CHAPTER NINE
Ella
E stella:
Ricardi’s on the Park. Tonight at 7 p.m.
Dress nice.
Dad
His handwritten note on my bedroom door draws a smile from my lips. He left early this morning for one of his typical freelance computer jobs. I worry how his new employer will feel about his extra-curricular activities.
With shady people.
With our hectic move back to New York City, Dad hasn’t mentioned anything about the man who hired him. He’s still utterly incensed from getting screwed over by World Trade Bank.
Even if they did pay his mortgage here in the city for the six months he worked in Australia. And even though he already has a new job—with a bigger paycheck.
His pride will be his undoing.
At night, he sits at his desk in the office until the wee hours of the morning working on his laptop. I hear him speaking sometimes, and I’m guessing that’s part of his contract hacking work. When not speaking Russian, drips and drabs of his conversations make my blood run cold.
Looking at my closet, I exhale in frustration. I fled the States six months ago with the clothes on my back, leaving everything behind in Wesley’s apartment. Slowly, I built up a new wardrobe in Australia designed for comfort. And warmer weather.
But it’s late January in New York. And freezing.
Now I have to start all over. It’s exhausting. Not to mention expensive. Somehow using the money Balor left me makes me feel dirty. I don’t want to look down at everything I bought and feel used .
Charging him was a joke, I never intended to take his money. But I certainly wasn’t leaving that cash in the hotel room.
Shaking those thoughts way, I check the time. It’s getting late.
I also have nothing to wear. The navy wrap dress I wore on the plane, the one Balor peeled off me, is the only thing I have that’s appropriate for a nice restaurant like Ricardi’s. But that dress has cum stains on the ass area.
Even if it were clean, I’m not wearing that for another man. Even if that other man is my new boss. Memories flood me about Balor again. I felt so connected to him. Odd, since I’d gone out on several dates in Australia attempting to once again feel safe with a man and not cringe or feel sick.
Balor made me feel comfortable. Maybe it was the safe confines of our airline seats, like we were in our own world. So intimate and special.
Sadly, I was wrong. He left me in a hotel suite. Sure, he was thoughtful enough to arrange a limo for me so I wasn’t stranded at the hotel. But he didn’t even stick around to say goodbye.
Pawing through my closet, I pull out a dated red, white, and black color-block sweater dress I found in a box of old clothes. Dad brought it from our house in Connecticut, a Tudor passed down from my mom’s family.
Slipping on the sweater dress, I’m pleased with how it hugs my curves, and its crew neckline looks professional.
Whoever the hell this new boss is, I won’t tempt him with cleavage. Sleeping with a stranger was daring and perhaps reckless enough. I won’t sleep with a boss.
When I step into the living room at six-thirty, Dad spins around from looking out the balcony’s double French doors. “Estella! You look beautiful. ”
I hate how old that name makes me sound, especially with his heavy Russian accent, but it was my Baba’s name, his mother. “Thank you. Can you please introduce me as Ella?”
“If you wish.” He hugs me. “How are your friends?”
“The same.” I nod and don’t return the question because I don’t think he has friends.
Not here in New York, anyway. Maybe back in Connecticut where I grew up.
“Are you hungry?” Dad asks me, adjusting his tie.
“I am. I ordered us an Uber,” I say, checking my lipstick in the mirror.
“Always taking care of me. You will do well with Mr. O’Rourke.”
Hearing his boss’s name for the first time stills me. “O’Rourke?”
Irish...
Dad rubs his chin. “Did I not mention his name?”
“No.” My throat tightens.
Balor was Irish. Spoke with an accent. A sexy one I’ll never un-hear.
“Mr. O’Rourke is sophisticated hacker like me.” Dad sits me down on a wing chair. “Before we go, there is something I must warn you about his family...”
MY JAW HANGS OPEN IN the back of the Uber as we ride to the restaurant.
The O’Rourkes are Irish Mafia.
I didn’t hear much after that.
Didn’t need to. Although, I wanted to scream at my father. How could he get into bed with the mafia ? Then he told me how much he was making, and that he would purchase me my own apartment. My heart raced at that, but I don’t want to be handed some luxury condo.
Not when I want to teach special-needs kids in a moderate-income school district.
I’ll spread my wings and live on my own again soon. And in a place I choose when I feel safe.
Spread your legs...
That voice, that sexy brogue is stuck in my head.
Oblivious to my shock, Dad chats with the Uber driver, who, upon hearing my father’s thick accent, started talking with him in Russian.
A language he never bothered to teach me.
My father saw a lot happen in his life. He’s tough Russian stock. My mother was an American doctor from Darien, Connecticut, treating sick kids in Moscow. They fell in love, got married, and moved back to Darien where they had me.
Unlike Mom, the sight of blood makes me squeamish. But I inherited her giving spirit. I love teaching and the nurturing aspect of Special-Needs Education.
Inside the Uber, I fix Dad’s tie. “Are you sure about taking this job?”
“I did my research,” he says, holding my hand. “They are dangerous people, but fair to those who are loyal. That made the decision easy for me, after the way those...” He curses his old boss under his breath. “Plus, if we earn their trust, the O’Rourkes will protect us. Protect you .”
“I don’t need protecting.” Not at that price.
My father’s phone buzzes, and he takes it out of his stylish wool overcoat. “Oh, he is there and has table for us.”
“Is this an interview? Or do I have the job?”
“It was part of my negotiation.”
“I could have found a job myself, Dad.”
