Page 3 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

I don’t object to the organization itself much—I grew up in Southie and our dad was part of the syndicate all his life. I guess I just wanted better for Rory, and I wasn’t sorry to move away for college. Something about being part of the O’Halloran’s organization feels like extended family or a really small town—where everyone knows your business and it can be stifling. A new city and a new start suited me just fine…until it didn’t.

I’m back home living with my brother because I can’t afford to do anything else. It’s the cold hard truth and it’s embarrassing as hell. I was always good at school and numbers are my thing. I worked part time in data analysis while I did my accounting degree in California. Problem was, I couldn’t get a full-time job once I graduated with honors.

It’s so competitive and there were a ton of applicants for every job that opened up. For months I got by on part-time jobs and gig work, but there was no hope of a career doing what I love without my CPA, which I couldn’t afford to pursue if I kept living hand to mouth out west. So, I packed up, rented a car, and moved home with my tail between my legs. When I talkedto Rory on the phone he was understanding, but hesitant to have me stick around permanently. I think he was just as happy to have me away from the family.

I get up and go to rifle through the fridge for something to eat. Apparently, my grown ass brother still lives like a frat boy based on the contents. I snag a takeout menu from a stack on the counter and order myself some Chinese before settling back on the couch and cable surfing to find something mind-numbing to binge.

My first night back in the old neighborhood isn’t exactly exciting, but I don’t need it to be. This is a temporary situation until I can get my shit together and head back out west.

3

MICKEY

Rory doesn’t ask for much. I count on him, and when he talks I listen. So, when he tells me his little sister’s in town and could use a job to get back on her feet, I make it my business.

“You think she can wait tables?” I ask him.

“Probably. She’s been out in California, did her degree in accounting.”

“Oh, a math whiz,” I whistle. “Is she any good at counting cards?” I’m joking but Rory scowls. “I’m kidding, man,” I say.

“I don’t want her part of anything crooked,” he says, and there’s something like shame in his voice.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, I just don’t want her mixed up in any of this. It’d tear me up if she got hurt. I know it’s shitty to ask for your help and then tell youhowto help, but I don’t want her working on anything that’s not on the up and up, you know?”

“Makes sense to me,” I shrug. “No counting cards, no cooking the books, or running odds on shady shit. Got it.”

“Thanks,” Rory says.

“I’ll see if they need any help at the Oyster,” I say, naming my most successful legal gambling joint.

By that afternoon, I’ve got a job lined up for her. I have my secretary give her a call to have an interview with me. I haven’t seen this kid in years, and I get a kick out of the fact that I’m hiring Rory’s baby sister to do math for me. When she strolls into my office, she doesn’t look a thing like I remember and I’m momentarily at a loss for words.

If Edna hadn’t just buzzed my office to say Mary Kathryn Donahue was here to see me, I’d never have recognized her. She has the strawberry blonde hair I remember, but it’s in sleek waves past her shoulders, not in a messy ponytail.

“Katie Donahue,” I say and hold out my hand.

“It’s Kate now,” she says. “I gave up Katie when I went to college. Thanks for making time to see me. I have my resume here.” She holds out not a sheet of paper but an iPad.

This is a formality, but if she wants me to look at her resume, I will. I tap the screen and see her master’s degree in accounting, her grades and honors, her work experience. She’s done some part time work in the nonprofit sector and did freelance bookkeeping and budgeting for some small businesses.

“Have a seat,” I say. “Tell me how you’ve been.” I set the tablet on my desk.

Instead of returning to my chair behind the desk, I lean against the corner, keeping close to her as she takes a seat. Fuck me, she’s wearing a skirt. Katie Donahue is all long smooth legs and it makes my heart hammer everywhere at once. My pulse is jumping, and I watch her breathe in and out with more interest than I should.

She’s telling me about college, her time learning to communicate with a Ukrainian family displaced by war. I try to imagine her learning Ukrainian or Russian or whatever they speak, but all I can do is make my breath saw in and out, chest heaving like I’ve run a mile, because I can almost feel her legs around me.

Holy shit, this isn’t part of the plan. I try to shake it off. She’s my best friend’s baby sister. I can’t allow myself to imagine railing her against the wall, over my desk, right there with her back pressed against the window.

I’m supposed to be listening, not planning where I’ll take her to seduce her to get those long legs over my shoulders. My skin is overheated, and I rake a hand through my hair, making it a bit of a mess, but I’m trying to hold it together. Any second she’s going to notice I’m acting weird, looking at her too intently. I struggle to follow the story. It’s not Ukrainians anymore. It’s about finding and eliminating redundant expenses. I nod, able to appreciate the value of that.

She arches her back, rubs her neck once, not in complaint, but because I think she’s restless. “So, you always wear a suit now?” She asks.

I shrug in response. “When I took over, it made sense to dress the part. If I was in my old Levis and a Red Sox shirt, nobody would take me seriously. I couldn’t get a meeting with half these charities.”

“That’s what it is now? Charity?” She asks archly.

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