Page 2 of The Mobster’s Daughter (Massachusetts Mafia #2)

Caitlin

“I think I had too much to drink,” Caitlin muttered under her breath three hours later.

She stumbled to the kitchen, turned on the water, and stuck her head under the faucet.

The water ran into her mouth and dribbled down her cheeks.

She cupped her hands under the flow and splashed some on her face.

Praying she wouldn’t puke, she hung over the sink and blindly reached for the faucet to turn it off.

She shouldn’t have finished the bottle of wine, especially on an empt y stomach.

A loud meow caught her attention. Sitting on her fire escape and looking in her window was a small gray-and-white cat.

Caitlin had been feeding him for almost two weeks and didn’t know where he came from or if he belonged to someone.

He showed up most nights, she fed him, and he disappeared. He meowed again, louder this time.

“I’m coming, kitty,” she mumbled. Caitlin opened the cupboard next to the fridge and took out a can of cat food.

If she didn’t feed him, she wasn’t sure who would.

Caitlin dumped the food in a purple plastic dish, pulled on her NYU sweatshirt, and then pushed the living room window open and climbed onto the fire escape.

She closed the window, leaving it open about an inch; otherwise, the cat would go inside, and it would take her hours to ge t him out.

Caitlin sat down with her back against the wall and set the food between her feet. The cat weaved his way around her legs and bumped his head against her hand until she scratched between his ears. After a few minutes of pettin g, he ate.

Bobby hated the cat, calling him stupid and bitching every time she fed the poor thing.

Another reason to be glad he was gone. His attitude annoyed her.

He annoyed her. She’d wasted too much time on him, time she could have been spent on better things.

Caitlin had tried for six months to convince herself that Bobby Corelli was the man she wanted, but she’d lied t o herself.

He didn’t come close to being the man she wanted—Caitlin wanted somebody mature, older, a man who could satisfy her.

Bobby was a distraction, meant to take her mind off Grady.

It hadn’t worked; she thought about Grady constantly.

The man was always on her mind. She had imagined him in more scenarios than she could count, and most of them were not safe for work.

Sitting out here in the dark, thinking about how badly she wanted Grady, and how good it could be with him, had her clenching her thighs together and biting her lip. God, what she wouldn’t give for one night in bed with that man.

Her heart nearly stopped when she heard her apartment door slam shut, pulling her from her musings about Grady. A second later, Bobby screamed her name.

“Caitlin! Caitlin, where the fuck are you?”

Shit!

She didn’t move. Jesus Christ, it sounded like he was drunk or maybe high.

There was no way she was going to let him know where she was, especially after what he’d done to her wall earlier; that could have been her face.

She had a feeling he wanted it to be her face.

Slowly, she got to her feet and inched toward t he window.

Bobby was still screaming her name as he moved around her apartment. He probably saw her backpack on the floor, so he knew she was home. It was only a matter of time before he remembered the cat and checke d outside.

A loud cracking noise, like wood breaking, echoed through the apartment. Then she heard voices she didn’t recognize. Bobby shouted something incomprehensible and grunted, which was followed by the sound of furniture crashing to the floor.

Caitlin hugged herself, stepped over the cat, and flattened herself against the wall, peeking around the edge of the window.

Two men stood in the middle of her small living room with their backs to the window.

Bobby was on the floor, next to her overturned coffee table, with a hand pressed to his nose and blood seeping through hi s fingers.

“Where’s your girlfriend, Bobby boy?” the large, bald man asked. “She in the bathroom? The bedroom?”

“Joey , listen—”

“Where is she?” the guy named Joey as ked again.

Bobby shook his head. “I don’t know where she is. I … I let myself in. I ha ve a key.”

Joey glanced at the other ma n. “Gino?”

“I checked the whole place,” the other guy said. “It’s empty. The girl is n’t here.”

Joey sighed dramatically. “Well, shit. That makes this a lot harder.”

While Caitlin watched, Gino took a gun from his pocket— her gun, the one Grady gave her, the gun she kept in the bottom drawer of her dresser. He pointed it at Bob by’s head.

“Jesus Christ, Gino!” Bobby screeched, his hand in front of his face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you want me to tell my father you pointed a gun at my fucking head? He will kill you.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be pissed.” Joey laughed. “But n ot at us.”

Bobby inched back, his hand still blocking his face. “What are you talki ng about?”

“Do you know where the girl is?” Joey as ked again.

“I told you I don’t.” A strangled sob left Bobby’s mouth. “We got in a fight. She broke up with me, kicked me out. I got a little drunk and came back to talk to her. But she’s not here.”

Joey nodded at Bobby. “Get it over with, Gino. We need to find the girl.”

Gino stepped closer to Bobby and put the gun to the center of his forehead. Caitlin jumped back, flattened herself against the wall, and covered her mouth to stifle her scream when the gun went off. Tears leaked from her eyes.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

Caitlin stayed where she was, pressed against the wall. She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. The urge to move overwhelmed her. She counted to three, then to ten, then she took a chance, crept to the window, and peered in.

Her living room looked like a slaughterhouse.

Blood covered every surface—floor, couch, coffee table, the wall, even the ceiling.

Her blue-and-white rug, a gift from her mother, was splattered with chunks of brain matter.

Caitlin groaned quietly as her stomach turned.

