Rake: A Dark Boston Irish Mafia Romance (The Carneys Book 1) - Sophie Austin Page 0,4

know that as well as anyone.

But there are gradients between what I’m willing to do and what my father is. Right now, though, I can’t let him sense that, because he’ll see it as weakness.

My place here—everything that I value about my life—relies on one thing: if not making him happy, then keeping him calm until my other ventures pay off.

I swallow any discomfort and hit my father with a level gaze. “So she’s trying to work with the staff again?”

“She’s resilient, I’ll give her that,” my father hisses. “And dedicated to her work, which is more than I can say for you. Handle this, Finn. And I want you to do it directly.”

I shrug off the hypocrisy of my father’s words. He barely handles anything directly, deploying his fixers and his children like soldiers, but that’ll bite him in the ass soon enough.

“I’ll take care of it,” I say.

“Don’t fuck this up, Finn. Not like you fucked up in July. Kieran Doyle isn’t even the smartest of that trash family and he still bested you.”

I flinch at that.

My father hates the Doyles but gives them legitimacy by treating them like rivals, even though they’re losing power in the community as we gain it. Still, he’ll never win against them as long as his obsession with them lasts. My sister’s relationship with one of the Doyle sons, Kieran, has renewed my father’s tendency to throw them in my face.

It’s a truth I need to learn too. Being constantly compared to the Doyles in a negative light burned a hatred in me, too, that caused me to make stupid mistakes.

In July, I’d gone to Martha’s Vineyard to visit Siobhan, who was doing an artist’s residency on the island. When I walked in and found her in her rented home, in bed, with Kieran Doyle standing over her, I thought he’d assaulted her.

The rage I felt in that moment is palpable even now. Does Sasha have anyone who felt that kind of rage on her behalf after she’d been beaten and left for dead?

It takes a concerted effort to push that thought away.

I spent the rest of the summer on the Vineyard, trying to convince my sister that Kieran was using her, but I’d been wrong about that. Wrong about Kieran’s intentions and wrong about their relationship. Not that I’d ever admit it.

But the whole episode did mean that the casino and its staff had been far out of my mind. And I was supposed to be keeping an eye on things.

My father laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Fix it, Finn. Or else.”

“Sure,” I say. “No problem. I took care of this, by the way.” I hand him the folder.

He looks at the liquor licenses. I’m not sure what I expect, but he tosses it on his desk, ignoring my existence. Clearly I’ve been dismissed. You’d think after years of being treated like this you’d get used to it—but it still rattles me.

It’s not the worst thing he’s done to me by far, though.

After leaving his office, I take a quick walk outside to clear my head. James Carney’s lectures mean nothing to me. He made it impossible for me to love him so long ago I can’t remember if I ever did. I’m not looking for his approval or his praise. His angry rants leave me numb at this point, waiting for the takeaway so I can do what I have to and move on.

He put me through hell, though, and I’ll be damned if I don’t take as much from him as he took from me. I’ll keep doing what it takes to squeeze him dry, but for that to happen, he has to keep having something that’s worth taking.

The smarter move is to let him think I’m giving him what he wants while finding ways to get what I need.

The cold air is refreshing, and I close my eyes for a minute. Usually the roar of the nearby highway traffic drowns all other sounds out, but it’s quiet right now, and I can hear the creak of the frozen ice of the Mystic River settling. It’s eerie and beautiful. I listen to its strange music for a few minutes and then head back inside.

I walk down to the security office, where Patrick waits to hear the details of my dressing down. He’s a nosy fucker, but so am I.

Besides, I’d rather he found out from me. Another thing you learn from being a Carney: controlling the narrative