“Emilia, I’m home!”

Well, that was good. After twisting the towel atop of my head, I exited the bathroom and let out a cloud of steam. I shivered at the cold and secured the towel around me.

Grace didn’t fuck around with gift baskets from beauty stores. I’d never been so clean, scrubbed, and smooth in my life, I was sure of it. She’d given me everything from lotions and creams to scrubs and salts, from face masks and cleansers to razors and wax strips, from shampoos and conditioners to sponges and special makeup towels. I didn’t even know that was a thing.

Reaching the railing, I peered down at where Finnegan was checking soccer stats on the TV.

“Hi, short stuff.”

He looked up at me and smiled. “Who you callin’ short, ya midget?”

I chuckled. “Did you say something about clothes before?”

“Aye, that’s right.” He kicked into gear, and my eyes grew large. Right there in the entryway, I counted five—no, six—six white gift boxes, similar to the one I’d gotten my first dress in.

Finnegan stacked them all on top of each other and carried them up the stairs. “I haven’t cleared the walk-in yet. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

“Wow, this is…a lot.” I shuffled by the foot of the bed as he set the boxes down.

He hummed, lifting a bunch of the lids as if he was on a mission. “There should be a—there.” He unfolded something from silk wrapping. A wallet. He handed it to me. “I saw your gift cards in an old toiletry bag, and I know for a fact that you put your license in your bra sometimes.”

I grinned and brushed a hand over the wallet. Black leather with some plaid pattern. “Thank you.”

“And this.” He retrieved an opened envelope from his pants pocket. “I’ll order you the others once you’re an O’Shea.”

It was a credit card in my name. “I’ve never had one.”

“That would make you one unique American.” He walked closer, and his smile was half hesitant. “Did I fuck up earlier?”

I stifled my laugh—mostly. A snicker broke free. “Only a little.”

“Then I bought flowers for a reason.” He sat down on the side of the bed and tugged me with him so I ended up sideways on his lap. “Tell me what I did wrong.”

He seemed sincere, so I didn’t mess with him.

“I don’t think feminism is silly,” I admitted.

“Neither do I, princess,” he chuckled. “I like getting a rise out of people. I don’t see you as inferior or anything like that. But you gotta admit, you women take it too far sometimes.”

I smashed my lips together and counted to ten. It would do me no good to nitpick, and if he chose to focus on a small group of loud screamers, I would simply have to show him. First, though, I wanted to be more comfortable with who I was. Right now, I was nothing but a small-town nobody. I had nothing to my name, and the man I wanted to argue with was my sole provider. Yeah, I wasn’t gonna go there.

“Try drowning out the noise and focus on the core issues.” I smoothed out the slight frown between his brows. “Do you have any women in the SoM?”

“Of course not.” He seriously thought that was a joke. “It’s called the Sons of Munster. I’d have a heart attack if you were around that shit.”

“Ah. So, it’s your issue. Not the women’s.” I popped a kiss to his cheek and left his lap. “Well, I definitely don’t want to put your fragile heart at risk.”

“Oh, the fuck you say?” His eyebrows went way up there.

I let out a laugh and started digging through the boxes, and I had the strangest urge to message Grace about this. Which would’ve been dumb, maybe. Too soon. I didn’t yet know the kind of relationship I’d have with her—or if she appreciated gossip like that.

“So did you get lunch?” I asked, holding up a pair of skinny jeans. How on earth did this Karla woman get my size perfect? She’d never met me.

“Yeah, and this conversation isn’t over,” he said. “Nothing about me is fragile.”

Especially not your ego, dear.

* * *

That night, Finnegan and I went to dinner with Patrick and Sarah at an Italian restaurant near their building. Our building.

Sarah showed up in a new dress, and she was sporting one massive rock on her finger. While Finnegan congratulated Patrick, Sarah leaned in and whispered, “He let me pick it out myself, so I went with the most expensive one on the display,” which sort of crushed my excitement. I kept forgetting she was in it to win all of it. And I bet she’d get a lot for that big diamond. It was surrounded by little emeralds, not that I was sure she noticed. She went on and on about the carats and whatnot of the main event.

