Page 23 of The Mobster’s Daughter (Massachusetts Mafia #2)

Caitlin

“S hu t her up!”

A big, sweaty guy who smelled like garlic put his clammy hand over her mouth, cutting off her scream, and another small, lanky man grabbed her legs.

They dragged her across the alley and shoved her into an SUV.

She landed with her upper body on the seat and legs on the floor, grabbed the seatbelt, and struggled to pull herself upright, ripping two of her fingernails almost off.

Somebody snatched the back of her jacket and roughly lifted her onto the seat.

Her head hit the door on the other side, and she yelpe d in pain.

Caitlin scrambled to grab the handle, but the man behind her pulled her backward until she was on his lap and his arm was around her waist. She screamed and kicked her feet.

“L et me go!”

Fat fingers twisted in her hair and yanked her back. She squealed and flailed her arms in a poor attempt to get him to re lease her.

“Shut the fuck up,” h e ordered.

“Fuck you,” she muttered.

“Don’t tempt me, you little bitch,” he snapped. He shoved her away, sending her flying acros s the SUV.

She hit the window, causing her ears to ring and her eyes to blur. She groaned and grabbed her head. When she looked at the man next to her, he had a gun point ed at her.

“Give me a reason,” he muttered.

“You’re… you’re Gino Russo,” she whispered.

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath. “Just shut up, okay?”

Caitlin slumped in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest. The front doors opened and, through her blurred vision, she saw two men climb in. Then the SUV started and they pulled away from the club.

“Can I kill her now?” Gin o snarled.

“No,” one man in the driver’s seat replied. “Not yet.”

She recognized the voice—Joey LaGuardia. She swallowed the scream rising in h er throat.

“Why not?” her new fri end asked.

“Because the boss wants to see her. We’re taking her to the house in Lincoln.”

She was in a car with two murderers, the men who came into her apartment and murdered Bobby.

Caitlin wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed herself into the corner, as far from Gino as she could get.

She stared out the window, watching familiar landmarks flashing past. They were close to Weston, less than twenty minutes from home.

The thought flitted through her head that she could throw herself out of the vehicle at a stoplight and bolt down the street.

It would take time to stop and by then, she’d be gone.

She was fast, definitely faster than a couple of old mobsters.

The guy in the passenger seat—the short, skinny one—might catch her, but honestly, he looked weak.

A blow to his throat or sternum would likely put him down.

Caitlin slid her hand along the side of her leg, inching it toward the door handle, eyes glued to the front window, looking for the telltale r ed circle.

“If you touch that, I will shoot you in the knee,” Gino said. “It won’t kill you, but it will hurt. And I’ll fucking love it. Trust me.”

She clenched her fist and tucked it under her other arm. She closed her eyes and prayed Grady would find her.

Joey LaGuardia drove like a man possessed, recklessly weaving through traffic at breakneck speed.

They arrived in Lincoln less than ten minutes after they pulled away from the club.

To Caitlin’s surprise, they continued through town, finally turning on a tree-lined street a mile out of Lincoln.

A few minutes later, the SUV turned onto a dirt road, speeding over the ungraded road, hitting every bump along the way.

She hit her head on the top of the vehicle at least twice, and her stomach rolled.

She pressed her fist to her mouth and prayed she wouldn’t vomit all ove r the car.

Just when she didn’t think she could hold it in any longer, the vehicle slid to a stop outside of a two-story ranch house.

As Gino dragged Caitlin out of the backseat, she took in her surroundings, memorizing everything she saw.

The house was gray or maybe light blue—it was hard to tell in the dark—with neatly trimmed grass and hedges surrounding it, and a porch stretching the length of the house.

A large tree grew along the north side, its branches brushing against the roof.

Lights glowed in the downstair s windows.

Gino gripped her arm tight, forced her up four short steps, and through the unlocked front door.

He gave her a hard shove as soon as they stepped over the threshold.

Her feet tangled together, and she fell to her hands and knees.

