Dad's Irish Mafia Friend (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 110)

by Flora Ferrari

  She opened the door properly, letting it swing on its hinges as she leaned a hip against the doorframe. I felt her eyes lock onto me and then flicker over my shoulder to the crowd I'd attracted. "Piss off!"

  She yelled so hard I drew in a sharp breath and my hand shot up to cover over my mouth.

  "She bothering you Jackie?"

  "Matter of fact, she is, Frankie."

  I blinked at her, totally stunned. Heat flooded my face. Whatever Garrett was involved with, it was way worse than anything I'd imagined. This place was some post apocalyptic nightmare and he wasn't even here in it!

  I should have expected that, but I hadn't. I was just some idiot little girl who thought she knew what she was doing. I was in so much trouble, and so alone and I'd never find Garrett and I'd never go to college and when they stole my passport and beat me up, I was never going back to the states, and I'd be stuck here, in the rain, shivering because I didn't have a warm enough jacket.

  I sobbed before I could stop myself and I couldn't stop the surge of tears rolling silently down my face. After coming so far, this couldn't be the end of the trail.

  "Oh feck off with your crying! He doesn't live here. If he got you in trouble, you'd know that. And if you're with the Gard, you're wasting your time. Tell them he doesn't deal in little girls so I don't know what they're playing at sending you."

  I couldn't believe it when she slammed the door in my face. I closed my eyes and forced myself to calm down, but it wasn't working.

  On the other side of the gate, the little group of guys looked like it had grown and Frankie had started up his taunting again.

  "Who owns you, beor?"

  "No one owns me!" But maybe Frankie would if I didn't get out of here fast enough.

  CHAPTER 3

  Garrett

  Brigid passed me the bottles that had come off the back of the bar one by one and I placed them carefully back where they were meant to be. Labels facing out, ordered neatly along the backlit glass shelf, the most expensive bottles higher up. It was important to maintain a good display for the customers. That was just as true in any business. Impressions mattered. I'd built my life around them.

  I'd had meetings today, but after the way the morning had panned out, I'd had to reschedule. I wasn't having the CAB pulling my sister's reputation through the mud on my account. They'd made a mess because of me, so I'd clear it up for her. At least it gave me some family time with my sister.

  "Is Nora still going to church?"

  Brigid looked up at me, hands on her hips and she tilted her head on one of her well practiced sighs. I knew exactly what that particular one meant.

  "She should be. Didn't you tell her she should be?"

  "What do you want me to say? She's young and she'd rather spend Sundays with that man o'hers than Father Riley."

  I gritted my teeth. She hadn't introduced her man to me. No doubt because she wanted to avoid me scaring him off. "The musician."

  "The musician. He's a nice boy, Garrett."

  "He'd better be."

  Brigid rolled her eyes. "Anyway. She's off working her shift at the hostel tonight. So she'll be out. If you end up needing the bar after hours."

  I didn't like to mix my family up in my business, let alone bring it home for supper, but there were things that needed talking through and the benefit of scaring the CAB off this place was that they couldn't touch it again for at least a week until they cut through the bureaucratic red tape my lawyer had thrown at them.

  My second phone buzzed and I walked back around the bar to get it from the pocket of my suit jacket that I'd left on the back of one of the chairs. I grimaced at the number when I saw the screen.

  Jackie Dolan only ever called me for two reasons. Either everything had gone to shit, or she was off her face and thought she'd have a better chance of talking me into bed with her for the seventy fifth time.

  But she'd been my tenant for seven years down in Ballyfermot . She took my mail for me and I kept the guest room with some things of mine in it that I couldn't afford to be directly associated with in return for a cash repayment of most of her rent, paper trail free, with the occasional bonus thrown in from time to time.

  The house was a useful stronghold in Tiernan territory. Having a tenant gave me an excuse to go there, the same way my other businesses legitimized any money exchanges O'Rourke and the CAB would have a problem with.

  "Jackie." I picked up the call with a stretched out smile, crossing the room to give myself some distance from my sister's ever-open ears. "What's the matter?"

  "There's some girl outside, been asking after you. Thought you might want to know."

  My smile dropped away and my body tensed. I glanced back towards my sister. "What girl?"

  "I don't know. Some American girl."

  I had everything about this city on my radar, but I had no idea who Jackie was talking about and that was a frightening thing. Something so small could be the start of a coup, or just a way to rattle me.

  "What did you tell her?"

  "That you don't live here."

  "Good." Whatever this was, Jackie was still on side. "Where is she now?"

  "Oh, the boys are giving her the Ballyfermot tour."

  "For fecksake."

  It was only the odd few kids these days who thought antics like that would impress the Tiernans.

  The different kinds of crime around these parts weren't so compatible with groups of bored yobs drawing attention to themselves with petty acts of vandalism and violence. The Tiernan's glorified thuggery, while I did what I could to convince them to keep it lower profile.

