Page 56 of Mob Star

“For what, little one? For getting bored because I abandoned you for half an hour during our date? For wanting to know about the guy you’re dating? A guy who’s a motherfecking mobster.” He spits out the last word.

He appears so dejected along with grief-filled. I tilt my head as I study him. He’s sad about more than just talking about Colleen. I let go of his hands, and he makes to grab them as I pull them back, but he stops himself. I push his hands apart and move to sit on his lap. He instantly relaxes. Ah.

“Daddy, I’m not going anywhere. It’s scary to hear what happened to Colleen, and I feel awful bringing it up. My heart breaks to hear what you lost. I read the article about the veterinary gala. It makes sense now. The past half hour has given me a look at what my life will— not could —not might —will be. You have work to do, and Cormac’s waiting right now. I’ll be waiting until you’re free to see me again.”

He cups my nape, and his thumb sweeps over my cheekbone as he stares into my eyes. He nods, then we’re kissing. My toes curl in my shoes. This one isn’t a heart pounding, passion-filled one. It’s a heart-stopping, tender kiss. When we pull apart, we rest our foreheads together.

“Cailín, there’s a good chance you won’t hear from me for a couple days. I’ll be out of cell phone service.”

Where the hell is he going?

“You’ll be traveling.”

He’s back to debating what to say.

“No. There is somewhere here in New York that’s a controlled location when we have things to do. I will never tell you where, never take you there. You must not try to find it, Thea. You’ll endanger everyone. When I’m there, my cell phone is off. If there’s an emergency, call one of the guys. Let me program their numbers into your phone. They’ll get in touch with me.”

Things to do. Torture. My mind skips back to the article about Liam. Is Finn a sociopath or a psychopath? Neither is a desirable mental condition to have in a partner.

“Little one, I don’t enjoy what I do. I can still tell right from wrong and wish things were different. But in this life, right and wrong have vastly different meanings and standards than in the one where you live.”

“You read my mind.”

“I know what I would think if I were you. It’s easy to guess.”

“You said it’s controlled. That means you’re untouchable, right?”

“Yes. Our phones are never on, so we can’t be tracked. We have protocols.” He hesitates. “Sometimes things aren’t under our control. If you’re at my place, and I call you to tell you to wait in the guest bedroom, I need you to do that. Don’t greet me at the door. Don’t offer to help. I’ll need space to calm down and clean up. It means I don’t want you to see me like that. Not how I’ll look and not how I’ll act. I’ll come and get you as fast as I can, but it might take me a while. I’m sorry.”

Biowaste disposal. That would be a more technical name for cleaning off blood and guts. Decompressing is semantics for turning off the psychopathic part of him. No. Yes. I don’t know. I think he has remorse in the grand scheme of things— a sociopath. But I doubt he holds any remorse when he’s pushed far enough to do what he does —a psychopath.

No. I refuse to see him that way. This isn’t how his brain is naturally wired. Conditioned, maybe. Survivalist is more like it.

“Daddy, you can always tell me what you need. Even if it’s just space after a crappy day, I will give it to you. I don’t have to be up your ass 24/7.”

He pinches my ass. “I wouldn’t mind being up yours tonight.”

“Daddeee!” I hiss the word. But my grin is irrepressible. “As soon as you get back.”

“I have to go, cailín. Joey wound up having his brother take care of your window. He works for Shane’s construction company and had a tall enough ladder on his truck. He got what he needed and headed over. I won’t press you to tell me what’s happening, but if something else does, go to my family. If I come home, and I find out there was another threat, and you didn’t go to them, it’ll be more than just my hand. Your safety is the one thing you will never get me to budge on. Never.”

I’m halfway in love with this guy.

“I understand.”

And I’m pretty positive I’m going to disobey.

Chapter Thirteen

Finn

Well, we figured out what the fuck happened to our shipment. The Boston Irish made a move that is going to cost them monumentally. The mob once ran a major part of that city. People up there think they’re more Irish than a lass born and bred in County Cork. We usually get along. By that, I mean, we stay the fuck out of each other’s way. They keep New England, and we keep everywhere else east of the Mississippi. The exception is Chicago. They have their own ruling family. Their reach is nothing.

“What does Rowan O’Malley think he’s doing?” I look at Shane as we stand in my bedroom while I pack.

“Flexing. He’s only been in the position as long as Dillan. But he has a massive chip on his shoulder. He has since we were kids. His mommy didn’t love him enough.” My brother is silently seething.

The lost goods are costing a few million. In the grand scheme of things, that’s a lot, but it’s not much more than a pinch. It’s them worming their way into a place they don’t belong. They have their own deals with foreign markets. They don’t need to steal from us. It’s not revenge because we usually leave each other the fuck alone. They’re trying to prove something. Prove they can embarrass us. Prove they can conduct business with impunity. Prove we’re their bitches. Oh, how wrong they are.

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