Rake: A Dark Boston Irish Mafia Romance (The Carneys Book 1)

by Sophie Austin

  We head to another store for underwear. I should be embarrassed, but I’m thrilled to have help from someone who knows what they’re doing. My grandma Goldie wore the same bra for as long as she lived with us and duct taped the underwire back in when it shot out of the side.

  An energetic older woman measures me, getting up in my business in a way that leaves me red-faced.

  “It’ll be worth it,” Jamilah says.

  And she’s right. The bras cost a small fortune. Not really something I can afford, but it’s an investment.

  The aggressive tape measure woman points me to matching underwear, and I officially have my first sexy bras and panties. I end up buying other lingerie too. Can’t hurt to have some.

  My mind wanders to Finn’s hands sliding under the worn cotton of the panties I had bought in a six-pack and it makes me want to die a little. At least he didn’t see them. And he won’t see these either.

  Jamilah connects me with affordable help for hair and makeup—two more things I never really had time to learn how to do.

  “You can look good on a budget,” she says. “It’s easier when you’re rich, but not impossible either way.”

  I’m back home by three, and my father is thankfully passed out drunk so I can get my purchases put away before he sees me and screams at me for wasting money.

  My money, but still.

  I pull out my grandma’s little sewing machine and fix up the dress hem. I’m going to shock the hell out of Finn.

  Part of me knows I need to stop thinking about him. About those little flashes of humanity in which I can see how he might have been if he’d been brought up differently. He was embarrassed when he showed me that book. I could see it in his posture. Finn isn’t someone who lets other people see him be vulnerable, but I’d noticed. I’m sure he hasn’t had space to be sentimental and it makes me sad for him.

  But it doesn’t matter, I guess. It doesn’t matter that I like that he’s a strong, masculine man who can read the hell out of Robert Burns anyway. It doesn’t matter how much I like his hands on my body.

  I’m going to set his father up at the gala, and he’s going to be pissed as hell.

  12

  Finn

  I’ve spent more time in Everett this week than is good for anyone. I’ve just pulled up in front of Sasha’s house. My father was served on Monday, and everyone was surprised when he took it in stride. They expected a big eruption, but of course he knew ahead of time.

  Not that he thanked me for that. He’s too hung up on my not resolving the problem before this point.

  He’d been working with his lawyers to see if there were any legal loopholes to stall the election, but everything had been done perfectly. Not a surprise with Sasha leading the efforts. Now all he can do is distribute anti-union propaganda.

  Which he is doing quite a bit of. I’ve been trying to surreptitiously collect data, but none of the staff are talking.

  Can’t say I blame them after what happened to Sasha.

  My father left copies of Monday’s paper around the breakrooms too, all conveniently turned to the society page with the photo of me and Sasha. There’d been rumblings, but nothing explosive. That’d change after tonight.

  I wish she’d taken me up on my offer to buy a dress. Sasha is gorgeous, but she’ll be eaten alive. The wives of our rich investors are petty and cruel. Though I don’t doubt Sasha can hold her own, it’s a totally different brand of warfare than she’s used to.

  She definitely doesn’t go to many galas based on how uncomfortable she was at the Athenaeum.

  It’s just 7:30 now, and I’d better not keep the lady waiting.

  I head up to the side door and ring the bell. For a long moment I don’t hear anything and wonder if that’s broken too, when the door swings open.

  Great, it’s Pops.

  “You again,” he says. I can smell the beer on his breath. He turns away from me, and I walk inside. Benjamin sits at the kitchen table, which seems to also be the dining room table. He’s working on a complicated math problem. I start trying to solve it in my head. I can’t help myself. I’m about to tell him the next step when he writes the answer in a box in the corner. The right answer. Well damn. Sasha’s right. The kid is brilliant.

  “What level of calculus is that?” I ask, curious.

  “I skipped calc two and went right to calc three. Was a fucking mistake, but I’m doing okay.”