  They were old-school. Liked their house breakings and their carjackings along with their drug deals. Anything with a bit of violence thrown in.

  After sixteen stabbings and five shootings in the past three years, I was trying to shut the gate after the horse had bolted. But it made sense to me. The only future in thuggery like this was all the gangs in Dublin helping the Garda out by tearing each other apart.

  I had better plans than that and in the meantime, I was happy enough for them to draw the heat away from the real operation. But not like this.

  Whoever she was, it wasn't going to be good for me if some girl wound up beaten to within an inch of her life on my doorstep, whether or not I lived there. The Gard would be crawling all over it and everything would have to grind to a halt until they cleared off again.

  "Ask her what her name is."

  I heard the muffled turn of the front door unlock and the scrunch of the phone being shoved in against Jackie's shoulder, the slap of her slippers against the cracked concrete of the garden path.

  "Oi, you. What's your name?"

  One of the neighbourhood kids echoed her question.

  "Tell us your name beor."

  Beor. Woman. I growled at the gaelic term that had come to be laced with all kinds of sexual intent. She was attractive enough to draw out the drooling teens of the area, then.

  Mentally tracking back through my dealings over the past few days, I tried to figure out who the woman might be. All the people who needed to find me knew exactly where I was, and there wasn't a one of them who'd go looking there.

  "She's not saying anything," Jackie reported back, voice back to full volume in my ear, grating on me, as it usually did. "Grab her purse!"

  "Leave her bleedin' purse alone. Stay there." I growled down the line, snapping the call closed. I yanked my jacket off the chair, pocketing my phone as I strode towards the door, already reaching for my car keys.

  "Jackie's got a problem at the house."

  The entire day was turning into a shit show and the morons out in Ballyfermot were about to do over a tourist in broad daylight. That was only if they were lucky. Journalist or a sneak for O'Rourke made far more sense to me, and that'd be the start of no end of troubles.

  Brigid called after me. "Are you coming back?"

  "Later."

  ---

  The cobbles of Dublin's old town
turned my Lotus into a boneshaker, but once I got to the wider streets, I could open her up. The engine roared up the gears in a matter of seconds, and all I wanted was to let her loose. But they got Al Capone on tax violations, I wasn't going down for too many points on my license. The whole car thrummed with vibrations as I was forced to idle at the traffic lights all the power of the engine pent up and restrained.

  On days like this I felt about as at-one with my car as any man could be. As soon as the lights changed, I was off and the throaty roar of the engine echoed off against the hard city buildings on either side of the street.

  A glance in the rearview mirror reassured me that I'd lost anyone following me already. Out past the brewery, I was on my own.

  I parked up at the end of Jackie's street, out onto the pavement almost as soon as I'd stopped. I only paused to grab my gun from the glove compartment, holstering it as I started off down the pavement.

  When you were part of the community, Ballyfermot was a grand enough place to live. But intruders weren't tolerated, and this American woman had come to the wrong place to start poking her nose in. I had to hope I'd arrived in time.

  A small crowd had formed in the middle of the street, just about outside my house. Barely breaking stride, I barrelled towards the group who had the girl cornered.

  Tiernan liked a bit of thuggery in his boys and they cut their teeth young around here. Footballs and bicycles and opportunistic muggings. I was less than impressed that they had no trouble shitting in their own backyard.

  To me it was unnecessary showboating.

  I strolled up to the oldest of the boys. Not one of the tattoos he had on his arms made him the hard man he was pretending to be.

  Quietly, I joined the circle, facing him rather than looking into the middle of it. I just watched him rifle through the woman's handbag like an ape at the zoo not sure what to do with it's new toy. The monkeys had a real live female and they didn't know what to do with themselves.

  I slid my hands into my trouser pockets, letting my jacket fall open slightly and the both of us knew he'd see the butt off my gun at the side of my chest if he looked there. Like a rabbit caught in headlights he chose not to.

  My irritation grew with every passing second he refused to look at me. But I didn't say a word. My presence had already drawn his attention and gradually the atmosphere shifted from their testosterone buzzed hysteria to a dense kind of panic.

  I turned my head fractionally towards the leader of the group, letting him see the ripple of my jaw and I dropped my voice. I had no doubt he knew who I was even though I barely recognised him.

  "What the feck is this? The feck are you doing?"

  I glanced at his quarry.

  There she was, in the middle of his group of grubby mates, the most perfect creature I'd ever laid eyes on. She looked like she was right out of another world, and in a way I guess she was. She'd not known what it was like to live in a city with dozens of warring militant groups taking chunks out of each other over politics and territory, money and drugs, knowing if you weren't on the right side when they beat the door down you'd be breathing your last. That was all I'd ever known.

