The space underneath the floor wasn’t that huge. “And let me know what you want for dinner. I’ll make reservations—what the fresh hell.” There was a hint of an echo to his voice that told me he was in the bathroom. “Heads up. My mother’s been here. She’s replaced my shaving cream with something that sparkles.”

I snickered to myself and finally remembered my feet weren’t stuck to the floor. If this was going to be my home, I might as well create my own everyday routines. Finnegan already had a full life here, and I didn’t wanna get left behind.

“There’s a gift basket for you.” Finnegan reemerged, dressed in a suit. On the way down the stairs, he fixed his tie. “Why does soap for women look like cake?”

“Because life’s not confusing as it is.” I wandered into the kitchen and took in everything. All appliances were stainless steel, and if it weren’t for the bouquet of colorful tulips in the window, the kitchen could not be more bachelor-like.

Classical music started playing, and it sounded like it was coming from everywhere. It was how I noticed the speakers mounted in the corners of the ceiling. There were two in the kitchen, and I spotted another one as soon as I returned to the living room.

“That’s the ring for my landline. Only my immediate family has the number.” Finnegan paused near the entryway. There was a side table with a phone—or it had to be—yet it looked more like one of those docking stations for cell phones. Finnegan sent me a wry smile and held a finger in front of his mouth, then pressed a button. “You’ve been texting me all morning, Ma. I told you I’d call when we made it home.”

“And you didn’t call, did you?” Shit, it was Grace O’Shea. His mom. I’d heard her voice once before, not that I recalled it clearly. She’d testified in a case about Finnegan’s cousin. “Is Emilia there with you?”

I quirked a brow.

“She’s in the bath,” he lied. “Let the girl get settled in for one day before you attack, eh? We’ll see you and Pop at Mass tomorrow.”

Amusement filled me, mostly because his accent changed just a bit. Maybe it was ’cause she sounded a little more Irish than he normally did. Though, none of them had distinguishable accents compared to Alec and Nessa.

“I can hear you smirking, boy,” Grace said. “You’ve been talking about this girl of yours for weeks now.” Oh, really. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m a wee bit excited to meet the one who managed to steal your attention.”

Finnegan could not look away from me fast enough. This was fun.

He cleared his throat and started scribbling a note on the side table. “Right. I think you can hold out one more day. Gotta go, Ma.” He ended the call with another press of a button, and whatever he was jotting down must’ve been important. “So it’s possible that my mother doesn’t know the extent of our arrangement. She thinks we’re doing what Pop did.”

“Which was?” This didn’t make much sense. His parents had an arranged marriage too.

“She doesn’t know money’s involved—or that there’s an expiration date.”

Those were two giant fucking details.

“Finnegan.”

He tore off the note and handed it to me. “Numbers you might need.”

I eyed it briefly, seeing Alec’s name among ten others. Whatever. “Dude. Focus. How the hell does she think I agreed to marry you so fast?”

He sighed and smiled ruefully. “She thinks Pat and I can do no wrong. Seriously. She can be sharp as a tack, but where we’re concerned, any woman’s lucky to have us. So she knows the marriages are arranged, but she believes the promise of better lives and being with us is enough.”

“Basically, she doesn’t think women have morals?” I folded my arms over my chest. “Or standards?”

He snorted and looped an arm around my neck, then planted a loud kiss to my forehead. “You say the sweetest things. You remind me of Aunt Viv. She’s always raging about women and silly feminism and shit.”

Oh, he did not say that.

I pushed him away and plastered a saccharine smile on my face. “Have a lovely day at work, honey. I’m gonna go shower off the dirty thoughts I have about women’s rights.”

“Hey, what was that?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I have nothing against women’s rights.”

“That’s generous of you.”

I was fucking with him—for the most part. Even the guys who saw us as equals needed occasional reminders that they didn’t let us do anything. We took it. Finnegan seemed like the type of man who wanted to help. He wasn’t messing around; he wanted me to get stronger and be able to stand my ground. At the same time, feminism wasn’t silly.

“We’ll turn this into a heated debate later,” he told me.

“Can’t wait.” We exchanged a long look, and I admitted it was nice to see he wasn’t entirely certain of where we stood at the moment. In the end, he tried to kiss it better. Literally. He held me to him and kissed me deeply before walking out.

This was going to get interesting.

In a way, the honeymoon was over before we’d even gotten married. It was time to get to know the man Finnegan was in his everyday life.