  “More than okay, I’d guess. That’s the right answer.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me. “You some kind of math nerd and a mob boss?”

  Fuck, I really like this kid.

  “Yep. I like to learn. Always have.”

  He puts his pencil down and takes me in. “If you hurt my sister…If your father hurts her…”

  “I told you I’d let you know when I found out who hurt her. It was one of my father’s guys. When I find out which one, I’ll give you his name.”

  I won’t though. When did I get so skittish? Still, it’s the threat that matters. Something I can hold over Sasha’s head and keep her in line tonight.

  “She’s a good person, Finn.” He pins me with his gaze. “I know guys like you at school. Smart and cool, good-looking. They mess around with whoever they want and don’t give a fuck about what happens after. My sister’s been through hell. Don’t you think it’s beneath you to make it worse?”

  He’s savvier than I gave him credit for. Or maybe it’s kindness? Either way, it’s not a question I’m going to answer. It’s not one I can answer. Luckily, I hear Sasha’s footsteps on the stairs, and we both turn to face her.

  Goddamn.

  She’s in a little black dress, tight on top, that shows off her curves and dips just enough in the neckline to hit the perfect note of sexy elegance. Her honey blonde hair is curled and gathered into a tousled bun at the back of her neck, held in place with an understated jeweled comb. Loose strands frame her face, and my cock twitches as I imagine pulling that comb out, grabbing her by the hair, and sliding my tongue into her hot, yielding mouth. Her jewelry is simple: a two-strand necklace that falls into that delectable cleavage, and a bangle on her slim wrist.

  I lick my lips.

  “Oh, hi,” she says. I notice the casual tone of her voice. I’m obviously not having the same effect on her that she’s having on me right now. Fuck.

  “Benj, do you know where my keys are?”

  He points to the counter. “You look nice, sis.”

  “Thanks.” She pops her keys into the little bird-shaped handbag she’s holding. She’s moving easier now, though I can see her ankle is still slightly swollen under her sheer black stockings.

  She grabs a worn but clean pea coat from the closet, and I feel that insane possessiveness creep back as I watch her wind my scarf around her delicate neck.

  “Sasha!” her father screams. She jumps, and I want to knock what’s left of his teeth in. I’m horrified when I see him whip a beer can at his daughter and step in front of her, slapping it out of the air before it can hit her. It spins and sprays him with the remnants.

  “The fuck is wrong with you?” I snarl, moving my hand to Sasha’s back. If we didn’t have somewhere to be, I’d be spending the next hour deciding where to dump this man’s body.

  “Forgot you were here. Benjamin, get me another beer.”

  Benjamin rolls his eyes and brings his father a can from the fridge. His father turns on the hockey game and loses himself in criticizing the players.

  The adrenaline’s still coursing through my veins when Sasha turns her pretty face to me.

  “Thanks,” she says. “Don’t want to smell like cheap beer.”

  She smells like just a hint of lilacs.

  But the blandness of her reaction doesn’t escape me. This must be a common occurrence and it takes every bit of control I have to unclench my fists and smile at my lovely date.

  I offer her my arm. She hesitates but takes it and we head out to my Range Rover. I open her door and help her
climb in.

  “You look beautiful,” I say. Perfect. Everything about her is perfect tonight. We don’t talk about what happened over the weekend.

  She smiles at me. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your scarf again.”

  “Of course not.” I can’t tell her how good seeing her in it makes me feel, either. I start the short drive to the casino. “How are you feeling, by the way.”

  “The bruises are fading. Ankle’s much better. I won’t be running anywhere soon, though.”

  Hopefully not all strenuous activities are out of the question, because I really want to get her out of that dress and explore the treasures underneath it.

  There’s valet parking tonight, but I park in my usual spot in the garage. I try not to remember how I’d made the plan to get Sasha to my place here, and instead slip my hand on her lower back again. She doesn’t protest, and I lead her to the coat check.

  “Have you ever been inside?” I ask.

