Reckless Obsession: An Opposites Attract Irish Mafia Romance (Astoria Royals Book 6)

6. CHAPTER TWO

Frigging Eoghan O’Rourke.

Who else can I expect roaming the halls of a Las Vegas courthouse on Black Friday other than Satan in a finely cut suit that looks painted on his broad body?

“Spying on the director won’t earn you that promotion,” Trista, a court reporter and my secret best friend, whispers to me from behind.

“Don’t rat me out to my boss.” I turn away from the glass door that reads Director Daniel Vance: Fraud and Corruption Unit.

“Speaking of rats,” Trista blows long, dark bangs out of her eyes, “got a new scoop for me?”

“Not today.” I can’t give her any hints on the sensitive case I’m dying to work on.

The D.A.’s office is trying to take down the Italian Mafia in Las Vegas. A conviction with my name on it will guarantee me the director’s position when the current one, Daniel, gets promoted.

My reputation as a top corruption prosecutor, however, is taking a hit because the open-and-shut case against a low-level drug dealer with connections to the Irish Mob is about to be dismissed.

Daniel runs the Special Prosecutions division for RICO and Organized Crimes. Even though I’m damn good at what I do, he only gave me a job as a prosecutor because Mom pressured him.

It helped that, as my half-brother, we don’t have the same last name.

“All right, but at least tell me who that is with Director Vance.” Trista’s pleasant breath fans my neck.

“You write for the Las Vegas Legal Times and you don’t know who that is?” I roll my eyes at her over my shoulder.

“I’ll just call him Hottie McHottison in my article.” She shrugs.

“There’re two men in there with Vance. Which one are you calling McHottison?” It’s dumb of me to indulge her when I know I should walk away from this door.

“Oh, snap!” Trista makes a kissy sound. “They’re both gorgeous. Are they brothers?”

“They sure are,” I say with a sigh.

Cormac O’Rourke stands tall with his arms crossed, his lawyer and brother, Eoghan, at his side. Cormac looks rather cocky for a man with a long list of charges against him. The most serious one, violating a remanded rehabilitation in lieu of jail, is my ace in the hole.

As Lead Deputy for the Fraud and Corruption Unit with a solid conviction rate, I felt secure that Director position would be mine once I successfully prosecuted this case. Because this time, I was going to put Cormac behind bars.

But it appears my brother is doing a deal with them behind my back.

Daniel Vance might be able to get over promoting someone who wears a skirt and high heels. But his little sister? He’d rather eat broken glass.

After his parents divorced when he was eight, his mother married my dad. They had me a couple of years later. Daniel is almost a decade older, and has always been a jerk to me. But when I said I wanted to join the D.A.’s office, Mom convinced him to hire me.

He fought her wishes until I promised to stay in my lane.

Prosecuting Cormac O’Rourke, the youngest brother of a savage crime lord in New York, is not just weaving out of my lane, it’s jumping the median and crashing into oncoming traffic.

I’m salivating to go after the Cosa Nostra here in Las Vegas given the evidence an undercover task force has been leaking to me. But I sense from what’s going on behind the glass, the O’Rourke case that was supposed to forge my reputation as a tough crime-fighting prosecutor is being threatened.

Thanks to the defendant’s smug Harvard lawyer brother.

Eoghan O’Rourke.

I hate him more than I hate Daniel.

Yet here I am with my face stuck up against his office’s sidelight window, practically licking the glass over the gorgeous mobster.

When bodies move toward the door, I spin and make my way to the courtroom.

Inside, I play dumb, as if I didn’t see the defendant and his hot-shot lawyer with the Director.

Head held high, I strut to the prosecutor’s table.

I offer the investigators on this case a brief smile but skip speaking with them. When they learned Cormac broke out of a rehab facility in Malibu, they high-fived over pints that we would get a solid conviction.

Some high-priced lawyer from California had flown in and negotiated the remand earlier this month. I showed leniency toward a defendant with an addiction.

I know something about addiction. My half-brother is addicted to power.

Without seeing Eoghan, I feel his presence in the courtroom. The air around me rearranges into something charged and electric. His cologne wraps around me, and my heart rams against my ribs.

Eoghan O’Rourke is breathtakingly gorgeous with rumpled light brown hair and sky-blue eyes. From the small glimpses I saw, he’s nothing short of God-like.

I silently cross myself for breaking the commandments. Good ole number one.