  The kid flinched like I'd hit him, and he couldn't give me her handbag fast enough. "What d'you want to do with her?"

  "Hey! That's mine!" Her eyes flashed to mine, wary, but simmering with anger even though two of the kids had a hold on her arms. Someone needed to teach her some self-defence and I'd gladly volunteer for the job. Just as soon as I got rid of our unwanted company. Whoever she was, she had my engine racing.

  And who knew what these eejits had been planning on doing with her. For half a second there was something familiar about her face, but it darted away behind the caveman urge to roar and thump my chest.

  She was mine to defend. Every instinct I had told me so. Whoever she turned out to be, she was an innocent who'd stumbled into this place without a clue, and I wasn't going to let these boys drag her down.

  I turned to the kid again. "That, is a lady. Do you see what a lady looks like?"

  She looked so out of place with her long hair flowing around her shoulders. Her clothes were smart - a soft stretchy pale top peaked out beneath the summer weight jacket she had on. It wasn't nearly sturdy enough against the rain and it was starting to soak through. She had one of those flimsy umbrellas that looked all flashly, but turned themselves inside out the first time they saw a bit of real weather.

  The kid nodded slowly. In an instant I had his arm twisted sharply behind him, and he cried out. His gang of mates took a nearly synchronised step backwards and I increased the pressure of my hold until he buckled down onto one knee in an attempt to ease his shoulder from popping out, or his forearm from splintering in a spiral fracture.

  "I think you better apologise. You don't take a lady's things."

  The kid whimpered, nodding fast enough to give himself whiplash.

  "I'm sorry!"

  Not a single one of his mates was going to stand against me. But I'd known that from the get go.

  These were the kind of kids I saw down at the boxing ring. Not young enough to be excused from what they got up to, and all too eager to make a name for themselves. The youth club had cleared a lot of it up, and I was all for that. Boys like them needed direction in order to change.

  They were the reason Ballyfermot had the reputation it did, but these days feral groups prowling the streets were largely a thing of the past.

  I shoved the kid hard enough to send him sprawling, but he barely touched the ground in his hurry to get away. As soon as he was upright, the rest of his little group scarpered.

  The woman's eyes widened and if it was possible, she paled even more. Was she afraid of me? Good. That meant she had good instincts.

  Calmly, I re-buttoned my suit jacket and set her handbag down on the tarmac between us. She'd have to take a step closer to get to it, but no more than that. Still watching me, she snatched it up, hooking the strap over her shoulder and cradling the body of the bag so protectively I almost laughed.

  That fresh-faced innocence about her wasn't solely down to her age. Sure, I could tell she was young, but she was all woman. And I'd wanted her on sight.

  "Who the hell are you?" I asked, knowing I had to be cautious. People weren't generally as clueless as all that, and I'd be a fool to think she was just because she had my cock standing at attention.

  "No one."

  I stepped closer to her and she quivered with the effort of not stepping back. Her nipples had hardened beneath her top, making two distinct pebbles that drew my eyes.

  "Is that right? You didn't take the wrong turn looking for the Guinness Storehouse, that's for sure. What are you - journalist? Garda?"

  Her pretty mouth hinged open on a gasp. I couldn't tell whether she was shocked I'd guessed, or shocked I'd think that at all.

  If she was playing me, she was good.

  "No. No! I'm looking for a family friend. I didn't - I didn't know not to come here. I just need to find Garrett Brannigan."

  I stared at her for a long beat, watching her cool blue eyes for any flicker of recognition. She really didn't seem to know me, but I didn't entirely trust the stranger from out of town act. Not when she was all dressed up ready to be unwrapped, getting herself all tangled up in my world.

  She held her chin high as I walked around her, but I didn't have to look too close to see her tremble. That coat hadn't done a thing to keep the rain off her. She had to be soaked through. The cave man part of me wanted to throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to my place and spend the rest of the afternoon keeping her warm. The businessman in me knew that wasn't such a good idea.

  "What's your name?"

  "Look, I just came here to find Mr Brannigan. He's not here, so-"

  "What's your name?"

  Her throat bobbed when she swallowed, but it wasn't entirely fear in her eyes. I looked her over, slowly, giving her time, relishing the chance to take in every curve of her body. The soft swe
ll of her breasts beneath the tight stretch of her top made me want to cup them while I took her from behind, taught her a lesson for walking into a place like this so under prepared.

  Her eyes danced around mine, glancing over me in just the same way as I circled her. She wet her lips and I followed the motion of her tongue with my eyes.

  "Kaitlin."

  Another twinge of recognition hit. I could hear Kearney's voice, his lifelong Dublin accent smoothed over with American vowels, complaining about the butchery of his daughter's name. Katelyn, they're calling her. Feckin Katelyn. It's Katleen for the love of God. Would you tell me what's so hard about that?