* * *

Finnegan was well-read. In his bookcase, I found endless volumes about culture, history, and music. Memoirs by politicians and other leaders. Textbooks about engineering, technology, and physics. Not a single work of fiction. And the books weren’t here for show. I flipped open a book about mining in India, of all things, and several pages were dog-eared or highlighted.

Why did he need a book about the history of canvases? Was this a joke? I opened it, and it was chapter after chapter about quality, fabric, and popularity based on origin and era. It was…art, I guessed? Hold the fucking phone. It was research. It was freaking research. I scanned the next page and the next and the next. He’d been learning how to detect fake paintings depending on what canvas had been used.

I put the book back.

The FBI should check out this place.

The books made more sense now. Christ, there were four books dedicated solely to the technology behind lock mechanisms for wall safes.

“Well, you’re marrying a mobster,” I mumbled to myself.

I stiffened when someone rang the doorbell. Finnegan hadn’t told me if I could—oh, for crying out loud. Maybe it was Mrs. Cardigan. Whoever it was had been approved in the lobby downstairs.

In the entryway, I peered through the peephole and swiftly took a step back. That had to be Grace O’Shea. But I wasn’t meeting her until tomorrow! I inched forward again and sucked in a breath. It was her; it was the dark-haired woman from the pictures in Finnegan’s house.

Compared to her, I looked like trash. Just great. My jeans and top probably cost less than her nail polish.

I unlocked the door and opened it carefully.

She smiled widely, all red lipstick and perfect teeth. “You must be Emilia.” She whooshed past me with a briefcase that she set down on the kitchen table. Then she shrugged out of her thin trench coat, revealing more perfection. She looked like a CEO, except for the unmistakable warmth that radiated from her.

She hugged me before I’d snapped out of my daze, and she spoke a mile a minute. There was an apology for intruding, but she “simply couldn’t wait.” Next, she revealed that the guy downstairs, Olivier, was married to the guy who did Grace’s hair, and that was how she kept close tabs on the “boys.”

“I knew Finn had left before his car was out of the garage.” She winked, only to hug me again. Holy overwhelming shit. “You are just lovely, Emilia. I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“Um, hi.” I forced a smile and tried to shake the nerves.

She tittered a laugh and click-click-clicked her way to the kitchen. “You’re adorable, dearie. Now, I won’t take up much of your time, but there are a few things we have to discuss.” She returned with a bottle of water and told me to sit.

I sat.

She took a seat across from me and opened her briefcase. “Your friend Sarah is arriving later today, yes?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, none of that.” She waved that off, the smile never leaving her face. She produced a stack of papers. “Tomorrow at church, I ask that you go through our introduction as if it’s the first time we’re meeting. It’s easier for me to help the women who join our family if I don’t have the men hanging over me.”

I released a breath and managed to nod. This woman was a hurricane. “Understood.” I didn’t understand a thing.

“Good. Here we go.” She slid me a few papers that’d been stapled together at the top corner. “There is no perfect advice to give you. Every situation requires a different tactic, but in general, I find it best to let others underestimate me. As much as it grates on me, no one suspects the dumb wife of having an agenda.” She tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the papers. “That’s the contract Finnegan’s lawyers have drawn up for your marriage. If he’s told you that I don’t know about the money—”

“He has,” I spluttered.

She nodded once. “I’m not surprised. Did he give you a list of law firms too?”

I shook my head. “He mentioned it—he said he could help me pick my representation.”

She rolled her eyes. “That boy, I swear. Patrick is worse in a way, but Finnegan can be conniving. He’s a meticulous planner like his father.”

I laughed shakily, wondering if I’d gone insane.

Grace clasped her hands on the table and watched me patiently. “I love my family, Emilia. If what Finnegan’s told me about you is true, I think you’ll fit right in.” She paused. “I also think—and hope very much—that my boy’s finally met the woman who can become his match. You’re probably not there yet because, God bless him, he’s not the most honorable of men, and he’s had years and years of sharpening his skills. But if you learn to play his game and grow into a force he can’t manipulate, you will have a strong and happy marriage.” She lifted a brow at me. “One that will last far longer than three years and give me many grandchildren.”

My mouth popped open, and I looked away.

“Either way, I’m here for you,” she said. “To ensure my sons’ happiness, a mother sometimes has to go to war against them. I’ve watched them grow up, and I know how quickly they get bored and restless. And this has nothing to do with what’s in their hearts. Finnegan can be completely in love with you, but if he gets bored, he turns into a right tool. He needs to be challenged. Not only for his amusement, but for how it makes him a better man.”

Finally, something that made sense. Finnegan hadn’t made it a secret that he liked my attitude.

