Prologue
Caitlin
New York City, twenty-nine years ago...
He left. Again. Every fucking night he walks out and doesn’t come back until late. I don’t know why he even married me. Yes, I do. My father.He is the reason for everything that’s wrong in my life.
Eamon O’Malley may have been the legitimate son of Casper O’Malley, the former head of the IRA, but he was a fucking bastard.
And I was the youngest of his bastard children.
That we knew of, anyway.
There was no telling how many children my father had spread throughout the world. I wanted to hate him. And I did, but I loved him too. I knew he loved me. He treated me better than he did Sal.
Braesal O’Malley was my older brother. We had different mothers, but they made sure my brother and I grew up together. They fostered a relationship between the two of us. My mother, Brona, and Sal’s mother, Kathleen, had been friends until Kathleen, together with her husband and son, moved south.
Sal was the heir to the throne, so to speak. And for that reason, my father was hard on him. He expected more from my brother than from anyone else in the family or theorganization. Even Eduardo had a better relationship with our father than Sal did.
Eduardo was an Italian from New York. No one understood why my father had brought him into the fold. Eamon hated the Italians. Almost as much as he hated the Russians. I had my suspicions, but he would never admit it.
Not to me. Not to his daughter. It didn’t matter that I was smarter than both Sal and Eduardo. I didn’t have a dick; therefore, I was only good for one thing.
Alliances.
That was how I found myself married to a man who wanted nothing to do with me. Oh, we had sex. He certainly got his fill of that. I didn’t. Nolan couldn’t find a clit if he were given a map and led there with a giant flashing red arrow.
So here I was, married six months, and the only orgasms I had, I had given to myself.
I didn’t have many friends. Not close friends anyway. There was Maureen; she was only two years younger than me, but she was engaged to Duane. Duncan’s younger brother. Duncan was a friend of Sal’s. I couldn’t risk the chain of custody with regard to my secrets.
Duncan had an older sister, Darcy. Darcy was my friend. And despite being Sal’s girlfriend, I’d trusted her.
I missed Darcy. If she were here, I could talk to her. But she’d left. Run off a few years back. Not a word to anyone. Maybe I should run off. My father refused to look for her. No matter how much Sal pleaded.
I wondered whether my father would look for me.
I knew my husband wouldn’t.
Standing at the kitchen sink, with my hands in a dishpan of soapy water, I stared out the window into the backyard. I didn’t want to live this life. I didn’t want to be in a loveless marriage.
Shaking my head, I rinsed my hands and dried them on a towel as I made a decision. If my husband could go out and do whatever the hell he wanted, then I would as well.
After all, I was my father’s daughter. Why was it only the men who got to have all the fun?
I went upstairs to my closet and searched through my clothes. Having found the dress I wanted, I quickly showered, dried my hair, and put on my makeup. I grabbed my sluttiest heels and went out for a night on the town.
I couldn’t stay in the city. That was a given. Everyone here knew who I was. No one would approach me. Everyone in the city knew who my husband was; it was the reason he’d pursued me. He wanted to run the family in New York, and marrying the boss’ daughter was the easiest way to achieve that.
I climbed into my car and drove east to Connecticut. No one would recognize me there. I knew Nolan wouldn’t be home tonight. He always stayed out on Tuesday evenings. He thought I didn’t know about his many mistresses.
I just didn’t care.
The only reason he even had sex with me was because he wanted an heir. Someone to mold, like my father. God, I hated this life.
I should run. I should drive south and just keep driving. Maybe move out west. I’d heard California was nice. That would take more planning than a trip outside the city.
Tonight, I was only looking for one thing: someone who could make my toes curl and my eyes pop out of my head.
