Page 33 of The Mobster’s Daughter (Massachusetts Mafia #2)

Caitlin

H er life w as a mess.

Caitlin didn’t know what was the truth, a lie, or an omission.

She was sick of everyone keeping things from her.

No one trusted her. She hated it. They treated her like a child, unable to handle the truth.

But she had seen it firsthand, and it was ugly.

She’d been thrust into this world unwillingly, a product of her upbringing. An awful world where nothing was fair.

But what if she could change things for t he better?

It was long past time for a change. For years, she had avoided her father’s world out of fear.

Now that she was smack in the middle of it, her fear had dissipated, though it had thrown her into a tailspin.

She used to know what she wanted to do with her life—finish school and get away.

Far away, out of the world of mobsters. But since all of this had started, things changed.

What she thought she wanted changed. Her eyes had be en opened.

Maybe those damn mobsters weren’t so bad after all.

She still wanted to be a lawyer, but her thoughts had shifted.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to be an environmental lawyer, fighting the good fight, but likely never winning.

That had always been for show anyway, one of those “look at me, I’m doing good” degrees.

Even before her life turned into a mob movie, Caitlin had found herself drawn to the criminal side of the law, the nitty-gritty, down-and-dirty shit that made other people balk.

An idea had taken hold of her, tightening its grip on her over the past six days, leaving her paralyzed with fear.

Maybe she could help her family. Somebody needed to confront the constant prejudices that came with the O’Reilly name.

Who better than someone who had dealt with those issues her en tire life?

Bright lights hit her face, and Caitlin blinked. She’d zoned out, her mind wandering, and somehow, she drove thirty miles without realizing it. She forced herself to focus. It wouldn’t be a good idea to drive herself into a ditch before she met wit h Moretti.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, squeezing it until they hurt. How the hell could she possibly think about her future when she wasn’t even sure she’d live to see the sun rise?

She turned up the radio and stared at the back of the SUV. An hour later, they were driving down narrow, dimly lit streets, headed for Fred’s Sin Bin. Every turn brought them closer to Moretti and the moment sh e dreaded.

Her pulse thudded in her ears as the weight of what she was about to do pressed down on her. Moretti wanted blood for his son; the only thing that would save her was the truth.

In the distance, the strip club’s neon lights flickered, the woman standing tall, then bent over, up and down until her head spun. Caitlin’s hands were clammy and sweat dripped down the middle of her back. God, she didn’t want to do this. She wanted to go home.

Caitlin followed the SUV into the strip club lot.

Since the last time she was here, one of the overhead lights had started to flicker, casting weird shadows over the few parked cars.

Grady parked at the end of the lot, so she drove past him and pulled in next to the entrance.

Her heart raced when she spotted her father and Declan standing near the door.

Sean’s expression was unreadable. Two men stood behind them, arms crossed m enacingly.

Caitlin killed the engine. This was a family affair now. She shoved open the door and stepped out. Her father was at her side almost instantly, his arms going around her, hugging her tight. Declan hung back, silent but watchful.

“Are you okay?” Sean asked, looking her up and down.

She nodded. “I’m sorry about all of this, Daddy. It’s all my fault.”

Her father shook his head. “No, it isn’t. You got dragged into something that has nothing to do with you. At least, it shouldn’t have anything to do with you. Once again, being my daughter only causes problems.”

Caitlin looked up at him. “I love you. And I love being your daughter and being part of thi s family.”

Sean raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Before she could answer, Grady appeared, pushing Chertok in front of him.

His hands were still bound, but his ankles were free so he could walk.

The bruises on his face stood out sharply under the flickering lights.

To her surprise, a defiant gleam flickered in his eyes.

Chertok smirked, his split lip bleeding.

He wasn’t scared—he seemed like he was waiting for something.

“Let’s get this over with,” G rady said.

Sean tipped his head in Chertok’s direction. “He give you any trouble?” He seemed calm, but Caitlin sensed the underlying tension in his voice.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Grady replied, tightening his grip on the Russian’s arm until he winced.

Chertok chuckled, low and bitter. “What a sweet little family reunion. We are only missing Mrs. O’Reilly and the lovel y Olivia.”

