It all made sense, then—the fight, the guns, the faceoff. I could even trace it as far back to the two days I’d spent in this very penthouse. When his father came to visit and I made the mistake of giving him my full attention, flirting shamelessly, switching sides. He was right about one thing: my knowledge was limited in terms of mob life, but I’d seen enough movies to know that you don’t go up against a boss unless you were willing to bring the smoke. Mac didn’t want to concede power to anyone, especially not over the fight club. It was his baby, totally illegal yet built with his hard work and vision. How I fit into the equation was a mystery, but somehow, I was smack dab in the middle of this shit storm, and I had the dead fish to prove it.
“Fuck me.” I stopped in my tracks.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Better pour me a morning shot, Mac. Think I’m going to need it.”
CHAPTER 25
MacCabe
FERDI WAS DAMN lucky Otelia interrupted when she did. I’d just been about to unload on that fool for his ridiculous and disloyal ass suggestion. Engaging my father to handle a situation I was perfectly capable of dealing with myself was straight bullshit. Never, not once since the day I took over the fights, had I had to crawl begging for my father to rescue me out of a jam. I’d be damned if I started now. Once this shit with O’Brien was over, he and I were going to dance, and I didn’t mean the fucking two-step. Our fists would do the talking, and I looked forward to that conversation. For now, I needed his skill set if I had a hope in hell of defeating O’Brien and sending his ass back to Boston, broke.
The morning had been a barrage of unwelcomed news and eye-opening revelations. Bella’s husband had moved forward with his plan to open a fight club in close proximity to mine. Word had gone out in the underground to ignore my establishment and patronize his. He boasted a better line-up of skilled fighters, more blood and gore than in a slaughterhouse, and free drinks for the entire night. We projected a loss of eighty percent revenue with their grand opening and even more during the following weeks. At this rate, I’d be finished within six months if I didn’t act fast. Competition was good for business, they said. I called bullshit. This squeeze was personal. Involving Otelia was a new low for someone who was supposed to be a wise guy who represented the organization in certain trade dealings with the other five families. They wouldn’t appreciate his underhanded tactics against an innocent woman, but I was no snitch. Accusing someone with his rank of wrongdoing without proof was not a ledge I wanted to step out on, at least not yet.
I watched Otelia as she sat in contemplative silence, stunned by my brutal disclosure, sipping whisky for breakfast. She was different than when she’d arrived, more like the woman who’d fought me balls to the wall when she was my guest for two days. She maintained a cool exterior, calculating, taking it all in before jumping to any conclusions. I liked that about her, my tough little kitty cat. The thing that fucked with me the most and pushed me over the edge was her palpable fear over what happened. Every quiver, every sharp intake of breath, every teardrop spilled, every pleading word would have to be accounted for, revenged. I felt the strong urge to hold her in my arms and pretend that this whole thing wasn’t my fault. To ease her down onto her back, strip her of those revealing pajamas, and worship her pussy with my tongue. I’d never been so hard in my life.
“What are you planning to do about this asshole, Mac?” she interrupted my thoughts. “I know you have something up your sleeve, so out with it.”
How much should I share with her about my plans?
“Tonight is opening night of O’Brien’s new fight club. Ferdi and I will be there to welcome him to the area.” I tried to hide the smirk on my face. “Bake him a homemade pie and shit.”
Otelia rolled her eyes and finished off her whisky.
“Good. Then I’m going too.”
“The hell you say,” I thundered. “No fucking way.”
She shrugged her shoulders and nonchalantly picked at her fingernails. “I don’t remember asking you for permission, sir. Found my way into your establishment. I’m sure I can find my way into his as well. Worst case scenario, I’d have to suck a stranger’s dick like your good friend Marci is so fond of doing. That’s something you clearly enjoyed, so I say, let the sucking commence.”
Fucking attitude.
Splendid.
Her snarky comment mixed with my heated arousal took an undesirable nip on my mental state. I chucked the glass I was holding against the wall, my second in less than an hour, shattering it into a thousand little pieces and propelling my feet forward. I advanced into her personal space, caging her in with no means of escape. Her dilated pupils and heavy breathing affirmed I had her attention, just like I wanted.
“You’re not ready to sleep with danger, kitty cat.” She exhaled the breath she was holding and tried to turn away from the intensity in my stare. “You think this is a fucking game, woman?”
“I know it’s not a game, Darragh,” she snapped defiantly.
“These people will bury you in your own backyard then turn around and donate money to the search and rescue fund. Our world is dark, unyielding, unforgiving, ruthless as fuck. Once you step inside, there is no escape from its clutches. Lives are expendable, including yours.”
I thought her silence meant I was getting through to her, but she was just warming up.
“That motherfucker came to MY house uninvited, Darragh.” She pointed to her heaving chest. “MY HOUSE! Now, I don’t know much about “the lifestyle”, but I do know this: nobody messes with me and gets away with it. I don’t give a rat’s ass who he is or WHAT he’ll do to me.”
“You’re not getting me.” I shook my head in exasperation.
“I’m going, Darragh. Deal with it,” she snapped.
We were both pumped up from our little skirmish, dug in, holding our ground. I was either going to kiss her senseless or turn her over and spank her bratty ass red. Seeing that fire in her blue eyes turned my already hard cock to stone. How long had she been holding in that little dig about Marci sucking my dick? Since the night of the fight, stupid.
My motives for confronting O’Brien were becoming clouded in a mist of individual gain and the compulsion to shield Otelia from future harm. I was by no means a hero, but she didn’t need one. She was perfectly capable of saving herself. I could use that.
“You really want to do this, Otelia?”
“Fucking right, I do. I’m sick of you mob motherfuckers messing with my life.”
She left no more room for argument; it was either take her along for her own protection, or tie her ass up and throw her in the trunk of my car. Fuck.
“If you are going to be my date tonight, we need to discuss a few particulars.”
_______________
Nothing but Armani would do for this occasion. The cut of a finely tailored suit signified wealth and power, two things I wanted O’Brien to imagine when he saw me. Ferdi hadn’t checked in since he left the penthouse this morning, but I had every confidence he’d show up on time and be ready to roll. Otelia was another issue entirely. The past few hours had been one dumpster fire after another with me mostly on the receiving end. She’d tried to leave the sanctuary of the penthouse to go home and do woman shit, which I’d swiftly vetoed. That earned me a slew of profanities that rivaled any sailor docked in port on weekend leave. Then she tried to convince me to take her to Nipsy’s so she could speak with Maribel Laine, which, again, was a no-go. She finally gave up and stormed off to the adjoining room, where she’d been making lude gestures to the cameras for half the day.