Mob Princess (The O’Rourke Brotherhood #3)

Chapter 1

Sean

Chapter One

I’ve been to way too many funerals for a thirty-one-year-old. I’ve stood beside weeping parents. I’ve carried coffins. I’ve sworn revenge, and I’ve gotten revenge. Today, I can only do one of those. I’m a pallbearer to the most influential man in my life who isn’t family. He was a graduate school professor who offered me opportunities no mobster should ever have. He did it at the risk of his own career. And now, after he did so much that jeopardized his reputation, I can do nothing to defeat the cancer that stole him from so many of us.

The Arlington weather is offensive in its cheeriness on a day so somber. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. And the flowers sway in the light breeze. Yesterday would have been a better day for a funeral. It poured from sunup to an hour before everyone arrived at the church for the service this morning. The bright light is jarring against the crowd of somber black.

I glance down at my black suit with the charcoal gray button down and steel gray tie. I’ve been wearing suits since I could walk. Thank you, Christmas and Easter at Catholic Churches. Or really, thank you, Mom, for making sure your three sons always appeared like properly brought up young gentlemen. At least until we each turned fourteen and turned into mobsters. I normally don’t mind a tie around my neck; but today, it’s a noose. It’s suffocating me when I think about all the missed opportunities I had to express my gratitude to my late professor. All the doors he opened and all the nudges he gave me in directions a man with my family name never should have received.

I say the final Amen and make the sign of the cross as an ingrained habit. One that I still believe in, even if lapsed is putting it lightly. I’ve been aware of everyone in front of me. I’m standing outside the group of mourners because I don’t like people standing behind me. It makes me uneasy when I let people get that close, but I can’t see them. However, in a crowd of innocent people, I’d rather have my back exposed than put someone else in the line of fire if an enemy decides it’s time for me to join the dearly departed.

I drop my single white lily on the coffin as a woman standing across from me does the same. Our gazes meet, and it’s like I’ve been pole-axed. I’ve taken pipes to my ribs before, and that’s hardly a pain I relish. This is more extreme how she steals my breath. Her hair is so sun-bleached it’s nearly white. She’s definitely not a bottle platinum blonde. Her eyes are a deep amber I don’t think any colored contacts could replicate.

If I couldn’t see the resolve in her eyes, I would fear a gusty wind would blow her away. She’s 1990s model thin. Waifish. But she’s elegant, and her clothes give the appearance she just stepped off a runway. I only known one woman that slim who pulls it off in just as sophisticated a style—Anastasia Kutsenko, Niko’s wife. I’d take one Ana over a dozen of her douchey husband. Fucking— fecking—I am at a funeral after all—bratva.

The knockout turns away from me, and it’s as though someone robbed me. But I’m uncertain what they took. She’s headed toward the line of black town cars. Amongst them is mine. It’s just under an hour-and-a-half flight down from NYC, so I’ll head home tonight. But I have a car service while I’m here. Baltimore Washington Airport is in neither Baltimore nor Washington. Pain in the arse, but private planes can land there.

My arm shoots out and wraps around the blonde beauty as she jerks back and stumbles as her heel hits the curb. I practically haul her off her feet as I pull her away and twist to protect her from the spray of muddy puddle water that’s just soaked my entire left side. Fucking arsehole limo driver.

So much for not swearing.

“Are you all right?” I keep my voice low since my lips are beside her ear. Did she just shiver?

I have no chance to find out because she’s pushing my arm away as she takes a step forward. She spins around, clearly displeased I manhandled her. But when she recognizes me from only minutes ago, her mouth snaps shut. She nods as her gaze darts to the limo with the professor’s family driving away from the cemetery. Deep sadness flashes in her eyes, and it matches what I feel but refuse to show anyone.

“I’m fine. Thank you. He pulled out as I stepped down. I didn’t expect him to speed up so soon.”

“He should have paid more attention.”

“You’re soaked. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

Her brow furrows, and we’re staring at each other again. She’s clearly waiting for me to explain. I’m the douche now because I want to make her ask. I want to know if she’s curious enough to acknowledge her confusion.

“Chivalry isn’t dead. Thank your mother for me.” She adjusts the fascinator with the birdcage veil, putting it back in place from where it slipped along her hair. I only know what the thing is called because of all the funerals I’ve attended with my mom and aunts.

Men who trained me. Men I trained. Men I went on missions beside. As painful as those are, they’re understandable in my line of work. My grief floods back, and I swallow. She must see my Adam’s apple bob because her expression softens.