However, love had nothing to do with this.

“We’re not marrying each other for love,” I told her.

Her mouth twisted. There was a pinch of smugness. “Of course not. It’s why you’ll stay married, though. It’s too soon for me to get a grasp on your feelings, but my son is a lost cause. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

I suppressed a sigh. “Let me guess, a mother knows.”

She tapped the side of her nose.

Sure, whatever. There was no logic behind that. Our so-called relationship was less than a few weeks old. A lot could happen. Hell, a lot already had happened. I was changing. He was revealing himself. Who the fuck knew where we’d end up. One second, I wanted to turn them all in to the police. The next, I was breaking every speed limit to get an adrenaline rush from Finnegan’s Aston Martin.

It was safest to change the topic. “What about this?” I held up the contract.

“Ah. I want you to read it. And when Finnegan requests that you sit down with your lawyers to sign it, you need to have a counterproposal.” She dug up a business card from her briefcase. “I’ve taken the liberty of hiring your counsel. She breaks balls for a living and has faced our family lawyers before. She won’t let Finnegan get the upper hand.”

I accepted the card. Meredith Campbell of Smith, Campbell & Stern.

Would Finnegan actually screw me over in the contract? That thought made me queasy. Not knowing who I could trust was going to make me question everything.

“He would manipulate me,” I said quietly. “Right?”

Sympathy shone in her blue eyes. “This isn’t easy for you, I understand that. The short answer is yes.”

Ouch. “And the long answer?”

She smiled a little at that. “Look where you are, dearie. This is his doing. He’s somehow convinced you to leave your old life behind and join this one. He’s charming and understands how people function. He knows the right buttons to push. But, are you suffering? Or has he managed to trick you into a life where you might actually find happiness?” Her bluntness hurt as much as I needed to hear it. If I was going to grow up, I had to have the truth. “He has no interest in robbing you of the money he’s promised. He’s going to put all his effort into making you stay.” She gave me a pointed look. “That’s where you need to play hardball. Do not give in to him, Emilia. I want nothing more than for your marriage to be lifelong, but not everything can happen on his terms.”

I processed what she’d said and nodded slowly. If it made sense to me, did that mean I could trust her?

“Your family is a lot to deal with,” I said with a stiff smile.

She laughed softly. “This is only the beginning. We’re a bunch of liars, but we love fiercely, and we’re loyal to a fault. Well.” She made a face. “Patrick is a work in progress on that last bit. My talk with Sarah will sound a little different.”

I was a bundle of confusion, and part of me wanted to scream. This talk had helped me, though. Now I knew there was a game to play. I just had to figure out the rules.

“Give Meredith a call and set up a meeting.” Grace closed her briefcase. “Don’t use your credit card. Tell her to put it on my account. And bring that fantasy of Finnegan’s with you.” She nodded at the contract. “Oh, and one more thing. Deny, deny, deny. When my son asks to know who’s been helping you, lack of evidence means innocence. America taught us that.”

I spluttered a laugh and nodded. “Thank you, Grace, I will.”

So, secrecy was part of being an O’Shea. Noted. I was gonna learn.

“My pleasure. Next time we see each other, we’ll make a lunch date to discuss the wedding.”

“Okay.”

I followed her out, and she put on her coat again.

“How do I know who to trust?” I blurted out.

The sympathy made a swift return, and she adjusted her collar. “Let it take time. I didn’t fully trust Shan for at least four or five years. The only thing I know for sure is that Finnegan will prove himself worthy of you. He very much takes after Shan, and they both wear their hearts on their sleeves. It’s the one thing they can’t lie about—or hold secret. When my boy realizes he loves you, you’ll know it.”

I stared at my feet, having hoped for another answer. The idea that Finnegan would fall for me felt farfetched, whereas I fully believed he’d try to play me in a room with lawyers around.

“I’ll earn your trust too, dearie.” She patted my arm, her smile widening at the sight of my rings. “Did he tell you he asked for my opinion on the engagement ring?”

I shook my head.

“That’s how I know.” She winked. “Unless it’s about decorating his home, he hasn’t asked for my opinion on anything personal since he was a child. But there’s something about you. He’s going the extra mile.”

Goodness, she had to leave now. I couldn’t take another sorcerer.

“I’ll suspend my disbelief,” I chuckled.

She grinned and picked up her briefcase. “Fair enough. I’ll see you at church tomorrow—for the first time.”

“First time,” I echoed with a nod.

Then it was just me, and I slumped back against the door and let out a heavy breath.

So that was Grace O’Shea.