Exploding: A Mafia Romance (The O'Keefe Family Collection #1) (9 page)

“Gotcha.”

Vince reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wad of hundreds, handing Fallyn two. “That should do it. You sent us more than we’re sending back with you. We’ll see how these sell, and I’ll get back to you about a reorder.” He glanced up at Carrigan from his desk. “Our desserts for the shelf in Fallyn’s bakery are in the walk-in. You want to send Seamus and Finn in to load them up? They can drive them back to the bakery with Kill if you’re taking Fallyn home, Carrigan.”

Carrigan nodded, glancing around the office as if looking for changes from when it belonged to Papa D. The picture of Papa D and Mama Antonia still hung on the wall behind the desk, as it had since Carrigan’s earliest memory of the place. “That’s fine. Come on, Fally. Let’s get you home. You’re all flushed. You need to lie down.”

Vince brushed his fingers against hers as she passed by him, and the tingle was a reminder that though the kiss had ended, the passion was just beginning.

C
arrigan walked
Fallyn into her apartment like she was a fragile old lady. He kept his police jacket on as he checked her house for intruders, though they both knew he did this out of habit, not necessity. He walked her to the couch and sat on the coffee table facing her, slapping his palms together as their knees touched. “Alright. Let me check your wound.”

“It’s nothing, just a graze.”

Carrigan narrowed his eyes at his baby sister. “I know it’s hurting you worse than you’re letting on. The EMT said it was more than just a gash. Angelo got you good.”

Fallyn shirked away from him, holding her arm. “I’m okay.”

Carrigan used his best calming voice to soothe her so he could check how her stitches were holding up. “Look, I’m not Killian. I won’t fly off the handle about this. If you say Angelo didn’t mean to shoot you, then I believe you. I won’t go after Angelo. I’m only concerned about you. Can I look?”

Fallyn finally gave in. She extended her arm and peeled off the bandage, wincing at the blood that looked too fresh and too much. “Oh, man. I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that.”

Carrigan took his time redressing her wound, taking notice of every time Fallyn bit her lip or whimpered through the pain. “I think this whole arrangement Killian and Vince have with the baked goods isn’t working. I’m putting the kibosh on it.”

“It was my idea, my decision. If it works, then it’ll help cool things off between our two sides. This was the first time. There were bound to be some missteps. Maybe next time I’ll have Vince drop his stuff off at my bakery instead, though. Neutral territory and all.”

“Good thinking.” He jerked his head toward her bedroom. “You go get changed into pajamas. I’ll make you a cup of tea. You need to get some rest.”

Fallyn wanted to protest on principle, but the ups and downs of the morning had taken a lot out of her. She changed slowly, babying her arm behind closed doors where she could admit that the bullet actually had hurt her. Her pink tank top had soft, dainty rows of ruffles along the top half, which made her feel feminine and pretty, instead of like the gun-toting hooligan she knew she could sometimes be. Her pink cotton shorts hung low on her waist, and she climbed into her bed without a second thought of the tea or her other responsibilities that had dragged her away from her bed for weeks. She closed her eyes the moment her head was properly cushioned on the pillow.

“Fally?” Carrigan let himself into her bedroom and set her cup of tea on the nightstand. “I’ve got to get back to work now. I’ll send Seamus to stay with you for the rest of the day, and Danny can come over to sleep here tonight.”

“No. I’m okay. Just taking a nap. I don’t need anyone to come over. I’ll see you all at family dinner tomorrow night. I just need some sleep.” She opened her eyes to address Carrigan. “Seriously, I just want to be alone for a little bit. I’ll probably go back to work in a few hours.”

Carrigan frowned. “You just got shot. You have a whole staff whose purpose is to run things when you’re gone. Take the day off. Seamus is already on his way to watch your house while you sleep.”

Fallyn groaned. “He’s too worked up for that. He’ll end up shooting a dog or something if it comes too near the place. Too emotional.”

“I’ll tell him to stay outside then, so he doesn’t bug you.” Carrigan rubbed the back of his neck. “Dad’s upset. He’s going to stop by in a few to make sure you’re okay.”

Fallyn knew with those words that the promise of a nap was slipping through her fingers. “Great. Now I can’t even rest, which was the thing you just told me to do. Who told Daddy?”

Carrigan’s green eyes shone with culpability. “I did, plus Kill. Then Kill told Declan, who also called Dad. He’s on his way here now with his nurse.”