“I’ll be sure to let my mom know the lessons stuck. And my aunts. They’re just as strict.” I flash her a smile that’s barely more than half-hearted but genuine.

It’s my dad and uncles as much as it’s my mom and aunts who ensure they drilled chivalry and civility into my brothers, cousins, and me. Old-fashioned by most people’s standards, but we aren’t all blood and guts just because we are the Irish mob in New York City. Hell, on most of the Eastern Seaboard. My dad and uncles would skewer me if I abandoned the manners my mom and aunts engrained in me.

I extend my arm, and she doesn’t hesitate to accept. “I’m Sean.”

She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that I didn’t offer my last name because she doesn’t drop a beat. “I’m Nicolina.”

Little Nicole. I wonder if that’s her full name or a nickname. I speak way more Italian than any of the Mancinellis realize. My entire family does. It pays to understand your rivals, so we all speak Spanish fluently, along with Italian and Russian pretty proficiently. None of the other families have bothered to learn Irish Gaelic. Works for us.

“It’s nice to meet you. Were you one of Dr. Carmody’s students?” A good Irish last name most people wouldn’t know comes from the motherland.

“I was. I graduated from the master's program three years ago.” That likely makes her twenty-six or twenty-seven to my thirty-one. Not a bad age difference, but why am I thinking about that?

“I finished seven years ago.”

Her expression would be impassive to most people, but I spend my life reading what people don’t want their facial and body language to show. It’s speculative, and it makes my cock think about twitching. Not what I need right now.

“Cybersecurity?”

I shake my head. “Security Studies.” It’s a graduate major at Georgetown. “You?”

“Same actually.”

“Do I strike you as a computer geek?” I grin. This time she doesn’t hide her assessing gaze.

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

And how! More so than she would ever guess. I could pass for a stockbroker or a fed when I’m at home. In the DC area and Baltimore, I can pass for a fed or a diplomat. I know because I’ve pretended to be all three.

She shifts her gaze to past my shoulder where I already know they’re shoveling dirt over our professor’s coffin. That same sadness flares. She’s young and gorgeous, so I could wonder if she’s mourning a former lover. But I’ve been to so many of these, I can decipher the different degrees of loss. He was a friend to her just like me.

“Are you headed to the reception? You’re going to be miserable and cold. Thank you again for shielding me.”

Always. “I am, but I’m traveling, so I have another suit I can change into.”

My thoughts are growing more and more disconcerting. She has an aura that’s drawing me in like the Sirens who nearly led Odysseus to his death. That got morbid fast. I don’t need to develop a crush on a woman I’m never going to see again.

Only two town cars remain in what was once a long line of black sedans. One is mine, so I suppose the other is hers. I didn’t think about how she would leave. I suppose I assumed a taxi or ride share service. But the driver is standing near the back door and watching her just like my driver is doing the same to me.

“Is that car waiting for you?”

She turns her head enough to see over her shoulder. “Yes.”

“I’ll walk you to it since mine is behind it.”

She’s in sensible shoes for walking across grass, but it’s slippery from last night’s rain. When her foot goes out from under her, I wrap my arm around her waist again, my free hand catching her forearm as she raises it to keep her balance. She doesn’t need to turn toward me, but she does. It presses her against my dry side. I don’t let go, and her right hand comes to rest on my chest. But her left hand is just above my waist and precariously close to the gun holstered at the small of my back. There’s no one close enough to see the outline that surely appears as she presses my suit coat against my back.

“You’re my knight in shining suit. Thank you.” She blushes. I’m not certain if she’s embarrassed that she nearly fell in front of me, or if it’s our nearness.

“I’m glad I’ve been here to help.” And to have the hottest woman I’ve ever met cling to me.

I can tell she’s as slim—thin—as I suspected. But I also feel the muscle beneath her clothes. This is simply her stature and not an issue of being malnourished. I’ve never had a type. I’ve fucked women of all different builds, and the few I’ve dated have been a variety. But Nicolina—I don’t want to let go. I want to strip her and devour her. I’ve never had this visceral a reaction, and there have been women I’ve desired to distraction.

We exchange a lingering look before I steer us toward her waiting car. Her chauffeur appears less than impressed with me. He’s definitely looking down his nose. Fuck you, buddy. I saw him step forward when she nearly slipped, but he stopped when I did nothing more than keep her upright. I step aside as she climbs in. She offers me a warm smile that is in stark contrast to the grief I noticed earlier.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Her voice is soft as her driver closes the door and steps to block my view. Bodyguard? Definitely possible near DC.

