Page 30 of The Mobster’s Daughter (Massachusetts Mafia #2)

Grady

G rady woke up with Caitlin sprawled across him, her head tucked under his chin. He rubbed her back as he stared off i nto space.

His promise to her resurfaced, sitting on his chest like a dead weight.

It was stupid and reckless. He never should have done it; her father would never allow it.

Promising her they would somehow make their relationship work was practically a death wish.

It was only a matter of time before he broke her heart.

He hugged her tight, not wanting to think about it.

Caitlin stirred in his arms, so he checked his watch. They needed to g et moving.

“Caitlin?” He brushed her hair away from her face. “Wake up.”

She sighed and kissed his cheek. “What’s going on?”

“It’s almost time to go,” he whispered.

She got to her feet and stretched. “Is there a bathroom aro und here?”

“Out the door, make a right, last door on the left,” he replied. “Hurry. We don’t have m uch time.”

She gave him a dirty look, grabbed her tote bag, and marched away. He watched her until she went through the bath room door.

Grady walked behind her, went into the men’s room, and kicked the do or closed.

Ten minutes later, he emerged after giving himself what his father had called a “spit bath.” Caitlin was on the couch, her face scrubbed clean and her hair freshly combed.

She looked like a teenager in her dark jeans and a red sweater with the tote bag thrown over her shoulder.

It was a harsh reminder of how much younger than him she was.

He was stiff and his joints ached after a night spent sleeping on the couch—and having sex on it—while she bounded around as if it wa s nothing.

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodde d. “Yeah.”

Once they were in the car, Caitlin buckled her seatbelt and stared straight ahead, utter ly silent.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to do this,” sh e mumbled.

“You wanted to come,” Grady replied. “In fact, you insisted.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, I think I changed my mind.”

“Too late, princess. There’s no turning back now.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Close to the Hudson, there are deserted warehouses. They were bought a few years ago by a Russian conglomerate. It was assumed at the time it was for the Bratva. I guess we were correct. That’s where we’re meeting Sokolov.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “How cliché. A mafia meeting in a deserted w arehouse.”

He chuckled. “Where do you think the movies, TV shows, and books get their clichés? From actual mafia members. I know a couple of guys who moved to Hollywood. They’re working as consultants on a bunch of films.” He shrugged.

“It’s a way of life, Cait. One we’ve lived for a long time.

It’s hard to change, hard to accept the modernization of the world we shaped for so long. It might be cliché, but it’s our life.”

She clasped her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead. He wished he was one of those men who could commiserate with people, soothe them with a kind word or gesture, but that wasn’t him. Caitlin was deeply upset, but he could not comfort her. All he could do was protect her from harm.

In the distance, the warehouse loomed so immense, it blocked out the other buildings. A chain-link fence surrounded it, the gate hanging wide open, a broken lock dangling from the metal pole. Grady drove through it and parked in the empty lot.

As soon as they stepped out of the car, a tattooed bald man wearing a black Metallica shirt approached them with his gun drawn. Grady raised his hands over his head a nd smiled.

“I’m Grady McCarthy, and this is Caitlin O’Reilly, ” he said.

“I know who you are.” The man had a thick Russian accent. “Dmitry is waiting for you.” He turned abruptly, without ano ther word.

“Grady,” she whispered.

“Just follow him, Cait. Don’t ask questions and do as he says.”

She nodded and followed him, Grady right behind her.

They entered the warehouse through a side entrance, the faint scent of mildew and oil tinging the air, mixing with the dust kicked up with every step they took.

Light from the streetlights outside filtered through the broken windows high above, casting jagged shadows on the rusty corrugated metal walls.

Stacks of wooden crates and corroded machinery covered the dirty floor.

Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the v ast space.

Standing in the middle of the warehouse, surrounded by several tattooed, menacing-looking men, was a short, dark-haired older man in a black trench coat. He stared at them as they walked toward him. Caitlin thought he looked vaguely like Lev Chertok; they were definitel y related.

The bald guy in the Metallica shirt stopped and gestured to one of the other men. He crossed the room to Grady and patted him down, checking for weapons. When he was satisfied Grady wasn’t carrying, he stepped back and nodded at Mr. Metallica, who nodded at the man in the black tr ench coat.

“Mr. McCarthy? ” he said.

“Yes.”

“I’m Dmitry Sokolov.” He tipped his chin in Caitlin’s direction. “Ms. O’Reilly?”

Gra dy nodded.

“Francine said you wanted to ask me about my cousin Lev Chertok,” Sokolov continued. “She did not go int o detail.”

“We need to speak to your cousin,” Grady said. “It’s of vital im portance.”

Dmitry shook his head. “I have not seen him in quite a while.”

“Can you help us locate him?” Gr ady asked.

“Why do you need to find Lev so badly, Mr. McCarthy? I’m sure whatever you think he did, you are mistaken.”

“We are not mistaken,” Caitlin interjected. “Please, just tell us whe re he is.”

The Russian scowled at her. “I told you I have not seen him. I cannot help you.” He turned back to Grady. “If there is noth ing else?”

It was an obvious dismissal. Before Dmitry could walk away, Caitlin stepped forward. Grady shot a glare in her direction, but she ignored him. He clenched his fists, waiting to see what happened.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “Your cousin had my boyfriend murdered.”

Dmitry raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He appeared in different.

Caitlin looked over her shoulder at Grady, cleared her throat, and continued. “Yes. Not only did he have him killed, but he tried to place the blame on me. He wanted to start a war between my family and the Morettis.”

“What are you talking about?” Dmitry asked. “Who was your b oyfriend?”