She gritted her teeth and reminded herself fighting back wasn’t a good idea.

It was her against three assholes, and at least one of them had a gun.

She was determined to get out of this alive, which meant she had to bide her time.

A hand twisted in her hair and dragged her to her feet. She winced and bit her lip to keep from crying out. Caitlin wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. The hand slid to the back of her neck and squeezed.

“Walk slowly,” Joey said. “And don’t try anything.”

Caitlin nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.

They walked through a dark living room, down a long hallway, and into a tastefully decorated dining room.

A man she didn’t know sat at the head of the table, papers spread out in front of him, a small laptop open next to his right hand, and a cup of coffee by his left hand.

He was in his shirtsleeves with his tie loosened, his suit jacket hung on the back of his chair, and his black hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it.

He wore an expensive watch on his left wrist and an emerald ring on his middle finger.

When she stepped into the room, he looked up and raised his eyebrows.

“Ms. O’Reilly? ” he said.

Caitlin nodded. She detected an accent, though she couldn’t place it with only two words.

“Hav e a seat.”

Joey yanked out a chair and gestured for her to sit, then he stepped back and leaned against the wall. She eased into the padded seat and folded her hands on top of the table. Her head throbbed where she’d hit it on t he window.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” sh e mumbled.

The man smirked. “It isn’t mine. We are … borrowing it. Along with the cars outside. I didn’t have time to acquire my own accommodations, so it was easier to borrow someon e else’s.”

Caitlin imagined that this man’s version of borrowing and hers were very different.

“Ms. O’Reilly, my name is Lev Chertok, ” he said.

Russian. His accent was Russian. “What do you want from me, Mr. Chertok?” she asked politely.

“I want nothing from you ,” Lev said. “In fact, I believe your usefulness has run it s course.”

Caitlin swallowed past the lump rising in her throat. She squeezed her folded hands together and wiggled one of the loose nails on her right hand. She prayed her captor didn ’t notice.

“What do you mean?” At least her voice was steady. She focused on him, especially his eyes. Men always spoke the truth with t heir eyes.

Lev dropped his pen on the table and stared at her for a moment before he spoke. “I assume by now you have ascertained that I am Russian, correct?”

S he nodded.

“Have you heard of the Bratva, Ms. O’Reilly?” he asked.

“The Russian mafia,” she whispered.

“Yes, the Russian mafia. For many years, my family has tried to gain a foothold in both New York city and Boston. But your family and the Muldoons controlled Boston and Moretti controlled New York. We fought for crumbs, never able to take control of any faction of either of the cities.” He picked up the coffee cup, took a sip, and gently set it back on the table.

“When the Muldoon and O’Reilly families merged, things became more difficult.

Long-standing feuds ended, and new alliances were forged.

Our worst nightmare. We turned our attentions to New York until rumors of another alliance emerged.

It appeared the negotiations between the Morettis and O’Reillys were going well, until Sean O’Reilly changed course and the rumored marriage between Moretti’s son and you, Ms. O’Reilly, was called off. Is that ru mor true?”

She was tempted to lie, but there was no point. He knew everything. “Yes, it’s true,” she said. “My father arranged for me to marry Massimo Moretti. But he changed his mind.”

Chertok nodded. “I thought so. Do you know why?”

“Yes,” Caitlin replied. “My sister was… abused by the man she was supposed to wed. She escaped and disappeared for three years. After she came home and he learned of the abuse she suffered, he called off the marriage to Moretti. He didn’t want the same thing to happ en to me.”

“How very noble of him,” Le v scoffed.

Caitlin shifted uneasily in her seat. The Russian obviously didn’t think her father was noble. It sounded as if he hated Sean O’Reilly.

“Your father’s nobility and need to protect you may have helped me.

The shaky alliance between your families only needed a …

a—what is the American word—nudge to completely dismantle it.

” He pointed a finger at her. “You and Roberto Corelli were pieces in a much bigger game, Ms. O’Reilly.

Your father and the rest of his Irish friends have been too comfortable for too long.

