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After more silent seconds than I care to count, Fynn finally speaks. "Why would your father put a hit out on you?" His words are careful and measured. Almost like he can't believe he's actually saying them.
"I..." No. Not I. None of this is my fault and I’m tired of being made to think it is. "My father..." I stop again because I hate talking about him. Hate thinking about him. Wish he didn't exist.
"Your father..." Fynn urges me on.
"My father is involved in some less than legal activities." The explanation sounds better than I expected it to, so I keep going. "And he was hoping that I would marry someone he did business with."
It's a pretty dumbed down explanation, but I'm a little proud of how benign I managed to make my situation sound. Right up until Fynn laughs.
"It almost sounds like you're saying your father is in the Mafia and you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage."
That sounds less great, but likely more accurate. When I don't respond—because what am I going to say—Fynn’s laughter dies and his expression sobers.
"Val. Tell me your father's not in the Mafia and you were not supposed to be in an arranged marriage."
I press my lips together because I can't tell him that. It would be an untruth. Also known as a lie. And while I technically haven’t lied to Fynn yet, I am probably guilty by omission, and I don't want to make things worse, so I stay silent.
"Val." His tone is sharper now as he leans closer. "Tell me your father is not in the Mafia, that you were not supposed to be in an arranged marriage, and that this bullshit about there being a hit on you isn't right."
I swallow hard, knowing I have to say something. "I can't tell you that."
He makes a strangled sound and rakes one hand through his hair, turning to pace away from me. "What the fuck, Val?" He turns back, pacing my way. "You didn't think this was relevant information to tell me?"
My lower lip wobbles a little and I hope he can't see it. "I didn't think it would matter." It's the truth, willfully oblivious or not.
"You didn't think it would matter?" Fynn laughs, the sound disbelieving. "How could you believe it wouldn't matter? You should know how the Mafia is. They don't let things go."
My chin tucks a little as I process his statement. "How do you know that?"
Fynn goes silent and we stare at each other in the shadows.
My eyes widen as a possibility hits me. "Are you—"
"Absolutely not." He cuts me off, then pauses. "But I may have some connections who are."
I laugh. I don't know where it comes from. This isn't funny. At all. "So you're not in the Mafia. You're just Mafia adjacent?"
Fynn stares at me for a few more seconds. "When you put it that way—"
I lift my chin as the ground under my feet gets a little more solid. "Well, I'm Mafia adjacent too. That's why I left. I didn't want any part of it. I just want to live a normal life where people don't take hits out on each other when they're angry." I stomp my foot, because damn it, I’m pissed. "Where women aren't a fucking commodity to be used and traded like fucking livestock."
Fynn’s eyes move over me for a handful of heartbeats. "I suppose you came to the right place then, considering my Mafia connections in Sweet Side are all ladies."
I suck in a breath. "They are?"
"Mmhmm." Fynn's agreement is more of a hum than anything as his eyes drift away from me.
I shift on my feet, all my excitement about coming here and sleeping with Fynn before waking up together tomorrow crushed under the expensive loafer of the strange man who just pissed all over my parade. I was okay using Fynn knowing he could use me back, but I can’t put him in danger. I won’t.
"I should probably go." I turn to where my purse dropped to the floor as Fynn shoved my body behind his. "I'm really sorry about this." I blink, trying to work away the tears threatening the spring free. "We can file for an annulment and you can pretend like none of this happened."
Then I guess I'll start to drive again. Shove whatever I can grab in my inexpensive used car and take off, getting as far from Sweet Side as I can. I'm running out of cash, but I'll think of something. I have to. I’m not going back to Minneapolis and I sure as shit don't want to die.
I straighten, but don't make it another step, because Fynn’s hand hooks around my arm. "Absolutely not."
I spin to face him, surprised by his abrasive tone. "But—"
"You think I'm going to let you walk out of here knowing someone out there is coming to kill you?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Do you really think I'm as fucking bad as they are?"