As a mob lawyer, Eoghan O’Rourke’s soul is stained in blood. If not directly, then indirectly through the criminals he’s helped.

Here I am, a good Irish-Catholic girl trying to beat him at his own game.

And failing.

The judge enters the courtroom from her chambers, and I stand, pushing everything else out of my mind except this crucial case.

A burning sensation batters my senses. I glance to my left to see Eoghan’s eyes on me. His expressionless lips form a straight slash while he stares at me.

When the wooden gate that separates the observers and reporters whines, I drag my gaze away even though everything inside me screams to keep staring into those remarkable blue eyes.

“Diamond,” Director Vance’s metallic voice creeps across my shoulder.

“Yes, sir?” I give my brother a hard, serious look even though I’m filled with dread.

“Dismiss this piece of shit case,” he whispers into my ear.

I absorb his order as the judge’s eyes bear down on me. A judge, who is supposed to be impartial and unbiased.

Let’s face it, in Las Vegas, everyone is in someone’s pocket.

Or bed.

Everyone but me.

Glancing down at the two billfolds in my grasp, I ask softly, “Which case? The Ana Michaels or—”

“Both.”

I could nail my career shut in a coffin by refusing. The defense will then make a motion to dismiss and there will be more hearings. But I shiver at what will happen to me when I get back to my office later.

The judge gives her usual opening instructions, and with every passing second, my pride and confidence drain from me.

Facing the judge, I listen to the charges against Cormac O’Rourke and his girlfriend, Ana Michaels, who’s out on bail and God-knows-where. It’s an embarrassment of epic proportions that I’m about to dismiss these cases when I hold a wealth of evidence against the defendants.

But what Director Vance wants, Director Vance gets.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Approach, Your Honor?”

She waves me over, looking ready for my motion. Christ, how many judges are compromised from these mafia cells?

How can we ever move forward with taking down the Cosa Nostra?

“Counselor,” Satan’s deep voice purrs and curls low in my belly.

I give a quick glance to my left, and our eyes lock again. This courtroom could explode, and I’d be unable to let go of the hypnotic stare that anchored into my soul.

What the heck was that?

It’s not even a damn smile, but a blank gaze powerful enough to dampen my panties. What the hell does that say about me?

“Counselor,” I murmur, knowing I should shake his hand since he’s new to the case.

I keep my fingers balled into fists, worried if I touch him, my skin will burn from the all the sulfur.

“Ms. Diamond, you asked for a word?” The judge knocks me from Eoghan O’Rourke’s eye-locking hold.

“Your Honor…” I wonder if I should just blurt that Vance told me to dismiss this case.

But I’m building a career and looking like one of his ass-kissers won’t get me very far.

“After consideration, the state will be dismissing the cases against Mr. O’Rourke and Miss Michaels.”

She stares at me, her eyes narrow slits above her glasses. “Are you sure, Counselor?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” I stand tall, giving no explanation since I don’t need one.

“I assume the defense has no objection.” Her gaze turns to my opponent.

“None, Your Honor.” His Irish brogue is honey over gravel and its warmth fills every crevice of my body.

This is bad. So bad…

“Very well, return to your tables.”

I spin, and I’m so inside my head, I don’t see O’Rourke’s wide shoulders. I slam right into him, my forehead bouncing off his rock-hard chest.

Eoghan O’Rourke is that tall, I can’t even see over his shoulders. His large hands wrap around my upper arms and a feeling of complete and utter safety surrounds me.

“Watch it, love,” he whispers in a seductive drawl.

You watch it, I yell.

On the inside.

His hands leave an impression on me and it’s life changing. How can I feel like this out of nowhere?

“Counselor,” I whisper, not meeting his eyes.

Beautiful manscaped fingers lift my chin to keep us eye-level. “Jillian,” he murmurs with a lilt that weakens my spine.

I wobble back to my table, and when the judge announces that Cormac O’Rourke is free to go, a small cheer breaks out from the defendant’s table to my left.

I don’t address the investigators, who look shocked and want a piece of my ass for wasting their time. I just pull my workbag to my chest and leave the courtroom with my head held high like before.

“You dismissed the case?” Trista asks as I storm away.

I spin around, expecting a crowd of reporters, then laugh to myself. There’s so much crime, so many cases, and so many prosecutors, we outnumber the reporters ten to one.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” She holds her phone under my chin for a quote.

“Turn that off, and I’ll tell you over a drink.”