Page 4 of The Mobster’s Daughter (Massachusetts Mafia #2)

Grady

G rady shoved the naked girl away from him and reached for his ringing phone.

Swearing, he watched it tumble off the table and fall to the floor.

He threw the blankets off, dropped to his knees, and snatched the phone from under the bed.

He turned around and sat on the floor, naked, rested his head on the mattress behind him, and answered the phone.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Grady? Is that you?”

“Caitlin?” If she was calling this late, something was wrong. If he had to guess, she was in trouble and needed him to bail her o ut. Again.

“Yes, it’s me.” The girl on the other end dragged in a shaky breath. “I … I need y our help.”

He pushed himself to his feet, sat on the bed, and checked his watch. “Fuck, Caitlin, do you know what time it is? What h appened?”

Knowing Sean’s daughter, the possibilities were endless: drunk, high, another car accident, boy problems, or maybe she ended up in Can ada again.

“I’m in trouble.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Grady, I’m in big trouble, and I’m scared. I need y our help.”

“Wait a minute. Did you say you’r e scared?”

“Mm-hm,” was her response.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I … I don’t think I should talk about it on the phone.” Caitlin sniffled and dragged in a shaky breath. “Will you come ? Please?”

If she needed him, he would go without hesitation, no questions asked. Part of his responsibilities as Sean’s second-in-command were to take care of the family. All of them. Even if they drove him crazy like Ca itlin did.

He held his phone between his shoulder and ear, snatched his pants off the floor, and put them on, no underwear in sight. They were probably in the living room by the couch. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m at Katz’s Delicatessen near NYU,” she whispered.

His patience was wearing thin; he hated it when she was vague. “Go home. I’ll meet you at your apartment. You can tell me what happened when I g et there.”

“I … I can’t go home.” Caitlin’s voice caught, and a sob escaped her. “It’s not safe.”

“What the fuck, Caitlin? I don’t understand why your apartment isn’t safe. What di d you do?”

“Please, Grady. I didn’t do anything, but I can’t explain over the phone. You’ll have to see it; otherwise, you won’t believe me. Will you come?”

He snatched his T-shirt and jacket from the chair and looked around the room for his shoes. “Okay. No apartment. You need to listen to me, Caitlin. Stay where you are. If anything happens, call me. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Do you under stand me?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered.

Grady ended the call and shoved his phone in his front pocket. It was a three-hour drive to New York. He could take the jet, but by the time he got it fueled and filed the flight plans, he could’ve driven the whole way.

“Hey.” He patted Majorie on the ass. “Get up. Ti me to go.”

She rolled over and squinted at him. “What?” she asked. “What ti me is it?”

“Time for you to go. I gotta leave. Get out.” Once he had his dark gray T-shirt on, he tucked his holstered gun into the waistband of his pan ts. “Now.”

Marjorie climbed out of the bed with a huff and pulled on her clothes. She couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than Caitlin. He liked them young and, despite his age, they liked him.

After she dressed, Grady ushered her through the apartment to the f ront door.

She paused and took something from her purse. “Call me.” She smiled and pushed a business card into his hand. “We’ll ge t drinks.”

He nodded. “Yeah, maybe.” He opened the door and shoved her out, shutting it firmly behind her. The card went in the trash. He might see her again at the strip club, but he wouldn’t be sleeping with her again. He was a one-and-done ki nd of guy.

Once he had his car keys and his wallet, Grady locked up the apartment and took the elevator down to the parking garage.

He debated whether he should call Sean and tell him about Caitlin, but he quickly rejected the idea.

If she called him before her father, there was a reason.

He would find out what happened and fill his boss in later.

Inside his gray Bronco, Grady plugged in his phone, turned on some AC/DC, and pulled out of the garage a few minutes after 1:00 a.m. Traffic was light as he drove through Boston to the freeway.

Once he was on the I-90 East, he got in the left lane and set the cruise control to ninety.

With any luck, he’d be in New York in less than th ree hours.

A few hours later, Grady found a parking spot in front of the deli; no surprise at four in the morning.

Inside, he stopped by the front counter and looked around, spotting Caitlin right away.

It was hard to miss the tall blonde with the athletic build and blue eyes the color of the ocean on a clear day.

When she saw him, she jumped to her feet, raced across the room, and threw herself into his arms.

Caitlin pressed her face against his neck, and her hair tickled his cheek. She was tall enough to look him in the eye. He resisted the urge to hug her close and kiss h er temple.

What the fuck? This is Sean’s daughter, for Christ’s sake. Get a grip, McCarthy.

He grabbed her upper arms and pushed her away, rougher than he intended, but he needed her to understand this was business. Keeping it professional with Caitlin was the only way he maintained h is sanity.

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

Caitlin looked at him with tears in the corner of her eyes. “It’s not good, Grady. It’s bad. Really, re ally bad.”

He sighed. What the hell did s he do now?

Caitlin must have known what he was thinking, because she immediately shook her head. “This is worse than anything I’ve ever done, Grady, and I didn’t do anything. I swear to you, I didn’t do anything.”

Caitlin O’Reilly never cried. Not when her sister disappeared for three years, or when her father got shot up at Foley’s Café. The girl kept her emotions in check all the time. Her go-to emotion was sarcasm, if you could call that an emotion. Something—or someone—had sc ared her.

Grady released her, took her hand, and guided her back to the table she was sitting at. He helped her into the chair, then sat down b eside her.

“What happened?” he asked. “Tell me ev erything.”