I watch the car pull away before going to my own. My driver pops the trunk for me, and I unzip my garment bag. Perfectly dry-cleaned suits and perfectly starched shirts await me. Seems counterintuitive that I’ll be squirming around the backseat as I change. It’s hardly the first or last time I’ve changed in the back of a car.

I’m usually going from a suit to black cargo pants, black turtleneck, black boots, and black beanie. Even in summer I wear the infernal thing because my shock of red hair is far too recognizable. The bane of being an O’Rourke. We all share it. Three sisters with red hair married three brothers with red hair. The only dominant gene was the recessive one.

Since I’ve been wearing suits for nearly thirty years, I can tie a tie in my sleep. I can even do a bowtie without any thought. My filthy clothes are folded and will have to go in a plastic bag. They definitely aren’t going next to my fresh ones. I can already tell they stink.

My town car pulls up behind hers. I recognize the license plate, but she hasn’t gotten out. Her driver waits beside the door, his palm resting on the handle. As I walk past, I hear the light tap. That’s when he opens it. Ah. The same system we have. No one opens a back door until the passenger signals. We do it because we’re often on calls no one outside our family needs to hear. There are six cousins who run our syndicate.

My oldest brother, Finn, is second in command. Dillan, our boss, is only a few months older than him. My twin, Shane, and I are a couple years younger than them. We’re basically the same age as our mutual cousins Cormac and Seamus. They’re seven months apart because Seamus was a preemie. He’s a month older than Shane and me. My twin is three minutes older.

Fecker has always been the impatient one between the two of us. I enjoyed a room of my own after nine months of him hogging all the space. God bless our mother for giving birth to two monsters. She went all the way to her due date, and we were both exactly seven pounds, eight ounces. Ginormous apparently.

I hear the tap of Nicolina’s heels on the sidewalk behind me. Maybe I’ve let my mind wander to my family to justify not hurrying to the door. Maybe I need that justification because I want to let Nicolina catch up. I see her reflection in the hotel’s door. The family’s holding the gathering in a banquet room. Not because there are swarms of us. Dr. Carmody was a private person, so I know he would have loathed people pouring into his home.

I’m certain there are things in his home he’d rather no one outside his family sees. I think he pictured himself much like an uncle to me, and I definitely saw him as someone similar. I’ve been in his home a handful of times. That’s why I have no doubts he’d prefer other people not see the collections of foreign antiques; original Soviet era maps of the USSR, China, and Vietnam; and the U.S. satellite and weapons designs he acquired over four decades of working in national security.

“We meet again.” How cliché am I as I hold the door open for the blonde bombshell?

Her amber eyes bore into my emerald ones. “Once is an accident. Twice is on purpose.”

She steps past me, and I don’t know if she’s admitting she orchestrated it, or she’s accusing me of forcing her to see me. I can usually read people better than this. I could tell her emotions earlier.

She’s like me. She only lets me see what she wants me to. If I’m not more careful, she’s going to see me trailing after her like a lost puppy, the kind she patted once and now wants to be hers.

Hell. I’d like her to do a shite ton more than just pat me. I want more than her scratching behind my ears. Though my leg might shake if she did.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Virginia. You have a hint of New York.” She looks at the button panel once we’re on the elevator.

“And you have a hint of French. I grew up in Queens.”

“I grew up in Montréal.”

There’s the French accent. It’s soft, but the way she says her hometown gives it away in what’s a mostly neutral accent. She did it on purpose that time, but I caught a trace of it earlier.

“Do you live there now?” She’s curious.

“Yes. But not in Queens. I’m in East Harlem.” Not that I expect her to know where that is.

But when she shifts her gaze to my hair, then back down to my eyes and grins, I’m certain she knows East Harlem is also called “El Barrio.” It’s one of the best places in all five boroughs to get Latin American and Caribbean food. Before that, it was an Italian stronghold. Chaps the Mancinellis’ arses that I have a luxury condo there. It’s technically still Manhattan, but I only considered Finn as a Manhattanite since he used to live in SoHo. He and his wife are in Queens now. My cousin Cormac is two blocks from me.

“I went to Barnard before Georgetown.”

“Did you know an Anastasia Andreyev?” The bratva wife she reminds me of—now Anastasia Kutsenko—is about the same age, same build, and same hair color as Nicolina.

“No. Why?”

“She went there, and you resemble each other, so I wondered.”