Fallyn ripped off the covers angrily and pushed her brother out the door. She got dressed in a deep blue skirt and short-sleeved peach blouse that covered the bandage. She brushed her hair and pinned it up before making her bed. The tousled comforter made her heart ache with its missed invitation. She knew her father would be in a state, and she didn’t want another person hovering when she needed a little space to digest the most dangerous and the most beautiful kiss of her twenty-five years.

She whipped around her home, picking up her things and shoving any mess into the bedroom. She washed the few dishes in the sink while Carrigan sat at the table drinking his tea, observing her cleaning frenzy with mild amusement. “I’ll never understand why you get so worked up when Dad or Killian comes over.”

“Of course you don’t,” she snapped, instantly feeling guilty over being short with her brother, whom she loved. “Daddy has no problem with you all living on your own. He’s always one incident away from telling me I have to come and live back at home with him and Kill. That’s if he remembers who I am. I can’t decide which is worse, him treating me like I’m eight years old, or him treating me like he’s never met me before.” She shook her head, wiping down the counters with a rag. She hated that her father had dementia, and even though she’d moved back to her family’s territory just over six months ago, the dementia only seemed to be getting worse. His moods hit a harder swing, taking him far lower than he’d gone in his younger years. Killian had even gone so far as taking his gun away. “I’m not moving back home. I’m twenty-five. I’m allowed to live where I like.”

Carrigan’s cadence turned gentler and had the air of broaching a delicate topic. “Maybe moving home’s not such a bad thing. You were shot today, honey. Dad and Kill can protect you better at home. I know it scares Dad, you living here alone. Or maybe Danny could move in here for a while, at least.”

Fallyn chewed on the inside of her cheek, swallowing venomous words that would do no good. “I was shot while Killian wasn’t even ten feet away. It’s my choice. You all treat me like I’m five, but I’m not. I know what I want, and I’m more than capable of going after it. But I can’t do it with Daddy pulling all the strings.” Her eyes closed as her arm throbbed. “That’s if he’s having a good day where he knows who I am.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Kill’s better at handling you when you’re like this.” He stood, oblivious to his sister’s guffaw and offense. He adjusted his utility belt and subconsciously touched his holstered gun. “I’ll wait outside until Dad gets here. Try to calm down. His only daughter just got shot. He’s allowed to make a fuss.”

Fallyn kissed her brother’s cheek out of habit and sent him outside to wait in his patrol car. She pushed back the overwhelming chaos of her life and focused on the tornado at hand. She hadn’t dusted in a week and hoped her father wouldn’t notice.

When the patriarch of the family knocked on the door, Fallyn stood as tall as she could when she let him in. “Let me see where that idiot hit ya.” Patrick O’Keefe’s Irish brogue was thick, and had not been passed down to his children, who had adopted the standard Midwestern non-accent they were surrounded with. He barreled into the cream and peach living room, his nurse and Carrigan shuffling in behind him.

Fallyn reluctantly lifted the gauzy peach fabric of her sleeve to show him the white bandage. “There’s barely anything to see, Daddy. They didn’t even take me in. The medic stitched me up just to keep Killian from blowing a gasket. It probably didn’t even need stitches,” she lied. “I’m totally fine. Vince and Killian handled it, and Angelo killed the guy on their turf who grabbed me.”

“How did he grab ya?” Patrick demanded, his face red. He was tall and mildly heavy-set. Though his face was lined with seventy-nine years’ worth of wrinkles, he was strong as an ox and could be mean as one, too. “Show me.” Carrigan acted as Gino and wrapped his bicep around Fallyn, miming choking her. When Carrigan held his fingers in the shape of a gun to his sister’s temple, Patrick was enraged. “That scum held a gun ta my daughter’s head? I want his body on my doorstep!” he yelled at Carrigan, who released his sister and leaned against the sofa with his arms crossed.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Carrigan replied. Random police jargon crackled on his com, and Carrigan answered succinctly. “I have to get back in a few minutes.”

“I brought Nurse O’Malley. She’s here ta check yer arm.” Patrick held up his hand to silence his daughter when she opened her mouth to protest. “Don’t ya dare fight me on this, young lady. Ya were shot today. I have every right ta make sure my girl is as okay as she claims!”

Fallyn was flustered, never liking it when her father shouted. “Daddy, stop yelling at me! I’ve barely said two sentences since you got here! If Nurse O’Malley wants to give it a look, fine.”

Patrick scooped his daughter into his arms, his face pointed toward Heaven as he called on as many saints as he could name to protect Fallyn. “Vince will pay for this!”

