Page 26 of The Mobster’s Daughter (Massachusetts Mafia #2)

Caitlin

T he knock at the door startled her. She hadn’t heard from Declan, so she’d put out the Do Not Disturb sign. No one should b e outside.

“Shit,” she muttered. There was nowhere for her to go. The window in the bathroom was maybe two feet by two feet, so she couldn’t go out that way. Her eyes darted around, looking for a plac e to hide.

“Caitlin, open the door.”

She got off the bed, tiptoed across the room, and peeked through the peephole. Grady stood on the o ther side.

“Open the door,” he repeated.

She threw the lock and opened it slowly. Grady stared at her with his arms crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and a half-smirk on his face.

“Hi,” she mumbled. “Let me guess. Declan told you whe re I was?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Can I come in?”

She nodded, waved him inside, and pushed the door closed behind him. He looked her up and down, taking in her various cuts an d bruises.

“Jesus, he really did a number on you, d idn’t he?”

His voice was gruff, thick with emotion.

They stood less than three feet apart, but it was like the Grand Canyon separated them.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a sob escaped her, and tears streamed down her face.

She gasped, put her hands over her face, took a step back, her knees hitting the bed.

As she sank onto it, she stared up at Grady.

“I … I ki lled him.”

Sobs wracked her body. Caitlin fell to her side, curled into the fetal position, and let the tears come. She’d held them back since she shot that guy in the woods. Since she kil led Fredo.

He sat on the edge of the bed beside her, brushed her hair away from her face, caressed her cheek, and murmured soft praises to her. She cried until her throat hurt and her hea d pounded.

“I’m sorry I took off,” she whispered. “It wa s stupid.”

“Yeah, it was,” he said. “But you’re safe, which is what matters.” He cleared his throat. “I hear you’re meeting with Moretti.”

Caitlin nodded. “I need to talk to him, make him understand I had nothing to do with Bobby ’s death.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” Gr ady asked.

“Don’t worry, I know what I ’m doing.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t. I want to know how you think you’re going to convince Aldo Moretti you didn’t kill his son when the evidence is stacked aga inst you.”

She had no intention of explaining to him—or anybody else for that matter—her plan to tell Moretti about Chertok’s attempt to start a war between their families. She needed to be the one to tell him. Bobby’s father had to hear it from her, or he wouldn’t b elieve it.

“I need you to trust me.” Caitlin took his hands. “Please. I know what I ’m doing.”

He sighed. “Alright, I’ll trust you. But for the record, I don’t like it. And I will be right there to make sure nothing happen s to you.”

“You’re going to the meeting?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “It was one of the stipulations your father requested. Declan and I will be with you the wh ole time.”

“Wh en is it?”

Grady checked his watch. “In t wo hours.”

Caitlin closed her eyes and nodded. Two hours until her fate was decided. If she couldn’t convince Moretti she didn’t kill his son, he would have her killed. She swallowed and got to her feet.

“I’ll g et ready.”

Caitlin’s heart thumped in her chest as the car pulled to a stop in front of Fred’s Sin Bin. Declan parked under a flashing neon sign shaped like a woman. Every thirty seconds, it changed, so the woman went from standing up straight to bent over with her head between her legs.

“Is this a strip joint?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Declan answered. “Moretti works out of the back office. His cousin owns t he place.”

He and Grady got out of the car. Declan opened the door and took Caitlin’s hand to hel p her out.

“You ready for this?” he asked.

Caitlin gnawed on her lower lip. “I … I think so.”

“You do exactly as you’re told, do you understand?” her brother-in-law said. “If something is off, me or Grady will take the lead. Don’t do anything stupid and do not agree to do anything stup id. Okay?”

S he nodded.

The door to the strip club opened, loud eighties music following a group of men stumbling out to the parking lot. They were almost as loud as the music. She watched as they followed the only sober guy to a lifted truck a nd got in.

“Let’s go,” Grady said. He put his hand on her back and walked b eside her.

Inside, she was assaulted by air thick with the stench of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.

The low thud of bass-heavy music made Caitlin’s eardrums vibrate.

Dim, flickering lights cast an unpleasant glow over the worn plush chairs and sticky laminated tables.

The bar was lined with half-empty glasses reflecting the gaudy colors of the rotating disco ball over the stage.

Bleary-eyed patrons sat on mismatched bar stools, staring at the elevated stage in the center of the room.

At each end of the stage, there was a pole where a woman in varying degrees of undress swayed to the music.