After we’d placed our orders and received our drinks, Finnegan draped his arm along the back of my chair and kissed my temple. “Is she even warming up to him?”

I should’ve known he’d been observing Sarah. He observed everything.

“I don’t know,” I replied softly.

My answer deepened his frown, though he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

I wondered what Grace would think of Sarah. She’d probably say Sarah and Patrick were mere days away from falling head over heels in love.

When dinner arrived, so did a new topic. Sports. Both brothers were obsessed with soccer, which they religiously called “real football.” They followed hockey and some American football as well—they were hardcore Eagles fans—and I genuinely didn’t give a crap.

The thing that stuck out the most tonight was how people came over to say hey to Finnegan and Patrick. It happened the first time right after we’d ordered our drinks; a man stopped at our table to shake the guys’ hands.

For sitting so far into the back of the restaurant, everyone sure had a way of running into us.

“Patrick, my boy!” An older gentleman came over with a much younger lady on his arm. “Those were some good bets, eh? Your pop’s lucky to have ya.”

Patrick chuckled and shook the man’s hand. “I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

“Aye, I’ll be back next week.” He shifted his grin to Finnegan. “Good news travels quick, Finn. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.” That was quick. People knew about us? “Will we be having little Finnegans running around here soon?”

It was Finnegan’s turn to shake the man’s hand—with a smile less sincere than Patrick’s. “God willing. Thank you, Jim. I’ll see you and your wife at Mass tomorrow, I take it? Or are you bringing this side piece?”

Holy shit.

Patrick’s grin died. Sarah dropped her jaw. I dropped my fork, and it clanked against my plate.

Finnegan looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I told you not to bring me here,” the woman hissed before stalking away.

I braced myself for Jim’s anger, but it didn’t come. He cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable, and confirmed he’d, of course, be there tomorrow with his family. Then he wished us a nice evening and left.

I… How… What just happened?

Patrick was annoyed. “Seriously, Finn.”

“Yeah, fucking seriously,” Finnegan responded, and now he was irritated too. “This is a family place. We bring our wives and children here. It’s goddamn disrespectful.”

“Here I was, thinking Em had removed the stick up your ass,” Patrick chuckled humorlessly.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. It was the first time I got a glimpse of how rigidly traditional Finnegan might be. I assumed Jim was involved with the SoM, and given his reaction to Finnegan, maybe he had, um, a lower rank? Shit, I didn’t know how this worked. I’d seen documentaries on TV about cocaine and mistresses everywhere.

“Guys,” I said quietly, because another man was walking over.

“Can a man eat his dinner in peace?” Finnegan muttered.

Then it was a new round of polite greetings and handshakes, and thank goodness the man wasn’t here with a woman. Or, at least, not a mistress.

Was that something I’d have to worry about with Finnegan? Considering his…status, being as inexperienced as I was in certain ways, it felt unlikely right now. And later… Ouch, I didn’t want to go down that road. It shouldn’t hurt me to think of either, and it did. It actually hurt.

Who could forget the infidelity clause in his contract?

Shaking that off for now, I tuned in to the current conversation instead, and it was a much lighter one. Music. I could handle music. This guy, Mick, owned a bar down the street, and he was offering his place for a party to celebrate our engagements. And he was telling Finnegan it’d been so long since he played live.

“He was a little know-it-all growin’ up,” Mick told us. “He’d run up on stage and tell the musicians what they were doin’ wrong.”

I giggled and put my hand on Finnegan’s leg under the table. He was quick to thread our fingers together, and second by second, the tension was leaving his shoulders. He even added to the conversation, thanking Mick for the offer, and said they’d think about it.

After Mick left, I didn’t want anything to get awkward, so I brought up the music again.

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard about you playing.” I’d heard it from Alec first, who hadn’t been able to convince Finnegan to play at my birthday dinner. “Now I really wanna hear you.”

“You can probably find his tin whistle a mile up his asshole,” Patrick said.

Not. Helping.

“What can I find a mile up yours?” I wondered. “One of Sarah’s spiked Louboutins?”