“The son of Aldo Moretti. His illegitimate son,” she replied. “Lev had him killed and tried to frame me for th e murder.”

Dmitry muttered something in Russian, then Mr. Metallica darted forward and grabbed Caitlin by the hair.

Grady moved but froze when three guns turned on him.

The man yanked her head back and pushed his gun against the underside of her chin.

He dragged her over the dirty floor until she stood in front of Dmitry.

“If you are lying, Misha will kill you, Ms. O’Reilly,” he said. “Now tell me, how do you know Lev is responsible for the death of Moret ti’s son?”

Grady saw Caitlin’s throat move as she swallowed. “He told me,” she whispered, wincing as Misha dug the barrel of his gun into her chin.

“He told you?” Dmitry snorted. “Do you ha ve proof?”

“I swear it’s true,” Caitlin continued. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “He … he wanted to start a war between my family and the Morettis so he could t ake over—”

Dmitry’s shoulders stiffened. “Take over? Take o ver what?”

“I don’t know,” she cried. “The drug business, smuggling, prostitution? I don’t know. I’m not involved in my father’s business. I only know what Lev told me.”

Dmitry stepped forward and, with one finger, pushed the gun away from her chin. Misha moved it to her temple. “Why would my cousin tell you anything, little girl? You are nothing.”

“I was supposed to die. Fredo Russo was supposed to kill me. But I escaped. Maybe he thought he could tell me because I wouldn’t be able to talk.”

Caitlin trembled from head to toe. Grady itched to tear apart the man with the gun at her head. His fingers tingled to get a ho ld of him.

Dmitry snapped his fingers, and Misha released her. Not expecting him to let go, she fell to her knees.

Dmitry snorted, stepping away from her. “Misha, find my cousin. Now.” He looked at Grady for a moment, then at Caitlin. “Wait here.” He turned and walked away, surrounded by his men. They walked up a set of stairs and entered an office. The door slammed closed be hind them.

Grady went at once to Caitlin’s side, wrapped his arms around her, and helped her to her feet. He held her close and kissed h er temple.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

Caitlin nodded, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she rested her cheek on his shoulder and sigh ed loudly.

“The Bratva aren’t someone you should mess with, princess. They don’t play games. Jesus Christ, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

“I know.” A hiccupping sob escaped her before she buried her face against his chest.

Grady looked around until he spotted a stack of metal crates against the wall. He led her across the room, flipped over one of them, and eased her onto it. He crouched in fro nt of her.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered.

Caitlin closed her eyes, sucked in two quick breaths, then slowly exhaled. She did it two more times until she was calm. On the second exhale, she opened her eyes and stared into his. He put his hand on her knee and squeezed.

“Better?” he asked.

She shrugged. “A little, I guess.” She swiped her hands over her face. “He could have k illed me.”

Grady nodded. “Yes. You’re lucky he didn’t. The Bratva take familial relationships seriously, just like your father and the Morettis. You accused his cousin of murder and attempted murder with no proof, only your word. They don’t take things like that lightly.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she scowled. “What was I supposed to do? We need to find Lev, and Dmitry wouldn’t tell us where he is. I didn’t have a choic e, did I?”

“You could have let me do the talking,” h e replied.

“It wasn’t getting us anywhere,” she snapped. “You weren’t asking the right questions or getting the answers we need. I thought if I said something, he mi ght talk.”

“You were wrong. A lot of the Russians have no respect for women, especially ones they don’t know. At first, Dmitry probably found you annoying. After your accusation, you became something else to him. You never, ever accuse one of their family members of murder without proof. You pissed him off.”

“I hate these stupid, archaic rules you people have,” she muttered. “They are so fuck ing dumb.”

Grady rolled his eyes. “It’s hard to break years of tradition. The old ways worked, and we’re not in any hurry to change. I know you don’t like it, but it is what it is. You accept it and move on.”

Caitlin put her hands in her hair and pushed it away from her face. “What do you think they’re doing?” she asked.

Grady sat on the other metal crate beside her. “I don’t know. It could be anything.”

“Plotting to kill us?” She sighed and shook her head. “I wish that wa s a joke.”

“So do I.”

Thirty minutes later, the door upstairs opened, and Dmitry emerged. He walked down the stairs with his men behind him and headed straight for them.

Grady got to his feet and stood in front of Caitlin with his arm s crossed.

Dmitry stopped a foot from him. “I will help you find Lev. But you must understand, he is my family. If I am going to betray him, I expect something i n return.”

“What do you want?” Gr ady asked.

“A favor.”

Grady raised an eyebrow. “What kind of favor?”

“A favor that is to be determined at a later time,” Dmitry replied. “The O’Reilly family will be in my debt.”

Grady rubbed the back of his neck. There was no way he could put the O’Reillys in this man’s debt. He glanced over his shoulder. There wasn’t a choice, though, not when Caitlin’s life was on the line. They had to take Lev to Moretti, or Caitlin would suffer the con sequences.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. You have my word. The O’Reillys are in y our debt.”

Dmitry held out a folded piece of paper. “This is Lev’s private residence in Smithtown. It’s a substantially sized, secluded estate. He is there now; I can assure you of this. You are not to tell him I sent you. Un derstood?”

Grady took the paper and shoved it in his front pocket. “Un derstood.”

The Russian turned to leave, hesitated, then looked back over his shoulder. “I am sorry for your troubles, Ms. O’Reilly. But I ask that you do not darken my doorstep again.” With that, he swung around and walked out of the warehouse.

Once they were gone, Grady held his hand out to Caitlin. “Come on. We need to go to S mithtown.”