Exploding: A Mafia Romance (The O'Keefe Family Collection #1) (3 page)

“
Y
ou two really need a third
person. One who’s actually on the clock, not abducted patrons,” James observed, taking in the line that never seemed to shrink. With every customer he served, it seemed two more were added to the line.

“Agreed. Would you like to try our freshly baked éclairs, Miss?” Jen helped three people in the time it took James to organize the customers into two lines: one for just coffee, and the other for extra purchases. “Wow. Not bad,” Jen commented to James, noticing how much easier the line would be to pare down if they picked off the customers in their respective lines.

“I have my moments.”

“Excuse me, I’m in a hurry. I can get coffee anywhere else, you know,” a nasally woman with jet black hair said to James. “I mean, seriously. I think I should get a free muffin for my wait.”

“Muffins really won’t help your weight,” Jen murmured under her breath, causing James to chuckle.

James took her order, narrowing his eyes as he poured the four coffees and set them in a to-go container he found under the counter. “Are people always this rude?” he asked Jen, ignoring the woman’s huff that there was no free muffin offered.

“The ones that cut in line, or the ones who try to steal from my best friend?”

“Aren’t we past that by now? Haven’t I made up for my terrible crime?” He motioned to his apron and then faced the next customer with a pleasant smile. “How long have you two known each other?” he asked as he filled two more cups of coffee.

“Fifteen years. Met when we were in grade school.”

“That makes you… how old?”

James was not the first man to round about fish for information about her best friend. “It makes Fallyn too young for you. You’re forty, right?”

James narrowed his eyes at Jen. “I’m thirty-two, but thanks for that. Am I that obvious?”

Jen shrugged. “You’re not the first. First today, but it’s still early. Best of luck to you. She’s got half a football team that runs interference if any guy even comes close to asking her out. She wouldn’t know a proposition if you wrote it in the sky. Sweet, but zip experience with men, thanks to her brothers.”

“Yeah, I tried asking her out, and she barely heard me.”

“That’s my girl. She doesn’t notice when guys ask her out, and her seven older brothers are prepared to do away with the ones that do. Hope you’ve got good health insurance.”

James frowned. He rarely had to even ask women to come home with him. Usually just a dance and a jerk of his chin toward the exit, and his night was set. No personal details, no phone numbers. Sometimes not even names. James worked hard, and didn’t have the patience for details that didn’t matter in the long run. The younger girls were sometimes the best to take home. Their sexual acrobatics aside, they didn’t linger in the morning or expect a call. Something told him that Fallyn wouldn’t be so easy to catch and release.

Fallyn came out with a basket full of warm muffins to restock the case, pecking Jen on the cheek. She was filled with gratitude that Jen had taken the job to help her with the store. “Are you running low on anything else?”

“Coffee probably,” James answered. “But I can make more in a second.”

“Éclairs are selling fast.” Jen helped Fallyn unload the muffins that went in the display case. “You want to show the new kid where we keep the coffee grounds?”

James shot Jen a brief look of gratitude at throwing Fallyn his way. The coffeemaker was too tall for her to reach the top, so she scooted the stool over with her pink heel. She took his hand to step atop it gracefully and cradled the heavy bag of coffee in her other arm. “Thanks. Everything’s right up here,” she said, reaching to open the lid so she could pour more grounds inside. Fallyn wobbled on the stool, so James pressed his hand to her hip to steady her, taking in a clean shot of her hint of eye-level cleavage tucked inside her modest, yet still sexy dress.

“You there! Hands off! Eyes front!” boomed a voice from the back of the line.

Fallyn gasped as her second oldest brother made his way to the counter. “Declan! What are you doing here?” She scrambled off the stool and ran for her brother, crashing into his midsection with a ferocious hug. “Come on back and see the kitchen! It’s just the way I want it now.”

Declan was almost as tall as James at a solid six foot. His auburn hair matched the hue of his sister’s, but while her face was given to smiling, his was not – at least, not around strangers who had the glad eye for his sister. He pointed two fingers to his eyes, and then turned them to James. “I’m watching you,” he mouthed while his sister’s face was buried in his shoulder.

James quirked an eyebrow at the man in the fitted leather jacket. “I think that’s my cue. Been a pleasure, ladies, but I have a job all my own to get to.” He took off the apron and handed it to Fallyn, but Declan intercepted it.

“I can help her from here. Find a new toy, man.” Declan’s arm around his sister’s shoulders took on a protective purpose, and the edge in his set jaw was meant for one goal – intimidation.

Fallyn rolled her eyes at her brother, taking the apron from him and looping it over her head. “This isn’t a toy, it’s a real apron. See my logo?” She showed her brother the front of the bib where the store’s name had been printed in teal and brown.

“That’s nice, Fallyn.”