While Finnegan hugged me to him and smiled into my hair, Patrick could not look more incredulous. And offended.

Sarah was laughing her ass off.

* * *

Patrick and Sarah were going to check out a club after dinner, so we went our separate ways. Finnegan, who was usually so energetic and ready for anything, was tired and not in the best mood. My only problem was these new boots. Ankle boots with a heel, how were those a thing?

“I’ll get us a cab.” Finnegan stepped closer to the curb, and I tugged him back.

“It’s four blocks.” I nodded up the street. “Let’s walk.”

“All right.”

He was quiet. He was brooding.

It was a nice evening. We were surrounded by skyscrapers and heavy traffic, though the noise was easy to tune out.

I slipped my hand into his, and that earned me half a smile. He brought our hands to his lips and kissed my fingers.

“So…how was your first day back in Philly?” I asked carefully.

He sighed and looked straight ahead. “I guess I wasn’t prepared. Rookie mistake.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head, almost out of reflex because he stopped himself and directed a frown at the ground. I figured he was going to say no, but then he spoke.

“Actually, can I vent for a moment?”

“Of course.” I squeezed his hand, secretly thrilled, and I wasn’t sure why.

“When I got out of the can, it took exactly three days for my family to start saying I was different. And they were right. I used to walk around with the biggest chip on my shoulder, and I was the comic relief that made everyone lose their shit.”

We took the opportunity to cross the street when the light turned green, and I stayed quiet while he lit up a cigarette.

“I got my priorities straight when I was in prison,” he continued. “I want more than a crew and the gigs we had.” Jeez, he made it sound like he was in a band. “For that to happen, I gotta focus and aim higher. I gotta show the older guys that I can be trusted with bigger jobs. But everywhere I go, I run into these two-bit fuckwits who can’t spell loyalty, and they’re the ones I gotta impress.”

“That guy…Jim?”

He nodded. “He works with my pop sometimes, but he has his own crew.”

“Does everyone have, um, a crew?” I didn’t speak mafia.

Another nod from Finnegan. “Think of a pyramid. You have the boss at the top. That’s my uncle. He’s got his own crew, and their only job is to…uh, oversee, I guess you can say. Everyone has side gigs, but whatever. And the crew I run is down here.” He showed with his hand, leaving room for another level of crews before reaching the top. “Before I can reach my uncle’s inner circle, I have to be recommended by two higher-ups and join their line.”

“I understand.”

“The problem is my age,” he told me. “Because when me and my boys head out for a job, we make a hell of a lot more money than most crews in my father’s generation.”

“Doing all legal things, I bet.”

“Of course,” he replied with a faint smirk. “So it’s not what I do, ’cause I’m already a top earner. It’s because I’m only twenty-five. And it’s irritating as fuck to basically work for a generation that drilled all our traditions and rules into my skull, but they won’t fucking abide by them themselves.”

I looped my arm with his instead and hugged his bicep. He wasn’t looking for what I thought, and that was good. I wouldn’t know what to say. I could listen, though. And ask.

“Can I ask what rules they’re not following?”

He grimaced and took a drag from his smoke. “Maybe not rules. It doesn’t go against any law to fuck around and have second families on the side, but this isn’t some Italian borgata. Real family actually matters to us—or it’s supposed to—and you’re loyal to family.” He exhaled some smoke, frustrated. “Everything’s gone to shit since my grandfather was boss. We respected family, and we were men of our word.”

He was showing me a whole new side of him, one I instantly knew I could get ridiculously attached to. I wanted family to be sacred.

“I think I got sidetracked,” he said pensively.

“Sorry—”

“No, it’s…” He chuckled and kissed the side of my head. “It’s not you. It’s my fucked-up brain. Bottom line, it pisses me off to suck up to men who don’t deserve my respect, and I realize now that it’s what Philly brings outta me. It makes me miss the days when doing my own thing was enough.”

“You can’t go back to that?” I mean…it wasn’t like Finnegan was hurting for money. That couldn’t be the reason he felt the need to climb the ranks.

