Rake: A Dark Boston Irish Mafia Romance (The Carneys Book 1) - Sophie Austin Page 0,58
seen anyone stand up to my father like that before.”
“Not even you?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t call what I do standing up to him. It’s more passive-aggressive needling than anything. I have a plan, but it’s long term so I can’t do what you did, not yet. Then he’ll finally have a good reason to hate me. But I can’t let you or Benjamin be collateral damage. I won’t let it happen.” He holds his hands as if in prayer and presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t understand why he hates you.”
Finn stares at the stained ceiling. “He thinks he has a good reason.”
His voice catches in his throat. He’s going to tell me something very personal now, isn’t he?
In the same way that he didn’t want me to lose my virginity on a desk, I don’t want him to share this story in a Dunkin Donuts—no matter how special it is to me.
“Wait,” I say. “Not here. Let’s go for a walk.” I don’t bother finishing the coffee and toss it in the bin on our way out.
We wander down a side street toward the river. When we get to the Mystic, we stand in front of it, leaning against a railing. It’s one of those gorgeous, sparkling January days that makes you believe winter isn’t all horrible. The Mystic is frozen, so the smell is contained.
“When is your family finally having the river dredged?” I ask. “It still smells like a garbage fire in the summer.”
“It’s going to happen in the spring. Lots of red tape since it crosses city lines.”
“I bet there are so many bodies in there.”
It’s gallows humor, but Finn laughs anyway. “None of ours. Don’t worry.”
I’d made a comment about ending up in there to him earlier. It hangs between us for a minute. But I want to give him space to tell his story.
“When I was younger,” he says, staring out at the casino across the river, “my father had a very particular vision for me.”
“Politician.” I remember him mentioning this.
“Yes. I was bright and picked up skills very easily. I knew how to charm people.”
“Not much has changed there,” I deadpan.
He smiles almost gratefully at me. It makes me uncomfortable.
“I didn’t want to go into politics. I didn’t know what I did want, but my senior year, I got into every school I applied to. All the prestigious ones my father drooled over. But he didn’t care. I wasn’t going to major in what he thought I should, so all of that meant nothing to him. But there was another way he could use me.”
His voice is heavy with pain, even after all these years. I think back to the letters in the secret compartment and understand better why they’re there. Why they’re his greatest treasure.
“I was a good-looking kid. Women liked me, and I seemed older than I was. Once I turned seventeen, my father basically pimped me out to any woman he needed a favor from. If they didn’t come through, he’d reveal my age and blackmail them.”
“Jesus, that’s awful, Finn.” I lightly touch his arm.
He shrugs. “I could’ve said no, I suppose, but I liked the attention. I enjoyed the sex—I was a horny teenage boy, anyway. And my father was proud of me for once.”
His casual words don’t disguise the sadness etched on his face.
“You were underage. That’s not okay. What he did to you was not okay.”
“There was this one girl he wanted me to date. We were both seniors in high school. She was a nice enough girl. Not particularly pretty or interesting, but that never seemed to matter to my father. Her parents were rich, even richer than us. Old school Boston Brahmin, like my father pretends to be.”
A cold wind picks up, shaking the bare branches of the trees lining the river. He continues to stare across its frozen expanse.
“He wanted me to get her pregnant,” he says with a bitter laugh. “Can you imagine? He wanted me to trap this poor girl.”
“And you too,” I remind him.
“I decided then I was done being his puppet. I’d fuck every woman I wanted, whenever I wanted, but he’d get nothing from it. I wanted to ruin his chances with this family. They were very well connected to investors my father was chasing. I found the sharpest knife I could and gave myself this.” He points to the scar through his eyebrow. “Dragged it right through my skin. It took seven stitches to