The elevator pings; I hold the door back with my hand. She steps off and could go in her own direction. But she hangs back. There are people here I’m guessing were former students. Many are professors I recognize, and I can tell many are from the intelligence community. They likely work for the NSA or CIA. Perhaps the FBI, but they don’t have the arrogance that usually comes with being America’s top cops. The slang “pigs” comes to mind when I think of them. Oink, oink, motherfuckas. My family’s had some recent trouble with them, so they aren’t on my list of friends.

“Sean, you made it.” I turn toward the voice and wish I could melt into the floor.

“Hi, Amanda.” I went on three dates with her and slept with her for six months during my first year of grad school. She wanted way more than I was willing to give. Now she’s looking at me like I’m a full seven course meal. If I hadn’t met Nicolina half an hour ago, I might return the appreciation.

“Excuse me. I see some people I know.” Nicolina’s voice is soft, but I hear her. I don’t want her to go. Fuck me. I wanted to give her my number. I never do that. Ever.

“It’s been a long time, Sean. It’s good to see you.”

“Same. How’s your husband?”

“We’re divorced. Neither of us was ever home long enough to consider it a marriage.”

She and her ex-husband are collectors for the CIA. They go places I shouldn’t know about and collect human intelligence. Those forbidden locales are where my family does a lot of our business. I’ve kept track of her, her ex-husband, and a lot of our former classmates to ensure they don’t get in the way or get caught in the crossfire.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugs. “I don’t see a ring.” She looks over at Nicolina.

Does she think Lina’s competition? Lina. She’s not mine to come up with pet names for, yet it fits. It sounds Scandinavian, and she’s super blonde. I doubt she goes by that. It’s why I like the idea I might have something of her I don’t share. Possessive as fuck to say I’ve known her for a hot second.

“I’m not married.”

“How long are you in town?”

“I leave when this is done.” I don’t. I hadn’t planned to leave until tonight, but I’m not giving her the impression there’s time for dinner or a fuck.

“What a shame.”

“Mmm. I see some people I know as well. Excuse me.” I make the noncommittal sound as I search for someone—anyone—I know and can escape to. The only problem is, Amanda knows the same people I do.

When I step toward four men I recognize as being in the program a year ahead of Amanda and me, I try to make a beeline for them. But Amanda comes along. I sweep my gaze around the room, and it lands on Lina. I knew it would. But I looked around anyway on the off chance I could find someone else to mingle with. Our eyes lock as they have each time we’ve seen each other. She gives a woman a quick hug before approaching me.

“Honey, do you remember me mentioning Samantha and Tony? They’re both in doctoral programs now.” Lina slides her hand into mine and leans against me as my arm sits in the valley between her tits.

“Didn’t you share an apartment with Sam?” I fall into the roleplay with ease. Though it’s not the roleplaying I’d like to do with her. That involves blindfolds, handcuffs, and a flogger.

“No. That was Lisa. But Sam and I took nearly all the same classes together.” She beams at me before shifting her gaze to Amanda. Her left hand is in my right, so she extends her free hand to Amanda. I can tell my former fuck buddy isn’t pleased. Oh, well. It’s been eight years. Life moves on.

“Hello, I’m Amanda Garrison.”

“Hi, I’m Nikki.”

She sounds casual, and she has the nickname I suspected. But she didn’t offer her last name this time either. Does she ever? Is she being cautious since I’m still a strange man? Does she want Amanda to think there’s no need since she shares mine? I drop my focus to her as she looks up at me. God, how I want to kiss her. There’s a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes that makes me giddy.

“You must be a lot younger than us. I don’t remember you.” Bitch. Amanda just has to take a dig.

“A bit. People say I still look young enough to be in college. Never mind I finished grad school three years ago.” Her smile is nothing less than patronizing. She knows it. I know it. And Amanda sure as fuck knows it. She deserved the jab in return.

“Sean, how did you meet?”

“At a fundraiser in Montreal about two years ago.” I did attend an event back then. It was to elect a city council member favorable to a very open border for the goods my family ships down the St. Lawrence River.

“I didn’t realize you live in Canada now.”

“We don’t. We live in East Harlem.” Lina chimes in, unwilling to be snubbed. I like her assertiveness. I let go of her hand, and she doesn’t stop me. But it’s only so I can wrap my arm around her waist. What the fuck possessed me to do that?

It feels so right to touch her and have her against me. I want to drag her out of here and into somewhere private. I want to pull her modest dress up to her waist and sink into her. I want to taste every inch of her and make her scream my name as I come inside her. I want a lot of things with her, but I can’t have any. There are so many reasons why.

I was always the best at playing make believe.

“Lina, we have to get going. We don’t want to miss our flight, cailín.”