At the mention of his wife’s name, Declan stiffened. A menacing scowl marred his handsome face. “Get her name out of yo ur mouth.”

Chertok’s smile only widened.

Sean glanced at her, then at his son-in-law. “Let’s go inside. It’s almost midnight. We don’t want to keep Moretti waiting.”

Declan clenched his fists at his side, spun around, and yanked open the door. He went in, Caitlin right behind him, followed by Grady with Chertok, her father, and his bodyguards bringing up the rear.

Caitlin’s jaw ached from clenching it. She kept her eyes on Declan’s back, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at th e Russian.

The strip club was mostly empty except for a few people sitting at the bar.

A lone woman danced on the stage, her expression blank as she stared off into space and wiggled her hips in time to the music.

The door they’d gone through earlier opened, and the same two men ushered them into the back room.

They stepped into the room, once again face to face with Aldo Moretti.

He sat at the same table, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his expression grim.

He looked up when they entered, taking in everyone one by one until they finally settled on Chertok.

The tension in the air, the sense that something was about to happen, was so thick, so dense, Caitlin tasted it on the tip of h er tongue.

Moretti set his glass on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You brought him, ” he said.

Grady shoved Chertok into a chair across from Moretti. The Russian’s lips curled in a sneer, opening his cut and sending blood running down his chin. He didn’t move but stayed seated, his bound hands i n his lap.

“Just like I said I would,” Cai tlin said.

“Do you really think he’s going to tell me the truth?” the Ital ian asked.

Her shoulders sagged. She didn’t know if Chertok would admit what he’d done. “I had to try,” sh e replied.

“My son is dead. Nothing chan ges that.”

Caitlin’s throat tightened. “I know. For that, I am unbelievably sorry. But I told you, I didn’t kill him. He did.” She pointed at the man in the chair.

The silence in the room was suffocating. Until Chertok laughed—a loud, bitter sound echoing off the walls. “I don’t think he cares, Ms. O’Reilly. Moretti wants someone to bleed. Me. You. It doesn’ t matter.”

Moretti’s face darkened. He rested his hands flat on the table and glared at Chertok. “Start talking. Before I lose patience w ith you.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” the Russian sneered. “No matter what I do, you are going to kill me. It is better to keep my mo uth shut.”

The mobster slammed his hand down so hard everyone in the room jumped. “Tell me what happened to my son, or I swear I will remove your limbs, followed by your eyeballs, the tip of your nose, and your fucking di ck. Talk.”

Chertok leaned back, a twisted grin on his face. “You are bluffing.”

Moretti raised a hand and gestured to one of his men. The man walked to the table, yanked a knife from his pocket, grabbed Chertok’s bound hands, and placed them on the tabletop. He cut the zip ties, then he held the Russian’s wrists against the table.

Caitlin watched in horror as the man pushed the knife against Chertok’s pinky finger and began sawing back and forth.

When Chertok screamed and tried to jerk his hand away, two more of Moretti’s men stepped forward, one of them holding his hand on the table, while his friend held the other behind his back.

Lev screamed so loud it made Caitlin’s ears ring as Moretti’s man removed his finger, chopping, and pulling until it was on the table, a single blo ody digit.

Chertok’s screams faded into a choked cry. He yanked his wounded hand into his lap, cradling it against his chest. The men holding him m oved away.

“Talk,” Mor etti said.

“Fine!” Chertok cried, tears and snot mixing with the blood on his chin. “You want the truth? I had your son killed and framed Caitlin for th e murder.”

“Why?” More tti asked.

“To start a war between your family and the O’Reilly’s.” He sucked in a shaky breath. His dark eyes were wide in his pale face. “If your families were fighting one another, I could take what I wanted from bot h of you.”

Morett’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the table, his jaw clenched in fury. Caitlin exhaled. She couldn’t believe Chertok confessed. She had hoped he would, but deep inside, she hadn’t believed it wou ld happen.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered. She had to force herself to stay upright when all she wanted to do was sag in relief.

She saw it coming a split second before it happened.

Chertok lunged, pushing himself to the left, slamming into the man who cut off his finger.