  “No,” she says, handing her coat and my scarf to the coat check girl. She drops some money in the tip jar. I do the same.

  “Figures,” I say. “You want to cause trouble without even checking the place out?”

  She just smiles and says, “Nice suit.”

  God, she’s making me crazy already. How am I going to make it through this night? The suit’s bespoke, a dark charcoal that I’ve paired with a white shirt and a blue and silver striped tie. Very classic. Normally I like to go a little off the beaten path to annoy my father, but I’m not going to push my luck tonight. Not in that way, anyhow.

  We walk to the event space where we’re hosting the gala. It’s a grand ballroom, too ornate for my taste, with a hideous pastel mural of a Greek pastoral scene painted across the ceiling. Heavy gilt moulding creates an absurd transition between the pseudo wanna-be-art-museum ceiling and the beige walls. My father should have let my mother choose the décor. Everything about his taste screams new money. It’s embarrassing. My mother has many faults, but she has an eye for style my father never will. Tonight the room has been configured for mingling, small cocktail tables spaced carefully throughout.

  It’s a little past eight now, and all the guests should be here. Don’t want to keep the investors out too late on a school night, after all, but we don’t want to eat up their weekend time either.

  Once we’re inside the opulent ballroom, I walk Sasha over to my father. At first I wonder if she’ll be nervous, then remember that her own father just hurled a beer can at her.

  He looks at her appreciatively.

  “You clean up well, Miss Saunders. I’d like to introduce you to some of my investors later. I hear your brother is heading to college and some of these folks have connections out at Stanford. I hear young Benjamin is interested in heading out west.”

  “Sounds lovely,” she says. Her fingertips go white, but my father wouldn’t notice something like that.

  I take her hand and wrap it around my forearm. “I’m going to show Sasha around. Give her a tour of the facility.”

  “What a wonderful idea, son. Make sure you say hello to the staff for me.” He gives her a stiff smile. She’s not what he expected, and he’s thrown off. It’s embarrassing how easily that happens.

  I take Sasha around to the various gaming tables. We watch people play for a bit, but neither of us find it very interesting. I find the slot parlor loud and garish, and rather depressing as zombified people pump coins in and pull the arm, hoping for a payout.

  Maybe the problem is that I know the odds too well.

  Not as well as my brother Callan does, apparently.

  I suppose if people want to waste money, though, they might as well waste it here.

  Some of the employees do a double take when they see Sasha, though whether it’s from who she’s with or because of how she looks is hard to say.

  “Drink?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  I don’t bother asking what she wants. It’s chauvinistic, but I’m feeling proprietary about Sasha. I lean across the bar. The bartender is a stunning woman named Jamilah. Normally I never miss an opportunity to flirt with her, but not tonight.

  “Hi, Jamilah,” I say. “Can I have a whisky, neat, and a glass of the Chateau Lafite for the lady?” It’s a power move—that’s our most expensive wine and Jamilah will know it.

  “Of course, sir,” she says. She hands the wine to me rather than Sasha. She’s no fool. I pass the wine to Sasha and leave Jamilah a fifty-dollar bill for her services after I take my whisky. I slide my arm down Sasha’s back again, resting it closer to the curve of her ass this time. She blushes, and it’s a good reminder that her bravado is mostly bluster.

  “See? Our staff is well-cared for,” I say, letting my hand move slightly lower.

  “I’m sure,” she says. “If that’s the case, you have nothing to worry about, do you?” She tosses a saucy look over her shoulder and takes a sip of the wine.

  Bluster, sure, but sexy as hell.

  We eventually head back to the gala, though I’m not excited about having to share her with the disgusting old men who ogle her the second she walks through the door. My sister Bridget is here, though, and floats up to me.

  “Hi!” she says, standing on her toes to kiss me on the cheek. She still can’t reach, so I lean down. “No one else is here! Not even Catriona! And she never misses a party.”

  True, but she knew this one was full of rich old men. Catriona’s interested in rich young men. She’s very strategic with her prowling.