He smiles at me with soft eyes. “After that beast laid his dirty hands on you, I would prefer you to acclimate back into this city under my watchful eyes. Once I am more comfortable with the O’Rourkes, I intend to mention—”
“No!” I gasp.
Wes is a cop, and the O’Rourkes are Irish Mafia.
From what little I know, mafia bosses are all brutal. And when ranked in viciousness, the Irish leave other syndicates in the dust. Cruel mafia against a psycho cop? The streets will be stained with blood.
“I’m living in your apartment with you, working with you. I’ll be safe. I am safe.” I consider my situation differently.
If Wes was a decent cop—and by decent I don’t mean honorable, I mean not fucking clueless—he should know the O’Rourkes are mafia. And if he bothers me, he’ll see I’m associated with them and back off.
End of story.
The Uber pulls up in front of one of those quaint restaurants with low ceilings and exposed brick. Dad holds my arm as we descend a few steps down to the entrance, but I’m nearly knocked over by the wonderful smell of basil and garlic.
“Ah, I see him,” Dad says.
My phone vibrates, and I’m conditioned like a dog with a treat to look at it.
When I see it’s an email from Fredricks Elementary, I open it immediately, not even thinking.
“Estella,” Dad whispers in my ear, leading me into the restaurant. “Put your phone away.”
“Just a second, Dad. I have to read this one email.” I keep walking, eyes down, my fingers scrolling.
Ella, hi!
I heard you’re back in New York. I’d love to meet with you about a part-time aide position for the rest of the school year. The kids miss you so much. I hope to hear from you.
Sara
My heart pounds. I don’t need this job with Dad !
By now, he’s let me go. I glance upward to search for his shock of intense dark hair and wide shoulders, ready to tell him my news. I rush to catch up and stop when I see my father open his arms, greeting the man who I suspect is his new boss.
All this trouble Dad went through and now I have to tell the guy I can’t work for him?
I expected a man who’s my father’s boss to be hunched over with wrinkled skin. At the table, a much younger man with adorably messed-up shaggy hair, sharp jaw, and dark rimmed glasses stands up from a curved booth and my stomach drops.
Every muscle tenses, and I can’t breathe.
No...
No, no.
I freeze and nearly fall over in my stiletto-heel boots.
Green eyes land on me and the handsome face morphs, mirroring the same shock rolling through me. Until the look of surprise melts into a glare.
It can’t be him. The man on the plane was a breathtaking god. This is Manhattan, though. The place is crawling with gods.
Balor...
His piercing stare drags back the memories of how he took me in that hotel bed. Sure, we only did it from behind. But the memory of him and his grunts when he thrust into me, his face pushed into the back of my head with one hand around my throat, whispering the filthiest things in my ear, crashes back to me.
Every night since, I relive how he buried his face between my legs and licked me until I came again and again, wringing me of every sane thought. The shower we took, still from behind, flashes at me. How he slid so deeply into my ass. Even though it was my first time.
He thought I was an escort, and an escort doesn’t say no so...
He thinks I’m an escort!
How am I going to sit here and have dinner with him and my father?
My father. Oh, God.
I slept with my father’s new boss, who’s also my boss, and Irish Mafia! Dad can fly into a rage on one of his typical reckless impulses and some guard somewhere will shoot him.
Trace. I spin around looking for the six-five bodyguard, but don’t see him. Perhaps that’s on purpose.
God, this is awful. I plaster a smile on my face as I approach the table, drawn in by Balor’s stare.
I give my head a shake to communicate: Please don’t say anything. Please!
“Mr. O’Rourke,” the name ominously slides off my father’s tongue. “This is my jewel. Estella.”
Thrusting my hand toward him to play the part, I say tonelessly, “Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Rourke.”
My robotic, flat greeting draws a frown from both him and my father.
“Same here, Estella .”
“Ella.” I roll my eyes. “I go by Ella.”
Eventually, I’ll have to explain why I have a different last name.
Always cautious about anti-separatists and KGB loyalists, Dad wanted me to have my mother’s last name. Reyes.
With a dry throat, I search the table for water and grab a glass. Like I just ran a marathon, I chug the water, some of it dripping down my chin. I grab a cloth napkin to wipe my mouth and find Balor O’Rourke staring at me.
Any hope of un-seeing this stunning man naked in that hotel room vanishes. He broke his rule and let me run my lips across every warm inch of skin and all his rippling muscles. He’s tall, but not bulky, just lean as hell.
It’s all I see, and I want to see it again.
And never will because he’s my boss.
I put down the glass and follow my father’s lead when he holds out one of the wooden seats across from Balor. He’s perched inside the banquette seat against the brick wall, with an unobscured view of the entire restaurant.
Of course, a mafia boss doesn’t sit with his back to strangers.
Balor’s stare weighs on me as I lower into the chair. His heavy-lidded gaze carries the secret of how he held me down to suck his cock. Again, and again.
“Ella!” He jumps up and points. “Sit on the banquette seat with me, please.”
“What?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“I don’t want your back exposed,” he murmurs.
Dad smiles. “You are very wise. Thank you for considering her safety.”
“My pleasure,” he growls, frowning at me.
He’s angry because he thinks I’m a hooker who’s lying to my father.
It sparks a chuckle in my throat.
“Something funny,” Balor says, low and warning-like.
Something will be.
He steers me to the seat and his touch sends goosebumps across my skin.
“Nothing, sir, ” I drawl and his expression turns volcanic.