And the Italians think they are untouchable.

You were the key to setting everything in motion. The first domino to fall.”

“Bobby ’s death.”

“Yes,” Lev replied, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Poor Roberto. The perfect scapegoat. I had a flawless plan—the mobster’s daughter takes out the Italian prince. Mass chao s ensues.”

“But why?” Caitlin’s voice cracked. “Why would you want to destroy ev erything?”

“Because while the Morettis and the O’Reillys tear each other apart, my plan is to come behind them and pick up the pieces. Their businesses, their power, all of it will be mine. I have been lingering in the shadows too long, and now it is my time to step into t he light.”

“You’re insane,” Caitlin whispered.

Lev snorted. “Maybe. It remains to be seen.”

A smile spread across her face; she couldn’t stop it.

The woman in her who denied authority at every turn, who got enjoyment out of pushing people’s buttons, rose to the occasion.

“I messed everything up, didn’t I? Because I know the truth.

I saw Joey and Gino kill Bobby, and I ruined everything.

I can tell Moretti the truth and stop the war from h appening. ”

“Which is why you have to die.” He said it like he was ordering a sandwich in a diner.

Calmly, without a hint of emotion. “It won’t happen exactly as I initially planned.

But you will die, Ms. O’Reilly.” He slowly stood up.

“You see, you could not bear the weight of the murder you committed, so you ran. The guilt and the lies you told about Joey and Gino overwhelmed you, so you killed yourself.”

She moved to get up, but Joey grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back into her seat.

“You won’t get away with this,” Caitlin murmured. “My father, or Grady, one of them will figure it out. They are going to come for you.”

Lev’s face was cold and unyielding. “Let them come. By the time they do, it will be too late.”

He walked around the table, stopped beside her, and set a piece of paper in front of her. He held out a pen, tapped the paper, and said, “Take it.”

She shook her h ead. “No.”

Lev snapped his fingers. Joey grabbed the back of her neck and squeezed so hard a gasp of pain left her.

He grabbed her wrist and forced her to open her hand.

The Russian leaned over her, the sickening scent of his cheap cologne overwhelming her, and put the pen in her hand, forcing her fingers to close around it.

“You’re going to write a note to your father,” he ordered. Another piece of paper appeared in front of her. He set it on the table. “Copy it word for word.”

Caitlin pinched the pen between her fingers and stared at the words she was expected to copy. Joey’s fingers tightened on her neck. Black dots filled her vision and pain shot across her shoulders. He pushed her until her face was inches from the paper. Tears leaked from her eyes.

“Okay, okay,” she cried. She did as instructed, her tears falling on the paper, and quickly copied the other note. She dropped the pen when she was done.

Daddy, I’m so sorry, but I can’t go on like this. I’m the one who killed Bobby. I lied when I said it was those guys in New York, because I was scared. I didn’t know what to do, but I know I don’t want to go to jail. Please forgive me, Daddy. I’m sorry.

Joey released her. She sat up and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Thank you. The tears made it very authentic. We will send this to your father after … well, after.” He rapped twice on the table, summoning Gino and the other man who had taken her from the Emeral d Diamond.

“Fredo,” Lev said. “Please take care of Ms. O’Reilly.”

The other man—Fredo, apparently—took her arm and dragged her to her feet. One of the fake fingernails she’d ripped off fell to the floor and bounced under h er chair.

“Wait! What are you going to do to me?” she asked.

Her blood ran cold as Lev grinned at her, turned around, and walked out of the room without a gl ance back.

Fredo pushed her through the house and out the back door. He pushed her down the stairs and across the lawn to a Toyota Corolla. He opened the passenger side door and gestured for her to get in the car. Another fingernail fell to t he ground.

She did as he wanted, and he slammed the door. As he walked around the front of the car, she yanked on the handle, but it was locked. Fredo climbed in b eside her.

“Don’t bother,” he muttered. “It won’t open.” He started the Toyota, put it in gear, and drove away from the ra nch house.