  She smiles broadly and holds her hand out to Sasha. “Oh my goodness, hi! I’m Finn’s sister Bridget.”

  I don’t usually bring women with me to events. I bed a lot of women, but I certainly don’t introduce them to the family.

  Bridget’s bubbliness is contagious, and she and Sasha have an energetic conversation about Bridget’s shoes.

  “I have great feet for ballet, but not for shoes,” she says, laughing. “And I stand like a penguin after all the turn outs.” She shrugs.

  “I think they’re beautiful.” Sasha’s voice is soft and light. Probably from the wine. “I always wanted to take dance when I was young. I was too clumsy for sports, but I always liked dancing.”

  “You should do it now,” Bridget says. “Come to my studio some time. We do all kinds of beginner classes. Not just ballet.”

  The irony of the easy domesticity of this scene doesn’t escape me. If we were different people, watching my date and my favorite sister get along so well would be heartwarming. But Sasha isn’t any date, and she certainly won’t be interacting with my sister again. I almost regret what their friendship could have been like.

  My father waves to me as the women talk. I excuse myself and head over.

  “This is Frank Harvey from the Globe, and of course you know Senator Kensington.”

  Senator Kensington is our primary investor. I smile graciously at both men.

  “I’d like them to meet your date, Finn. Can you bring her over?”

  My father exchanges a smug look with Kensington.

  Sasha is unhappy to be removed from my sister, and I don’t blame her. Bridget drifts over to another group of people who light up at her presence.

  “Mr. Harvey, Senator Kensington, this is Ms. Sasha Saunders.”

  Senator Kensington licks his lips and I’m overcome with the urge to hit him. Bad idea, but the desire is there.

  “The gentlemen were concerned when they heard the staff were interested in organizing, Miss Saunders, and I told them you were here with Finn and they were delighted.”

  “He’s got quite the reputation,” Kensington says, laughing dismissively. “Now, Sasha, what’s a smart labor organizer like you doing getting caught up with this one?”

  Harvey is watching with interest. He wants to know if there’s a story here. Bold move of my father to set Sasha up like this. Does he think she won’t know who these men are?

  A beautiful smile spreads across her pretty face. She takes a sip of
her wine and slips her arm through mine. My father’s smugness, impossibly, seems to increase.

  “Finn’s a very intelligent man,” she says.

  But with her next words, time seems to slow. “We’ve been talking about labor theory and practices. Anyway, Mr. Harvey,” she says, addressing the newspaper man. “I’m sure your readers would love to know what’s going on with the organizing. It’s always such a fraught process, though you’ll be glad to know that Mr. Carney has assured me that he’ll absolutely respect his staff’s right to unionize and is excited to work with the bargaining unit after a fair election. In fact—” she takes another sip of wine— “he told me earlier tonight that the election is happening next week. I’ve been in touch with the NLRB and they’re thrilled to have his cooperation.”

  Christ.

  My father’s face starts to go red, starting from the neck and moving up. He’s going to murder her, and probably me too now. This was his fuck-up, but he’ll still put the blame on me. What was he thinking, baiting her like that? It’s so stupid to underestimate your opponents.

  “Is that so?” Harvey says. “That’s a surprise, Jim. Last I heard you were threatening lawsuits and mass firings.”

  My father laughs, trying to regain any kind of upper hand.

  Sasha’s hand is trembling on my arm. She’s terrified. Brave, but stupid scared. Rightfully so. She’s probably doomed herself and her brother. Where’s the sense in it? Rage builds in my spine. Why does she have to be so goddamn difficult? Why can’t she just follow my lead and do what I tell her to do?

  I smile placidly as my mind races with all of the ways in which I want Sasha to do what she’s told. She’s not getting away with undermining me again.

  “Well, we’ll see what the staff decide,” he says. “We’re hoping they’d prefer to negotiate directly with us, and I’m sure they’ll see the wisdom in that. Finn, could you meet me in my office tomorrow evening?”