He stumbled back, and the knife slipped from his hand as he fell.

Chertok dropped to one knee, snatched the gun from the man’s waistband, scrambled to his feet, and aimed it a t Caitlin.

Grady moved so fast it took her a second to realize it was him darting across the room.

He tackled Chertok to the ground, the two of them landing in a heap at her feet.

The gun went off, the sound exploding through the room, deafening, deadly.

She dropped to her knees as Grady grunted and Chertok howled in triumph.

Her heart lurched in her chest. Declan appeared, pulling Chertok away from them and shoving him against the nearest wall.

Chertok’s head slammed into the bricks, and he crumpled to the floor, his ey es glazed.

“Stay down,” Declan muttered.

Caitlin rushed to Grady’s side. His breathing was shallow, and blood soaked his shirt. He looked up at her, grinni ng weakly.

“You idiot,” she whispered. “How b ad is it?”

“Bad,” h e grunted.

She bolted to her feet. “Daddy! Grady needs an a mbulance.”

Sean stalked across the room and kneeled by his friend. He checked the wound, then he got to his feet. “Aldo, he needs medical attention. Let my people take him to the hospital.”

Moret ti nodded.

“Thank you.” Her father gestured to his men, who hurried to Grady’s side. They picked him up and carried him from the room. When Caitlin tried to follow, Sean grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

“Wait,” her father said. “Not yet.”

She balked and attempted to pull away. Sean’s grip on her tightened. He shook his head and mouthed, “No.” She folded her hands in front of her and bit her lip. She wanted to be with Grady, to make sure he was going t o be okay.

Chertok struggled to sit up. He rubbed his head, his missing finger smearing blood across his forehead.

Moretti gestured to his men. “Take him out of here,” h e ordered.

Moretti’s men dragged the Russian from the room. His blatant defiance had vanished, replaced by fear over the realization that his end had arrived. His eyes were wide as he stared back a t Caitlin.

Moretti’s gaze fell on her. “You brought him to me, and now I will deal with him.”

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” she aske d shakily.

Moretti crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t suppose you would reconsider marrying my son, Massimo? It could reestablish peace between our families.”

Before she could speak, her father said, “No. Absolu tely not.”

The Italian shot a dirty look at Sean. “I’d like to hear Caitlin’ s answer.”

Keep the peace .

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Moretti,” she replied humbly. “But I could not marry somebody I don’t love. Especially when I’m in love with some one else.”

Beside her, Sean sucked in a deep breath, but he didn’t speak. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him clench his fists.

“Your honesty is … enlightening.” Moretti straightened his jacket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with our Russian friend. Sean, will you join me?”

“Yes,” her father replied. He turned around, kissed her on the cheek, then he called Declan’s name. Her brother-in-law hustled to Se an’s side.

“Take Caitlin to her car. Wait out front for me. If I’m not out in thirty minutes, you come back in here and raise a stink.”

Declan shook his head. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I should stay with you.”

“No.” Sean made eye contact with Caitlin. “I can handle this. Find out where Grady is so she can go see him. Un derstood?”

“Daddy?” she whispered.

“Go check on Grady, sweetheart,” her father said. “Make sure my friend is do ing okay.”

“Yes, sir.” She hugged him before she followed Declan from the room.

Once they were outside, Declan pulled his phone from his pocket. He hit a button, held it to his ear, a nd waited.

“Conor? Where’d you guys take him?” Declan listened, nodded, then he disconnected the call. “Conor is texting me the address. I’ll send i t to you.”

“Thank you,” Caitlin mumbled. She took the keys out of her pocket to unlock the Mercedes. “Take care of my d ad, okay?”

“Trust me, I will. The last thing I need is you and Olivia angry with me.” He winked, then checked his phone. “I got the name of the hospital. I’ll forward it to you. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

She nodded. “I promise. I just want to see Grady, make sure he is a ll right.”

“I know.” Declan tucked his phone in his suit jacket. “Let me know if you need anything. My friend Conor will stay with you and drive you back to the Ritz.”

She was only half-listening, her mind already on Grady. She gave Declan a quick hug before she got in the car. She wouldn’t feel right until she was w ith Grady.