Page 14 of Mob Star

“Mair, I’ll be in the office.”

“No worries.”

“Is Mair a nickname you gave Margaret?”

Does he give all the women in his life nicknames?

“No. Her parents call her that, so we started to as well. Her husband calls her Greta. Margaret is the English version of her Gaelic name. They mean the same thing. The modern version of her Gaelic name is Mairghráid. Mare like the horse and grade like in school.”

“Then why’d she introduce herself as Margaret?”

“Because that’s what she goes by professionally and with most people outside the family.”

Sounds complicated. I’m interested, but not as much as I want to know what the deal is with his family. Finn punches in a code so quickly I can’t catch what it is. I suspect he did that on purpose. The door unlocks, and he pushes down on the handle. I don’t know what I expected in here, but definitely not something as inviting. There’s an overstuffed couch I bet Finn’s napped on— passed out on —more than once. There’s a fireplace that looks like he uses. His desk chair is ergonomic but comfortable. He has family photos lining the walls. Maybe this is why he brought me in here. I’m super curious now.

Finn gestures to the sofa, so I sit. I want him to sit beside me. I want him close, and I can’t justify why when he’s about to tell me something that’s likely to scare the shit out of me. But it would make it an awkward angle to talk. That’s what I’m telling myself as he leans against his desk. I’m growing more nervous by the second, so it feels like a chasm is opening between us. I’m worried about falling in.

“Thea, when Tony mentioned me being a mobster, he wasn’t wrong. But I’m not Al Capone. I’m not Bugsy Segal. I don’t sit around smoking cigars and plotting bank robberies or putting out hits. I could deny what he said, but like I told you, my family’s been in the news enough lately that you’ll find stuff on your own. I’d rather explain it. When he said I was in the mob, it made me suspect he knows of the other families. Those men you heard on the other line are the leaders of the other major syndicates. It was a calculated risk to make that call in front of your friends and coworkers. I’ve never admitted to anyone what I’m telling you right now, but neither can I hide who I am or who my family is thanks to the internet. But I said nothing in public that can be held against me or my family. The other people here know exactly who we are. They’re here because they either work for us or their family has been connected to mine for generations. I wish I had a different explanation, but I don’t.”

That creates an avalanche of questions that sweep me away. I just sit here. Mute.

“Thea?”

“Hmm.” I’m still digesting what he said.

“Do you have questions?”

“Plenty.”

I’m looking at his chest as though I can see through it to the wall. I’m staring into space as I try to wrap my mind around this. This man I’ve met twice, who I’m inexplicably drawn to, just admitted he’s a criminal. A well-dressed criminal in his slacks and button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and just enough of his chest showing to make me want to run my hands over his muscular pecs. His pants are just tight enough in the back for me to know I could bounce a dime off that ass.

Just what sorts of things has he done? Do I truly want to know? Is he dangerous to me? I told him I would trust him earlier. Yeah, that was about picking food. But can I trust him with anything else?

You have trusted him. You’ve trusted him more than once. You’re alone in here with him.

I can ask myself those questions, but I already know the answers. I can trust him, and no, he’s not dangerous to me. But I don’t want to know what being a mobster means. I don’t want that world near me. I’ve been adjacent to it before, and I don’t want to go back to it.

But the longer I sit here, my mind whirling and Finn letting me think in peace, the more I realize my answers to those questions are the ones I think I’m supposed to give. The ones I feel obligated to give, especially as a doctor. How can I even consider a man attractive who probably does some horrible shit when I’ve pledged to do no harm?

Because the pledge was about me. It wasn’t a pledge to stop other people. I know no specifics, yet I’m trying to decide. I wouldn’t use speculation to diagnose or cure a patient. I would gather facts and observe. Those decisions might happen in a split second sometimes, but I can do that through using fact and observation.

“Finn, why did you tell me that if you’ve never admitted it to anyone else? Is it because other people already know, so you don’t have to?”

“Sometimes. But I could have kept quiet. I could have lied. I could have done a lot of things besides confess that to you. I told you because I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Why does that matter to you?”

He stares at me. He can confess he’s part of the organized crime world, but he won’t tell me why he admitted what he did. He’s looking at me as though I should already know the answer.

Margaret said he would probably invite me back. He said he wouldn’t do anything because I’d just broken up with someone. He said when I was ready, he’d be waiting. He wrapped his arm around me, and when I watched us in the mirror, I pictured us as a couple. Feck, I’ve even thought our kids would have amazing eyes.

Feck. I noticed he’ll say fuck when he directed it at Tony. But he won’t swear in front of me.

“Were you serious when you said you’d be ready whenever I am?”

He scoots closer to me, but he continues to lean back against the desk. “Thea, I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I saw you. You’re beyond beautiful. But it’s something about the look in your eyes. I don’t need to know you’re a doctor to know you’re intelligent. You’re poised even when you’re threatening to kill someone. You take things in stride, but you’ll also disagree with me without exploding. Knowing you’re not only a doctor but one who takes care of babies in distress tells me more about you than I think you realize.”

“Such as?” I want to know probably more than I should.

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