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Niall looks at the frat boy, a truly sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips. At least two lads surrounding me shudder and inch away while the frat boy almost pisses himself.
I step back, my forearm dropping away as Niall grabs the lad’s collar, hauling him down the stairs. His four friends trail them, half-heartedly voicing words of protest.
I don’t know what they’re bitching about. The Reaper isn’t going to kill their friend. He’s going to fuck him up a bit and warn him to stay away.
It’ll be enough. Those lads are only here because they think they want a bit of danger in their lives. I guess they found out how much trouble was too much for them. After this little excursion, they’ll hightail it back to Cambridge and won’t set foot outside their ivory towers for a while.
“You all right?” I ask Ryan, who is still dripping.
“Yeah," he sighs, wrinkling his nose as he gets a whiff of his smell. “Just glad it was me and not one of the girls.”
I’m glad about that too. If it had been one of our female dealers on the receiving end of the frat boy’s antics, he wouldn’t have left with Niall with an intact face.
“Clean up, then get back inside.” I nod to the back room where the staff have lockers.
“Will do, boss.” Ryan disappears through the nondescript wooden door. Running a hand through my ash blonde hair, I head back inside the gambling hall.
Another dealer has taken the spot at Ryan’s table, and the waitress has collected my chips to deposit in the back safe. No one else acts like they noticed the disappearance. The frat boy’s table only has three poker players remaining.
I prowl between the other three tables – ignoring the high rollers at table five –carefully selecting another three players for table two. The job done, I accept a whiskey from a passing waitress and continue to move around the room, chatting to a few of the regulars.
Christ. It’s Thursday tomorrow. My new housekeeper is moving in. Shit. Did I organize the cleaning service to come before she gets there? I’ll have to check on that.
ANDIE
I stare at the house openmouthed as Paddy Flynn pulls the SUV into the driveway beside it. Lauren, Paddy’s wife, and my old neighbor from Dot, twists from her seat in the front of the vehicle, beaming at me.
“Wicked nice, huh?” she laughs, scrunching her freckled nose.
Paddy glances across the car at her with a soft smile. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing these Irish mobsters looking so tender, but it’s funny. Less funny is how those two got together.
Lauren’s brother got whacked by the Italian Mafia, and she ran to Paddy Flynn for protection. Paddy is an enforcer in the Irish Mafia, so the Italians couldn’t get to Lauren. Instead, they smashed up her apartment back in Dot. The one across the hall from mine.
I bite back a sigh. I miss my apartment. It was a nice little two-bedder, and I kept it tidy. But I mistakenly thought the sun rose and set out of Hamish MacLauchlan’s ass and let him on my lease.
Not a month later, the prick was tossing me out onmyass, and I’ve been couch surfing ever since. Low keeps trying to get me to move in with her and Paddy, but they onlyjustgot married.
Being around their sappiness twenty-four-seven would have me slashing at my wrists. I’m happy for the girl, but no, thank you.
She’s come through for me now. I needed a job and a place to live. My boss was best friends with Hamish, so I got my pink slip the day after Hamish dumped me. Good times.
But Low found me thisamazinggig. Live in housekeeper. West Roxbury. Apparently, I even get to run around in a nice little sedan, all part of the employment package. The only catch is that he’s in the Irish Mafia, and I need to keep my trap shut. Can do. I grew up in Dot. Keeping my mouth shut is second nature to me.
The three of us slide out of the SUV, and Paddy moves to the trunk to unload my bags. I look up at the house again. It is a gorgeous Victorian, landscaped to sit high off the street, three stories in dark siding with deep-red trim.
I sigh over the huge bay windows off the side of the first two stories. I’m moving into a fairytale. There’s even a cute little single-story cottage out the back, separate from the house, next to the drive, made to match the main house.
Paddy’s voice cuts across me as I smile at it, wondering if it is a man-cave or something. He might be syrupy sweet with Low, but his voice is dark and hard with me.
“That’s off-limits,” he says stiffly. “You don’t go in there. Ever.”
I nod jerkily to him, casting an uneasy glance over at Low, who shrugs at me.
“Mafia business,” she mouths. I swallow roughly. Good to know. I will be pretending there is nothing but empty space out here.
When Hamish kicked me out, he graciously gave me enough time to shove most of my belongings into three mid-sized suitcases and an overnight bag, which Paddy is unloading now.
He slings the overnight bag over his shoulder, and we each grab a suitcase as he lets us into the house, handing me the set of keys.