“Go on back. I’ll meet you in there in a second.”

Declan had left James and his roving hands unchecked and unbroken, so his frown lasted a few extra beats. “Get that guy out of here, or I’ll kick him out for you.”

She reached up and pecked his cheek, sending him back with his scowl firmly in place. “I know, I know. You’re super scary.” After Declan left for the backroom, Fallyn turned to the cash register and opened it, pulling out a twenty. She folded it into James’s hand, smirking at his confusion. “For your help this morning. Thank you. Really, you saved us.”

James grimaced at being handed cash and pushed it back into Fallyn’s hand. “My pleasure.”

“No, seriously. Take the money. You more than earned it.”

“I’m never going to take that. Doesn’t feel right. You’re a new business, and I don’t actually work here.”

“Let me send you off with breakfast, at least.” Fallyn opened a to-go bag and placed a blueberry and a banana nut muffin inside, slipping in the twenty so it stuck out between the two napkins. “Here you are.” She pretended to scold him with her sparkling eyes. “Now, I hope this taught you a lesson about cutting in line.”

He cast her a sexy grin. “Yes, only do it when there’s a prospect of getting a date out of the deal.”

Fallyn paused, and then giggled, “Jen, I hope you don’t have plans for tonight. I think new guy wants to ask you out.”

Jen turned to James and shrugged as Fallyn scampered off into the backroom to see her brother. “Told you so,” Jen muttered.

D
eclan left
after an hour of helping his sister, a coffee and muffin in hand. Fallyn went back to work in the kitchen to replenish the baked goods during the midmorning lull. She whipped around her kitchen in her bare feet, not slowing until Jen came through the door, her fingers twisting in angst. She only ever lost her brassy attitude when family drama between the O’Keefes and the D’Amatos came into play. “Vince is here. He’s asking for you. You want me to call the cops? Should I call Carrigan?”

Fallyn swallowed, fighting to remain calm. “No. I’ll take care of it. You want to send him on back?”

Jen pursed her lips. “No, but I will if that’s what you want. I’m calling Killian, just in case.”

“No. Don’t call anyone. This is trial and error. If we treat them like a fight’s coming, one’ll find us for sure. Send him back. If I don’t come out in five, you can call Killian then.” She held up her finger. “Killian, not the cops.” Her friend was about to go back out to face the customers with a terrified expression on her face. “Smile, Jen. Everything’s fine. I bought this store because it was in neutral territory. We have every right to be here.”

Jen shook her head as she readied herself to face the man who had always scared her. “I don’t think that matters as much to the D’Amatos as you’re hoping it does.”

Fallyn took a few calming breaths, standing up straight and reminding herself that she was a business owner, and Vince was a customer. It didn’t matter that their families had been feuding for a decade and a half. It didn’t matter that someone affiliated with her family had been questioned in the death of Papa D, The D’Amato patriarch. The years of territory disputes, fist fights, gun fights, drug wars and personal vendettas didn’t matter. She was surrounded by muffins and sugar, and she could be just as sweet. That was all that mattered.

Vince strolled into the backroom with his shoulders back and a bouquet of lilies clutched in his fist. “Hey, Little Keefer. Quite a place you’ve got here.” His voice was deep and even. He walked with his shoulders rolled back as if the number of murders under his belt did absolutely nothing to bog him down.

“Vince.” She took in his short black hair that was always too perfectly in place, his tall stature backed by hard muscles that were built by an adolescence of carrying out his father’s back alley deals. He wore a permanently stoic expression that always seemed to be soaking things in for devising ruthless brutality at a later date.

“I brought you these.” He displayed the flowers he clutched in his hand, holding onto them when he took in her shock.

Fallyn’s mouth fell open, her expression calculating Vince for false moves. She’d been expecting veiled threats or out and out aggression, not a beautiful bouquet. “You brought me flowers? I don’t understand. You’ve n-never brought us flowers before.” Slowly she took the large bouquet from the towering Italian. His fingernails were cut short, tolerating no imperfections or wastes of his time. He wore his usual white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled exactly to his elbows, and black pressed pants with the same map of Italy silver belt buckle the D’Amatos all wore. He had always been finicky for the details. His ice blue eyes took in the flour smudges on her face and dress with a noticeable amount of discomfort, looking like a wolf deciding how best to play with Bambi before taking her down. Fallyn met his gaze, refusing to feel small in his presence, though in her bare feet, she was exactly that. “Your whole family spat on my mother’s casket, but you’re bringing me flowers?”

“Papa D left the family business to me, and I’m tired of burying people. Aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve been trying to make peace for years, but you never seemed up for it. Now you’re bringing me flowers?”

Tired of holding onto the declaration of a truce, Vince laid the bouquet on the employee desk. “I guess I am. You’re well within your rights to open a store here. Killian and I have an understanding. I trust you’re keeping everything above board?”