Caitlin swallowed and looked around the restaurant. She inched closer to him, leaned in, lowered her voice, and, without looking at him, explained in detail what had happened at her apartment. By the time she was done, Grady had his hands clenched in front of him and his hea d pounded.

He rubbed the center of his forehead. “Jesus Christ, Cait. Are you sure? Are you one hundred percent positive that’s what you heard them say?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “They wanted to blame me for Bobby’s death.

They talked about making it look like it was me and …

and something about suicide. I don’t know.

” A tear slipped down her cheek. “They killed him. Right in front of me.” Caitlin caught her lip between her teeth and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

Grady stood up. “We need to go to yo ur place.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

“You can wait in the car while I check out the apartment,” he explained. “ Let’s go.”

She obediently got up and followed him out of the deli.

Caitlin didn’t utter a word during the drive to her apartment, which was unlike her.

Normally, she talked his ear off, spouting off about topics he didn’t give a shit about.

Grady wasn’t sure how he felt about this quiet, reserved version o f Caitlin.

“You have your phone, right?” Grady asked, after he parked down the street from her building.

She nodded but didn’t speak; she wouldn’t look at h im either.

“I’m going inside,” he said. “Call me if you see anything strange.”

She stared straight ahead, not speaking.

“Damn it, Caitlin. Will you lo ok at me?”

“What?” she snapped. She then rolled her dark blue eyes, flipped her hair off her shoulder, and crossed her arms.

There she was. That was the Caitlin he knew ― pissed off at the world and everyone in it, especially anyone who worked for her father. Espec ially him.

Grady grabbed the door handle. “I will be right back. I’m going to check your a partment.”

She sighed. “The door is locked, and my keys are inside. You can’ t get in.”

“How did the guys who shot Bobby get in?” he asked.

Her jaw clenched, and her fingers curled in her lap. She hated it when he questioned her; she said it made her feel like a child. “I … I think they broke the door.”

“So, it’s proba bly open?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “I guess so.”

He reached past her, brushing her leg with his hand as he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a key on a small green key ring. He shook it in her face.

“Not to worry,” Grady said. “If they didn’t break it, I can stil l get in.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you have a key to my a partment?”

Now it was Grady’s turn to roll his eyes. “Your father gave it to me. In case I n eeded it.”

Caitlin snorted, crossed her arms, and stared out the passeng er window.

He cursed under his breath, shoved open the door, and headed for her building.

She was already getting on his nerves. He would never understand how a beautiful, confident woman like Caitlin could act so childish sometimes.

Why the fuck did it turn him on when she got that petulant look on her face, and she pushed back?

It made him want to punish her in ways he didn’t dare admit to anyone.

Shit, he could barely admit it to himself.

She was his boss’s daughter and therefore off-limits.

She was one twenty-something he wouldn’t be taki ng to bed.

At the apartment building, Grady unlocked the building’s front door with his key and stepped inside. No elevator because Caitlin insisted on living close to campus in a no-frills apartment. She didn’t flaunt her family’s wealth because she didn’t want anyone to know she was a mobster’s daughter.

Caitlin lived on the fourth floor. Her place was at the end of a long hallway, the last one on the left.

As he approached, he noticed the door was ajar and the wood cracked.

He slipped his hand under the edge of his jacket and rested it on his gun, looking over his shoulder before pushing open the br oken door.

The coppery smell of blood assaulted him as soon as he stepped inside.

From his position just inside the apartment, he saw the body, pools of blood congealing beneath it.

Grady took his gun from his waistband and stepped further into the apartment, shoving the broken door closed behind him.

It was dead quiet. He checked all the rooms, but no one was there.

He returned to the body; on the floor next to Bobby was a handgun, a Sig Sauer P365.

He recognized it immediately as belonging to Caitlin.

Grady had given it to her after she broke up with a kid who refused to take no for an answer.

He bent over and rolled Bobby onto his side, then used two fingers to remove the kid’s wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, opened it, and took out his driver’ s license.

Robert o Corelli.

Shit . Oh shit .

Grady darted into the kitchen, snatched a towel off the counter, dropped it on the gun, and picked it up.

He wrapped it up and shoved it in Caitlin’s backpack on the table, along with her laptop and purse.

Then he tucked his gun back into the holster in his waistband, put the backpack over his shoulder, and sprinted out of the apartment and down t he stairs.

He ran down the sidewalk, sticking to the shadows, grateful that the sun wasn’t up all the way.

Less than fifty feet from where he’d parked the SUV, he noticed the coffee shop.

Two men sat inside with paper cups and uneaten pastries in front of them.

Neither of them looked like they belonged in a neighborhood filled with college students.

As he got closer, Grady realized he knew the guys sitting at the table. Gaetano “Joey” LaGuardia and Gino Russo both worked for Aldo Moretti as forneart —e nforcers.

Somehow, they knew. They knew Moretti’s son—his illegitimate son, Roberto Corelli—was dead. And if they were here, outside Caitlin’s apartment, they thought she had something to d o with it.

Everything changed at that moment; this was bigger than anything Grady could handle. The New York mob was an entity he couldn’t take on alone. If Moretti thought Caitlin killed his son, he would do everything in his power to g et to her.

Fuck. F uck. Fuck .

This would start a war between the Boston and New York families.

They had been at peace for the last fifty years, but when Donovan Muldoon gave control of his family to Sean O’Reilly’s new son-in-law, things had changed.

Aldo Moretti saw the merging of the Muldoons and the O’Reillys as a threat to his existence.

The situation had been unstable for months, and this escalated those problems into the stratosphere. Moretti would be out fo r revenge.

Caitlin O’Reilly had a target on her back and only Grady to pr otect her.