“No,” he answered quietly. “It’ll be worth it in the end. Our syndicate has to change, and no one else seems to be willing to do the job, which is another thing I don’t get. Fuckers.” He took a last drag, then flicked away the cigarette. “Today was a wake-up call. As bored as I was in your shitty town, I was more myself. Patrick isn’t lying when he says you’re the reason I was less uptight out there.”

I let out an uncertain laugh. It couldn’t be true. “I don’t think I have that much power.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he murmured. “If Philly’s gonna try to suck the life out of me, I’m gonna need you here to make it all better.”

“On one condition.” I smiled up at him. “You gotta play for me.”

He cracked a grin and hugged me to him. “Deal.”

* * *

“Finnegan? Can you come here and see if my dress is conservative enough?” I inched back from the bathroom mirror and tucked away my mascara. I’d never really dressed for church before, so I was more than a little nervous. Plus, I’d be meeting all these people I’d once sworn never to associate with…

In order to cover up the marks around my neck, my only option was this black, knitted, ubersoft turtleneck dress. It seemed modest enough, ending right above my knees, and it had three-quarter sleeves. The concern was it fit like second skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ, princess. You’re a vision.”

I whipped around and saw Finnegan in the doorway, and I smiled and blushed at his predatory once-over.

“There’s nothing conservative about you.” He walked closer slowly, adjusting his cuff links. “In fact, you’re one indecent little liberal.”

I laughed at his punniness. “I think the preferred term is filthy.”

“You’re that too.” He lifted my chin and kissed me softly. “You look perfect. We look perfect.” He positioned us so we were side by side in front of the mirror. “Check us out. Philly’s next power couple.”

Christ, he didn’t set the bar high at all, did he? While he slipped a hand down to feel up my butt, I adjusted his tie.

“Are you turning into an ass man?”

“No. You’re turning me into an ass man. I swear it calls to me.”

I’d noticed. We’d made out like starved lunatics last night, and there was always a hand on my ass. Not that I was complaining. I was pretty damn fond of his ass too. I even bit it, which he’d taken as consent to bite me back.

Speaking of ass talk, it was time to go to church.

* * *

The church Finnegan’s family attended was on the outskirts of the city center, and from the minute we parked, it was easy to see the Irish-American community was strong here. The square across the street was lined with Irish pubs and storefronts with Celtic designs.

The sun was shining, and he put on a pair of shades as we walked hand in hand toward the big church.

I supposed I should put my gift cards to use soon. As good as Karla was at picking out clothes for me, I wanted to do that myself. Starting with sunglasses and heels that didn’t crush my feet.

Finnegan shook hands with more people than I could count, and he introduced me as his fiancée to each one.

“My parents are over there,” he murmured in my ear, nodding toward the entrance. “You ready to face my mother?”

Little did he know. “I’m ready.”

I wasn’t nervous one bit to see Grace—again—but Shannon, on the other hand? Yikes. He looked so distinguished. Finnegan took after him a lot. Down to the dark copper hair, solid frames, trimmed beards, and suits. Only a few differences stuck out. Where Finnegan wore cocky smirks, Shannon had a tangible air of kindness to him. Silver glinted at his temples; it would be a decade or two before that happened to Finnegan. Same with the laugh lines around Shannon’s eyes and mouth. I wasn’t gonna lie, Shannon O’Shea was almost as lethally handsome as his son.

“You look alike,” I whispered as we approached.

“So I’ve heard.” He flashed me one of his smirks, and then we reached his parents. The two men who’d been talking to Shannon quickly excused themselves.

Grace’s eyes lit up.

“Guys, I want you to meet Emilia Porter. I finally got her to say yes.”

“You say that as if you had to work a long time for it,” I accused. Plastering my most charming smile on my face, I faced Shannon and Grace.

“I did,” Finnegan insisted with a chuckle. “Emilia, Shannon and Grace O’Shea.”

“It’s certainly felt like forever waiting to meet you, dearie.” Grace embraced me in a fierce hug. “Oh, poo. I hoped you’d have a purse,” she whispered. “I have a phone for you later. Assume my boy’s keeping track of your messages and calls.”

Fucking seriously?