Fallyn raised her chin defiantly, knowing her sass made her look every bit the twelve years younger than him she was. “Our family never dealt.”

His lower lip tightened. “I’m well aware. I was talking about the loan sharking. None of that going on through here?”

Fallyn took a steadying breath. “Killian’s moving the family business away from sharking so he can dole out more reasonable loans, and I was never involved in any of that when we did. You know that. It’s just a bakery, nothing more.”

“We stopped dealing, too. I was just checking.”

“You can check with Killian. You know he’s in charge.”

“Yes, but I can tell if you’re lying to me or not. With them, it’s anybody’s guess. I want things to stay peaceful. With one look, you’re an open book.” He motioned around the kitchen. “More things like this happening is what I want.” He lowered his gaze to hers, piercing her with his icy stare that was both scrutinizing and superior. “Joey told me he was here last week. Did he cause any trouble?”

“No, but he probably should stay away for a bit. He showed up fishing for trouble, and Danny and Carrigan almost gave him exactly that.”

Vince narrowed his eyes at her, cocking his head to the side. “You’re giving me advice? Little Keefer’s telling the D’Amato in charge how to handle his people?”

“You sound like a pompous prick when you talk like that,” she warned him with a hint of exasperation in her tone, her angst giving way to her personality she could no longer keep at bay under the guise of professionalism. “Look, I don’t care if Joey eats here, but you know how my brothers can be.” She leaned her hip on the counter and crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “If you’re really interested in keeping the peace, Joey hanging around here isn’t the best way to make that happen. Your call, though. He’s your brother.”

Vince nodded once, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “I’ll see to it he stays away until things between our sides are more stable.”

“Good call, boss.” Fallyn tossed him a small smile, which he returned. They were both a little surprised that they were able to speak so candidly. Things had not always been so simple and straightforward, but without the pressure from the members of their families who were always begging for war, they were able to have a real conversation. “Have a seat, Vince.”

“I’m good here.”

Fallyn rolled her eyes and pointed to the stool near the island in the center of the kitchen. “I’m not going to Columbian necktie you. Just sit down and try something for me.”

Vince examined the stool and dusted it off before indulging her. “Everything in your kitchen is covered in flour. It’s a wonder you can find the sink at all.”

Fallyn plated a freshly baked éclair and handed it to him. “Try it. Just made it a few minutes ago. You brought me flowers, so you can have my peace offering. Then we’re square.”

Vince examined the pastry to see if it had suspect intentions. “Did you do anything to this?”

Fallyn leaned over so her face was a foot from his, her eyes on his level so he could see there was no lie in her intentions. “I made it with my own hands. If you turn that down, I’ll take it as an insult, and you can wear your flowers and the éclair home, boss man.”

Vince scrutinized her face for tells, not taking his eyes from hers as he took his first bite. It was only the taste of fresh cream and warm ganache that tore his gaze from her. “Wow. What’s in this? I mean, it’s no cannoli, but it’s good.”

Fallyn scoffed. “Good? I’ll show you good. One day, I’ll make you a cannoli so amazing, you’ll swear it came straight from Italy.”

“An Irish girl making cannolis? I’ll believe it when I see it.” He shoved the entire remainder of the pastry in his mouth, groaning in satisfaction just to make her smile.

“That’s more like it,” she grinned, grateful that the veil of distance was dropping from between them. “Huh. I think for a second there you had an actual expression. Didn’t think it was possible for you to break away from that emotionless death glare you do at all hours of the day.” She mimicked his stoic stare, and then broke into a broad smile.

He smirked at her needling. “Yeah, well, you’ve always been the one better at smiling. Think I’ll save it for the pros.”

“Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It almost was.”

Then before Vince could talk about business or territory disputes, she whirled around and stirred a pot that had just begun to boil. “Oh, shoot! It wasn’t supposed to do that. I always burn the first batch of caramel. I blame you for throwing me off my game with those flowers.”

“The heat’s too high,” he told her, pointing to the burner.

“Is not. You just distracted me, so I didn’t stir it enough.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m telling you, the heat’s too high. Mama didn’t do it like that.”

Fallyn cast him a simpering expression. “Yes, please tell me how your saint of a mother made caramel. Did Mama Antonia pass down the family secret to your girlfriend?”

“Maria doesn’t cook. She’s more the bedroom type than the kitchen type.”

Fallyn donned a wistful expression and clasped her hands under her chin. “Ah, one day I hope to have my very own knight in shining armor who says all kinds of degrading things to me, too. One day.” Fallyn smirked at Vince’s snigger. “Is that how Maria wooed you? Her bedroom acrobatics made you forget that she doesn’t know how to boil water?”

