My Irish Mafia King

Chapter 18

Eighteen

KILLIAN

I sit in the back of the limo with Lucy, wishing there wasn’t any extra pressure or danger on this date. I wish we were driving to a regular party, without a mafia war lurking at the edges, without one of my friends in the hospital, and my woman’s business and apartment burned to the ground.

“You look so beautiful,” I tell her, meaning it more than I’ve ever meant anything.

She sits with her legs crossed, her hair expertly curled by the stylist, a light layer of makeup bringing out her natural beauty, the eyeliner drawing attention to the honey in her eyes. She touches the necklace – the hidden listening device – and then smiles at me.

“You’ll be the most gorgeous woman in the entire building,” I tell her.

She averts her eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

I place my hand on her leg, but I’m careful to only touch her lightly. I need my wits focused this evening. My attention filed down to a fine point. Frank and Owen are acting like the fire and the attack was a freak accident, offering no explanation. If they’ve heard about me gathering men loyal to me, they’ve given no sign.

“It’s the truth,” I say fiercely, trying to focus on the here and now, not the dangerous future. “You’re perfect.”

She touches my hand. “You seem nervous.”

“That’s an understatement. For the first time in a long time, I’m second-guessing myself.”

“Yourself… or me?”

“Myself,” I tell her. “What if my instinct about Owen is wrong? What do I have, really? The convenience of everything, the idea Owen planted, the rumors, and the terror in Grandad’s voice when he said his name. It’s hardly concrete.”

"That’s what tonight is for. To make it concrete. But remember, we need to look like we’re on a date at first. We need to dance, mingle, seem natural. Try not to look too invested in me. We want Owen to think I’m just your date, not your…”

“Obsession,” I say, gripping her leg more firmly and bringing my lips to hers.

I love the sound she makes when I catch her off guard with a kiss. The surprise, then the pure pleasure as our lips meet and she gives herself to the moment, is what I love. I love how her body grows needy, like she’s waiting for me to touch her heat, her eager wetness.

She puts her hand on my chest, nudging me away, but I can tell it’s difficult for her to summon the effort… as difficult as it is for me every moment I’m close to her. All I want is to pull her into my lap, let her feel my throbbing length, grind against her until we’re both aching with the intensity of my lucky charm’s first time.

“I’m serious,” she says. “It’s one thing if he thinks you’re a Good Samaritan who’s taken pity on me and brought me to a ball… but if he thinks you’re obsessed with me, he might use it as leverage.”

“When I have proof—when I can end this without starting a war—I’m going to make him regret what he did,” I growl.

“Soon,” she whispers, “but you have to let me take the lead.”

“When you said to take the lead,” I tell her later, as I hold her hand and guide her to the dance floor, “I assume you didn’t mean here?”

All around us, couples dance. The men wear expensive suits, and the women wear designer outfits. A random observer, at least at this early point in the night, wouldn’t guess that this is a mob party. Everybody is behaving in a civilized way.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers, a note of panic in her voice.

“Relax. Frank and Owen aren’t here yet…”

“I can’t dance, Killian,” she says, as the song changes to something slower. “I know you’ve probably been to hundreds of parties like this. You have probably been dancing since you were a kid. But I don’t dance. Ever.”

“Let me help you,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “Just follow me, a stór . You don’t need to be afraid, not with me, never.”

“Why do all the women look like they hate me?” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around me.

She’s not wrong. The single society women are throwing her vicious looks, sneers of pure disapproval.

“Just ignore them,” I say, achingly aware of my woman’s body pressed against mine, moving her side to side to the flow of the music.

“But why?” she persists.

“People have been trying to court the mafia prince for years. But I’ve wanted none of them. I’ve wanted no one before you…”

She clutches onto my sides, laying her cheek against my chest as I embrace her. I know she’s right. It’s important that we proceed cautiously. I don’t want to make her a target… But I hate the idea of these women judging her, daring to look down on her, when she’s better than the whole damn lot of them.

We dance slowly. When the song ends, she tells me she needs some air.

“Lucy…”

I follow her outside, trying not to walk too quickly, trying not to seem too keen. She walks to the front of the building, sucking in the cold Boston air, her breath fogging as she exhales. “I feel like a different species to them.”

I touch her hand. “You are,” I say. “And that’s a good thing. You’re kind, non-judgmental, and independent. You’re everything they’re not, and that’s why I want you so damn badly. All the time. Every second of every day since we reconnected.”