I was passed from one hug to another while I snapped out my dumbfounded state. Shannon welcomed me to the family and said his son was lucky to have found me.

Welcome to the family, Em. Your fiancé might be tapping your phone, and you’re gonna have his children, “God willing.”

We’d see about that.

“Where’s your brother?” Grace asked Finnegan.

“On his way,” he replied. “He texted earlier and said he was hungover.”

Did that include Sarah? I hoped she was coming too.

“Why am I not surprised?” Grace shook her head. “You know what, he can find a seat in the back. We should head in.”

Finnegan and I followed Grace and Shannon, and as soon as we entered the church, the atmosphere was entirely different. That was when it hit me that I had no idea what I was doing, and I knew Catholics had a truckload of rituals.

I was surrounded by believers. I guesstimated three hundred of them would fill the pews, and most—if not all—became more somber like a flip of a switch. Many of them made the sign of the cross, one of whom I was marrying soon.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whispered to Finnegan.

“That’s okay,” he whispered back. “Just follow my lead.” He nodded at the third row as we got closer to it. Shannon was there, taking his seat. “You can sit down with my pop. I reckon genuflection isn’t for you.”

I looked up at him and blinked. “Genuwhat?”

His eyes flashed with amusement. “Have a seat, princess.”

Fine.

I left one Irish mobster and sat down next to another. In the meantime, Finnegan and Grace walked up to the altar with several others.

“Are you Catholic, dear?” Shannon wondered.

I nodded, then promptly shook my head. I wasn’t anything, really. “I was baptized in a Catholic church,” I replied quietly. “My mom was Catholic. But…Dad’s a Lutheran, though he only worships Jim Beam. We never went to church.” I was pretty sure Dad had only had me baptized to honor Mom or something.

Shannon chuckled under his breath. “That’s a horrible bourbon.”

I grinned to myself and glanced over at the altar. Finnegan had taken a knee briefly and crossed himself once more, and now he was standing up again. Grace stayed on one knee, appearing to be in prayer. Finnegan returned to us, and I refrained from saying anything. There were evidently dozens of sides to Finnegan, and this was just another one I’d have to get to know. As much as I didn’t understand religion, I found myself wanting to understand him. Every side intrigued me.

He took a seat and linked our fingers together on his leg. With his free hand, he rustled with something, and I blinked in bewilderment when he revealed a bag of candy.

“Butterscotch?” he offered.

What the fuck—who the fuck was this guy? Oh, honestly. Big, bad, tough mobster who kneeled at altars and ate Werther’s Originals before Mass: the jokes wrote themselves.

“Is now really the time to eat old-people candy?” I whispered.

He frowned. “My mouth gets dry in churches.”

Shannon reached across me and took two candies. “Cheers, son.”

This family couldn’t be normal in any sense of the word.

While we waited for everyone to get settled, I people watched and noticed more than a few who were curious about us. Or me. Were they all friends or acquaintances of the O’Sheas? That couldn’t be. Otherwise, we might as well just pass out wedding invitations on flyers after a service, or whatever Catholics called it. Or maybe do a “while we’re all here, let’s get hitched” kind of wedding.

I tugged on Finnegan’s pinkie. “Is this where we’ll get married?”

He inclined his head. “I’m going to speak with Father O’Malley after the homily today. Have you heard of Pre-Cana classes?”

“Um, yeah. Premarital counseling or something.”

“They’re as horrible as Jim Beam,” Shannon muttered.

For chrissakes, I was going to warm up to him way too fast if he kept making wisecracks like that.

Finnegan squeezed my hand. “There’s no way we’re going through six months of that shite, but I might have to throw you under the bus a bit. You’re a lost little atheist, and he’s going to have concerns. If I’m not mistaken, you didn’t even have your First Communion. So if he requests sessions with you, I’ll agree.”

How supportive of my husband-to-be! Taken aback by what he’d said, I stared at him for a beat before turning to Shannon.

“Your son is as horrible as Jim Beam too,” I told him.

Shannon coughed a laugh, loud enough for him to earn a couple glares from people around us. “Oh, Finn, she’ll fit right in.”