Vince chuckled, a deep and velvety sound Fallyn had been endeared to when she’d been a child. She hadn’t heard him laugh in years. “Maria woos me, yes. She has all sorts of things that keep me coming back against my better judgment.”

“Thing one and thing two?” Fallyn asked, motioning to her breasts.

Vince barked out a laugh, looking years younger as a genuine smile washed over him. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Fallyn watched his cool demeanor fall to the wayside. “Huh. You look younger when you’re happy. Haven’t seen you look like that in a long time, kiddo. A smile looks good on you.”

Vince blanched. “Kiddo? I’m twelve years older than you!” The smile he’d not accessed in ages spread across his sculpted lips, revealing a roguish dimple in his left cheek. “I guess it has been a while since I’ve had a good laugh.”

“That’s a shame. That’s the thing about all work and no play. See that you schedule yourself some time to just be. If you’re anything like Killian when he took over for Daddy, you’re no doubt running yourself ragged. You’ll be no good to Maria like that – in the kitchen or the bedroom.”

“You brought back a mouth when you came home, Little Keefer. A mouth and no shoes.” He pointed to her bare feet. “I remember you mousier, running upstairs whenever Papa D and I came over.”

“That’s the thing about men with guns.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, dumping the ruined caramel and starting over with fresh ingredients. “I’m home now. You can stop by for éclairs whenever you like, but keep the others away until the truce sticks for more than a few months.” She motioned to the fridge. “Grab the cream for me?”

Vince moved to the fridge, unsure how it was that he found himself helping the O’Keefe girl in the kitchen. “Where’s your double boiler?”

“Just dump it in the pot. I don’t need a double boiler for caramel.”

Vince rolled his eyes at her and fished around under the counter for a medium-sized steel mixing bowl. “See? That’s your problem. You’re taking shortcuts. You have to use a double boiler, or the cream will heat unevenly and much too fast. I thought you studied cooking in school.”

“Um, I know you’re not criticizing my food. You just had my éclair shoved in your mouth two seconds ago, and you were begging for more.”

“Begging?” His eyebrows rose, astonished at the ease of her moxie and how endearing he found her playful fights. “I didn’t beg.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Fallyn, I thought I knew what life was about until I tasted your éclair. Now I know how foolish I was to call anything before it a life. Please give me more. Please, I beg of you! Beautiful woman, give me more of your baking!’” Fallyn shrugged. “I mean, I thought you were being a little dramatic, but it’s cool.”

Vince laughed. “I said all that, did I?”

“I’d be willing to sign an affidavit to that effect.”

He filled the pot with an inch of water and set the mixing bowl on top, pouring the cream inside and turning on the flame. “Begging’s one thing you’ll never hear me do. See? Now it won’t scald.” He shook his head to scold her, looking down on her demure smile that had never looked more appealing or left him more confused. “Caramel without a double boiler? Irish girls.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re the king of baking?”

“I own four restaurant chains!” he reminded her, incredulous she was mocking him with a scandalous smirk on her pink lips. Everyone in his life aside from his girlfriend and his family was too afraid of him to tease him, and his girlfriend and family didn’t have that playful desire in them. “You’re something else, Little Keefer.”

“A little tip from me to you on women? Once we’ve graduated from pigtails, we don’t like to be called ‘little’ anything. I’m twenty-five.” When Vince went to add the brown sugar, Fallyn stopped him. “Wait, I have to add the cayenne next. I have a system.”

Vince scoffed. “A broken system. Cayenne doesn’t belong in caramel, Litt—Fallyn.”

“He can be taught!” she declared, reaching down the shaker of cayenne pepper and unscrewing the lid. She toed her heels back on so she didn’t feel so dwarfed in her own kitchen. “Scoot over.”

Vince shook his head with wide eyes. “Not a chance. I’m emotionally invested in this caramel now. I may just take the whole pot home with me once I finish fixing what you broke. Don’t even think about doing that to your customers. They’ll revolt.”

“Whatever, V. It’s my kitchen. This whole enchilada belongs to little old me. If I wanted to put ketchup, mayonnaise and pickles in the caramel, I guess that’d be my prerogative.” She bumped his side with her hip. “Scoot over.”

“You put pickles in this, and I’m throwing it out.” He bumped her side in return, laughing at the silliness of it all. He hadn’t joked so easily in years, perhaps too many years that had stacked on top of each other like mindless work horses, ready for only the next day, but not for the possibility of anything brighter. He fought with her hip, laughing and dodging her elbow as she giggled her way between him and the stove, edging him out with her backside. He wrestled with her wrist, trying to twist the spice out of her hand before she ruined his dessert. He thrilled at the joy of the moment, wishing everything in life came this easy. He couldn’t remember the last time Maria had made him laugh, or the last time he’d smiled at anything that wasn’t vindictive.