I pull her toward me for a kiss, but then she takes a step back, nodding to a limo that’s just pulled up. But a group of people step out who I don’t recognize, not Frank or Owen. Nearby, an older woman is smoking a cigarette, jewels gleaming on her neck.

“If you don’t kiss him, I will!” she cries.

Lucy laughs, turning to her. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m sorry for being such a blatant eavesdropper. I heard his speech. It was the most romantic thing I ever heard.”

“I’ve never been accused of being romantic before,” I say, laughing.

“This wonderful lady must bring it out of you,” the lady replies. “Oh, you remind me of me and my husband in our youth. How you look at each other… it’s simply sublime. How did you meet if you don’t mind me asking?”

I loop my arm around Lucy’s waist. She looks up at me, a smile on her face. She seems to enjoy it when we present as a couple… as long as it’s to the right person, without the risk of what the mob will bring.

“It’s actually a pretty crazy story,” Lucy says.

The woman grins. “My favorite kind…”

I watch Lucy as she talks about getting lost as a kid, thinking she would be out there forever, and then finding me. My heart swells when she talks about taking shelter in the cave with the storm lashing. “When the storm stopped, he called me his lucky charm. I still have the ring he gave me… and after my mom passed, I thought about that time a lot. I wore it around my neck. Then, by chance, by luck, he walked into my bakery one day.”

By the end of the story, the woman’s eyes are glimmering. “Oh, how wonderful,” she says. “Thank you for sharing that?—”

“Killian?”

The sound of Uncle Frank’s slurred voice shatters the mood. I turn. Lucy steps away from me, disentangling herself from my embrace. Frank’s eyes are glimmering, just like the old woman’s, but not with emotion. Behind him, Owen leans on his walking stick.

“Are you going to introduce me to your date?” he says.

Owen watches with a calculating expression. But that’s nothing new for him. That’s how he always looks. Still, it piques my suspicion. If he’s behind everything, then he already knows who Lucy is.

“This is Lucy Cassidy. Lucy, this is my uncle, Frank, and my old friend, Owen. Lucy runs a bakery called The Celtic Crust. I’ve been thinking about investing for quite some time. I was at the bakery, in fact, when those low lives attacked us.”

“Nasty business.” Frank scowls. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Lucy. We’ll sort this out.”

He almost sounds like he believes it. Owen flinches. He tries to hide it, but I spot it, less than a second, a tell like he fears giving himself away.

“Thank you, Uncle Frank,” I say. “I thought it’d be polite to bring her here tonight just in case they try anything else.”

“Good thinking,” Frank replies. “Anyway… shall we?” He waves a hand toward the lighted entrance.

“Sure.” I turn to the elderly woman. “It was lovely speaking with you, ma’am.”

“Good luck,” she calls after us, no idea how badly we need it.

Once we’re back in the ballroom, Frank does what he always does at parties: gets wildly drunk. Owen sits in the corner with a group of his men. I stand at the bar with Lucy, careful not to show too much affection, though it’s difficult.

When she sips her champagne and hiccups, I want to tease her playfully so badly. She sees me looking, smiles, then forcibly wipes the smile away like she’s annoyed at herself.

“I’ll wait for Owen to leave the room, then go after him. If he doesn’t leave, I’ll approach and ask to speak about something delicate. At first, I’ll make out like it’s about Shane and the mob, then I’ll go from there.”

“I’m still not sure about this.”

She stares at me. “It’s a good thing I’m sure then,” she says fiercely. “You protected me. You saved me from Shane. Now it’s time I did my part.”

“You’ve got no clue how badly I want to kiss you right now.”

She bites her lip. “I want that too. But we can’t.”

“Remember, I’ll be right outside. If you need me, all you have to do is call out, and I’ll be right there. And I’ll be listening the entire time.”

I turn as Colm approaches me, leaning in, speaking in Gaelic. “Half the men in here are already loyal to you, Killian. When it’s time, let us know. We’ll end this before it begins.”

“You’re going to be listening on your phone, right?” Lucy asks, the nerves making her cheeks turn red.

I nod. “The listening device links to my cell. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

She swallows, looking across the room as Owen moves slowly toward the hallway, to use the bathroom. “Then it’s showtime.”

Lucy brushes her dress down and then walks across the room.

“She seems nervous,” Colm mutters.

“She is,” I tell him gruffly. “But that’s the thing with Lucy. She knows how to push through. How to keep going. She never quits. She’s been like that her whole damn life, and that’s not about to change now. She can do this.”