Her cheeks heated as the woman on the far end winke d at her.

A door at the back of the club opened and two men stepped out, their faces unreadable. Their eyes followed her as she walked past them, flanked by Declan and Grady.

A heavyset man sat at a table in the center of the room, his posture rigid and his face a mask of barely contained fury.

His dark eyes bored into Caitlin. If she could have hidden from him, she would have.

As they approached, he got to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor.

He was shorter than her, overweight, and bald.

He glared at her as he crossed his arms over his chest.

They stopped in front of the table, and Declan stepped forward. “Mr. Moretti, you know Grady McCarthy. This is Caitlin O’Reilly.”

Moretti tipped his chin at Grady, then he returned his focus to Caitlin. She wanted to fidget, but she stood perfectly still. She hadn’t been scrutinized so closely since the last time she’d defied h er father.

She inched closer. “Mr. Moretti, I’m sorry about your son.”

The Italian narrowed his eyes. “You murdere d my son.”

She swallowed around the lump rising in her throat. “N-no, I didn’t,” she replied. “I know there is no reason for you to believe me. But I came here to tell you t he truth.”

Moretti sat back down and pointed to the chair across from him. “Have a seat. I’ll give you five minutes.”

She glanced at Grady. When he nodded, she pulled out the chair and perched on the edge with trembling knees. Behind her, Grady and Declan inch ed closer.

“Go on,” Mor etti said.

Caitlin tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in her throat, strangling her, making her head spin. She gripped her thighs, squeezing them until she got herself under control. “A man named Lev Chertok ordered the death of your son. He’s… he’s with the Bratva, the uh, Russi an mafia.”

“I know what the Bratva is,” Morett i snapped.

“Yeah, um, sorry,” she continued. “It was supposed to look like a murder-suicide. But I-I wasn’t there, so Bobby was killed, and they made it look like i t was me.”

“Why?”

“Because Chertok wanted to start a war between our families,” she explained. “He said while we tore ourselves apart, the Bratva would step in and take over ev erything.”

“You’re saying this Chertok person killed my son?” More tti asked.

Caitlin shook her head. “No, it was Joey LaGuardia and Gino Russo. They work for Chertok. He told them to kill Bobby and set me up to take the fall.”

Moretti’s expression shifted, the fury in his eyes giving way to something much darker: cold, hard rage.

He fisted his hands, his knuckles turning white from the strain. He stared at her for a long moment before he looked at Grady and Declan. “Do you believe her?” he a sked them.

Grady stepped closer and put his hand on Caitlin’s shoulder. “She’s telling the truth, Aldo. Caitlin wouldn’t kill anybody. Joey and Gino did it and tried to frame her. Chertok wants us to tear each other apart. If we go after each other, if you continue down this path, he wins.”

Declan nodded in agreement. “The Bratva have attempted to expand their territory for months. Chertok could try to make it happen. This could be another move in whatever game he is playing.”

Moretti turned back to Caitlin. “If you are lying to me, young lady, there will be nowhere for you to hide.”

“I am not lying,” she said firmly. “I am here not only to save my life, but because I want this to end before someone e lse dies.”

“Where is this Chertok at now?” he asked.

“Gone,” Grady answered. “So are Joey and Gino.”

“How convenient,” Morett i scoffed.

“What?” Caitlin in terjected.

The mobster slammed his fist on the table, the loud thump startling her. “The men you claim are responsible for my son’s death have conveniently disappeared. Do you think I’m stupid, lit tle girl?”

“Aldo—”

“Shut up, McCarthy,” the mob boss snarled. “Do not spe ak again.”

Grady’s hand on her shoulder tightened, his fingers digging into the muscle. She needed to be cautious. The rage came off Moretti in waves, threatening to bowl her over.

“No, sir, I don’t think that,” Caitlin whispered.

“You come here with this crazy story but no proof, expecting me to believe you.” Moretti slammed both hands on the table and stood up.

“Find Chertok. Bring him to me. I want to talk to him so I can ask him in person if he ordered the death of my son. He needs to stand beside you and tell me he was the one responsible for Roberto’ s murder. ”

Caitlin shook her head. “That’s crazy! I don’t know where he is and even if I can find him, he’ll never agree to c ome here.”

Moretti flattened his palms on the table and leaned over it, inches from Caitlin’s face. “I guess you better ask your father’s amici for help. I will give you forty-eight hours.” He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Escort Ms. O’Reilly and her friends out of my club.”