The pain from her bullet wound made her bite her lip through a whimper in her father’s firm embrace. Fallyn ducked out of her father’s grip. “Vince had Gino shot for what he did to your daughter. You should be sending him wine for the stand he made. Now everyone knows that they can’t mess with our family when we’re in their territory. Vince made a bold statement, and he’s already paying for it. Do you think that was a popular choice he made to have one of his own killed for an O’Keefe? He stood by our family today, Daddy. If you can’t see that, it’ll make a bigger mess that Killian will have to clean up. Make peace, Daddy. I’ve been living in your war for too long.”

Patrick looked down on his daughter, his temperament vacillating from fuming to something softer. “I don’t like that ya were held at gunpoint on his territory. I could’ve lost ya today.” He lifted the gold medallion on his chain under his shirt to his lips and kissed it. “What yer mother would say if she were here now, I can only imagine. This nonsense of trading cookies between sides? It’s done. It was a terrible idea.”

“It was my idea!” Fallyn’s hands rested on her hips, indignant.

Patrick shouted again, slapping the back of his hand into his large palm. “Any idea that gets a gun pointed at my daughter’s head is a bad idea!”

“Stop yelling at me!” she insisted, wishing his temper didn’t rattle her so. She hated it when he yelled, which was a thing he did if even the slightest bit provoked. In the past few months, when he was lucid, he was yelling, and when the fog of age took over, he was more docile but couldn’t remember who she was. She couldn’t decide which version of the father she loved was worse – the yeller who knew who she was, or the kind old man who didn’t know her from Eve. “Don’t start a war over this, Daddy. I mean it. Vince is going to bring his things to me next time instead of us going into their territory. Is that better?”

“Vince and I are going ta have words about this. He’s practically a child! This is exactly tha kind of thing that happens when ya hand half an empire ta a child.”

Fallyn took in a steadying breath, determined at least one adult would be present in this conversation. “Daddy, I’m alright. A little shaken, but fine. You getting all worked up isn’t helping me feel better. It’s making things worse.”

After a brief examination of the wound and a few tenderness checks, spindly red haired Nurse O’Malley ruled that the EMT did a fine job and Fallyn could return to work the following day, provided she took it easy. She called in a prescription for the pain. “Now Patrick, it’s time to go on home. You’re overexcited, and you can see your daughter’s just fine.” She shot Fallyn a look of controlled exasperation, which Fallyn returned.

“See? I told you it was nothing.”

Patrick shook as he picked up the nearest throw pillow and whipped it across the room. Though it was a soft object, Fallyn always grew fearful when he started in on throwing things. “Nothing?” Patrick bellowed. “Nothing?! Yer coming home with me, young lady. Pack a bag.”

Fallyn shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on her shoes. “No, Daddy. I live here now. You told me I could.”

“Carri, pack yer sister a bag!”

“Dad, I don’t think…”

Patrick picked up the cookbook Fallyn had been studying from the end table and launched it across the room. “Two children who don’t respect their father! Two! What did I do ta deserve such treatment? I raised ya, I put a roof over yer head that’s no longer good enough for ya, and this is tha thanks I get? March!” Without thinking, Patrick grabbed his daughter’s upper arm in an attempt to make her obey.

Fallyn screamed, her legs giving out as the pain blinded her for several seconds. The pressure on her fresh wound built to a searing level. Carrigan scooped her up, holding her crumpled form like a baby as she shook in his arms. “Dad, we respect you fine, but you can’t come into her house and shout at her like this! Either let Nurse O’Malley drive you home, or you can get in the back of my patrol car. I’ll drive you home so we can have a talk if you can’t be civil to your only daughter. Take a breather. You just hurt her!”

Patrick went from boiling rage to scared old man in the span of a breath. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I forgot which arm it was and grabbed tha wrong one. Here, let Nurse O’Malley take another look at it.” He went from larger than life in Fallyn’s eyes to looking fragile and stooped.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Carrigan assured him. “I can check it again. Fallyn needs to get some sleep. I’ll make sure Vince’s people pick up the pastries at her shop, and that she doesn’t have to cross over into his territory again. She’ll take the day off and rest, and then she’ll call you in the morning.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean ta hurt ya.”

“You never do,” Fallyn whispered.

Patrick left after several more minutes of apologizing, shuffling out of the house after Nurse O’Malley with only his shame intact. Carrigan walked to Fallyn’s bedroom with his sister still cradled in his arms. It was so rare that she permitted any of them to carry her anymore that he took his time, holding her a few seconds longer than he needed to, rocking her back and forth as he stood by her bedside. He was ten years older than she, and had rocked her to sleep many a night when she’d been a little girl. Though she fought hard to get them to see her as an adult, her brothers had a hard time viewing her in any other light. “It’s alright, Fally. You know Dad didn’t want to hurt you.”