She gnawed on her lower lip and prayed she wouldn ’t vomit.

“What now?” Gino asked, startling her as he came out of her bedroom with Joey. She jumped and leaned against the wall, out of sight.

“We do exactly what he said,” Joey replied.

“Make it look like the girl did it. We’ll watch the place and when she comes back, we follow her up and take care of her.

They’ll find her dead in an apartment with a dead guy.

Murder-suicide. Case closed. Wipe down the gun and leave it on the floor.

If we’re lucky, she’ll pick it up when she comes in.

If not, we’ll put it in her hand after w e do her. ”

Caitlin pressed her cheek against the bricks. What the hell were they talking about? They wanted to blame Bobby’s death on her? Murder-suicide? What was happening? Her head spun.

The cat brushed against her arm as he leaped onto the railing beside her. Spooked, she jumped, and a loud gasp es caped her.

“Did you hear that?” one of the men said.

Caitlin stepped back, her eyes darting around, her hand on h er mouth.

Fuck.

The cat jumped down, twisted in and out of her legs, then sauntered down the fire escape.

Caitlin looked over the edge, then back at the window.

She heard the men moving through her apartment, headed her way.

Staying here would get her killed. Decision made, she grabbed the railing, swung her leg over the side, and climbed down the ladder.

Just as she got to the floor below hers, she heard the men shouting above her.

She moved faster, tears streaming down her face, stumbling when her feet hit the ground. She spun around a nd bolted.

Caitlin sprinted through the streets of Greenwich Village, jumping at every shadow, fear forcing her to move as quickly as possible.

After twenty blocks, her legs felt like rubber and her lungs burned, so she slowed to a stop.

She turned in a circle, trying to get her bearings.

On the corner across the street, she saw Katz’s Delicatessen, so she crossed against the light and duck ed inside.

She stood off to one side, gasping for breath.

The person in front of her gave her a weird look and inched away from her.

Caitlin tried to smile, but it must have looked like a grimace or something, because the person cleared their throat and edged closer to the counter.

Caitlin took a step away from them, crossed her arms, and stared at the floor.

The irritated young man behind the counter got her a large coffee, then Caitlin found a table facing the door.

She eased into her seat and took her phone from her back pocket.

Her hands shook so hard she couldn’t read the screen.

She set it down, folded her hands in front of her, and closed her eyes.

Caitlin didn’t know if she should call the police or call her father.

The police might blame her for Bobby’s death, which was apparently what those men wanted.

Running made her look guilty. And it was her gun that had been used to shoot Bobby in the head.

How the hell was she supposed to explain that?

Her head spun, and her stomach hurt. If she called the police, as soon as she said her name, they would know who her father was.

It wouldn’t help her situation; people assumed the daughter of a criminal was a crim inal, too.

What if Bobby had been killed because of some slight against Aldo Moretti?

If he died at the hands of the Morettis and they knew she was an O’Reilly, it might explain everything.

According to her father, the Boston and New York families had no respect for each other, and there was a definite inability to communicate.

Sean O’Reilly’s decision to call off a business transaction that would have fostered a major truce between the families might be the reason someone wanted to frame her f or murder.

Leverage. Or revenge. Whatever it was, Caitlin was once again pulled involuntarily into the family business.

Despite her reservations, she knew there was only one person she c ould call.

Her hand shook even harder as she picked up her phone and dialed his number. She exhaled slowly and hit the se nd button.

Three hours; Caitlin didn’t know if she could wait that long.

Thank God she had Apple Pay on her phone, since she ran out of the apartment with nothing.

If she kept ordering coffee, she could stay in the deli until Grady arrived.

After she finished the first cup, she returned to the counter, grabbed two magazines, and ordered more coffee and a sandwich.

The guy behind the counter didn’t even look at her as he rang her up and handed Caitlin her food.

Thank God Grady answered when she called, which Caitlin knew he would. Her father would not be happy if he found out Grady ignored a call from one of the O’Reilly daughters.

Not that her sister, Liv, would call him for help; she had her husband, Declan. He would protect Caitlin’s sister with his life. He’d more than pr oven that.

Caitlin shifted in the uncomfortable deli chair to keep her ass from falling asleep.

Her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the sound of the bullet tearing through Bobby’s forehead and the loud thunk his body made when it hit the floor.

The chunks of his brain were all over her rug.

Just thinking about it made her wan t to puke.

Exhaustion washed over her. What she wouldn’t give for a soft bed to crawl into and forget the world existed. Caitlin rested her head on the wall behind her and closed her eyes. She tried to calm her racing heart and overactive brain by taking deep, cleansin g breaths.

It must have worked because the next thing she knew, the bell over the delicatessen door jingled, and Grady McCarthy strode through. He surveyed the restaurant, turning slowly until his eyes landed on Caitlin. Before he said anything, she shot out of her seat and threw herself into his arms.

Caitlin buried her face against the side of his neck and inhaled the clean, manly scent that was all Grady—soap, Old Spice deodorant, leather, and cologne. She wanted to stay there forever, but he grabbed her and held her at arm ’s length.

“What the hell is going on, Caitlin?” he asked. “Explain to me why I had to drive three hours to rescue you. And it better be good.”

“It’s not good, Grady. It’s bad. Really, re ally bad.”