Hustle: The Doyles: A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Read online

  “You can smell it,” she laughs “Isn’t that enough, Seamus?”

  “Mmm, rotting trash and algae. So, anchovy pizza?”

  She laughs again, light and musical. She’s always been generous with her laughter. Something tightens in my chest at the sound. As frustrated as I am about the Stacys and her tattoo shop, I’m glad to be here with her. In a way it’s like old times and it’s not often that I feel anything approaching relaxed these days.

  It’s all too easy to forget why I can never be with a woman like Evelyn. Why I can never be with Evelyn specifically.

  The pizza joint is one we’ve been going to since grade school, though I haven’t been in years. The door jingles overhead as we open it, and the big-bellied Italian owner greets us warmly.

  “Evi! Hello, angel! Santa Maria, is that you, Seamus? You look like you’ve got deep pockets in that suit, son. Here to buy this pretty lady some pizza?” His eyes twinkle the exact same way they have for the last twenty years. I’m not just fighting the Stacys for my father or for Evi. It’s for the people that make up the fabric of this city.

  “Hi, Rico. And yes, I am. I’m working with Evelyn on blocking the redevelopment.”

  He clasps his hands in prayer. “Good, my boy, good! Then the garlic knots are on me. The Santuccis sold out already,” he bites his thumb and pretends to spit on the ground.

  “Cowards.”

  “Rico,” Evi says, moving gracefully toward him and placing her slender hand on his meaty forearm. “You know the Santuccis don’t have any children. They don’t have any money to fight with. They had to sell.”

  His face crinkles, some of the anger dissolving at her words.

  “You’re too sweet, Evi. Maybe they were smart. But the goddamn Stacys are going to take this block by hook or by crook.”

  “Mostly by crook,” Evi nods.

  “By eminent domain,” I insert. That’s the problem. Everyone here wants to talk about prayers and fighting and good vs. evil.

  It’s just business. Law, business, and property: exactly the language I understand and know how to fight. How to win.

  If Evelyn will let me, that is.

  The developer that’s making a play for the area and buying up waterfront property is from one of Boston’s richest and most corrupt families. It doesn’t hurt that the developer’s brother is the sitting mayor. The honorable mayor isn’t above helping out with legal action when owners say no.

  Southie’s city councilors are fighting tooth and nail, but corruption runs deep in Boston politics. And let’s face it, the idea of “economic development” is enticing. Their development will displace more than just these shops when the rents skyrocket.

  “You’ll fix that, Seamus,” Rico says, nodding emphatically. “Okay now, what kind of pizza will it be? You kids used to be big fans of pepper and onion?”

  “That’ll be great,” Evelyn says as we slide into a booth near the front of the restaurant.

  Rico heads off to the kitchen, and I’m left with a slightly uncomfortable feeling that I get when I’m out of my element. It’s not too often I find myself in an aging pizza joint these days. It’s textbook neighborhood Italian, right down to the checkered red and white plastic tablecloths.

  “I’m not letting those fuckers get my shop or Rico’s or any other place in this neighborhood,” Evelyn says, her voice a whisper. “Seamus, I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

  Now is my chance to see if I can bridge this chasm, and make Evelyn see reason. Not that we have a great history of that working out great.

  On one level, her defiance and independence are maddening. On another, it’s alluring as hell.

  “They’ve got a lot of power.” I reach out and tentatively put my hand over hers. Her nails are painted a bright blue. Electricity shoots through my body, a razor’s edge of desire, at the skin-on-skin contact. “But I think if we sue them…”

  “Fuck that, Seamus,” she snatches her hands away. “You’re always playing it safe. I’m going to send them a message.”

  The familiar blanket of cold reserve settles over me, and I work hard to ignore that my hand still burns where we touched. I sit back in the booth to put some distance between us. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  She twirls a black studded bracelet around her wrist. “You’re not the only one who knows people, Seamus. The Carneys have interest in this as well.”

  I don’t know whether to punch something or laugh.

  “Oh, come on,” I sigh, exasperated already. “You can’t go all hard-core mafia on this. It’ll play right into their hands. Both the Carneys and the Stacys. Neither have your interests at heart.”

  “Look at who’s telling me to keep my nose clean,” she crosses her arms across her chest.

  “It’s me you’re talking to, Seamus. Charging your clients five hundred bucks an hour to make them think you’re fancy doesn’t change the fact that you’re a Southie hood rat just like me, and your father’s the legendary fucking boss of organized crime around here.” Her voice cracks. “For now, anyway. Soon, I mean we won’t even have Murphy looking out for us anymore. And neither of us want to let him down.”

  I flinch and a sick feeling twists my stomach. My father’s cancer is progressing. It won’t be too long now.

  The fact that she’s bringing it up is a stark reminder of Evelyn’s lack of self-control. The passion. The intensity. The temper. But there’s fear there, too, and I know she’s not the only one feeling it. Or the pressure to make my father proud.

  She seems taken aback that I’ve flinched. “Oh, fuck, Seamus, I’m sorry,” she says. “I was just running my mouth. I didn’t mean to pile on.”

  It doesn’t lessen the sting, but I’m world class at keeping things in perspective. I have my brothers, at least. I’m not sure if she has anyone given how talented she is at pushing people away.

  As I look at her, a flush creeping up her cheeks, I feel like I’m eighteen again and half in love with a girl that’s too wild, too unpredictable, and too unwilling to make compromises for this to work.

  There was a time when all I could imagine was fighting, getting out of here, making a way in the world.

  For Evelyn and me both.

  But I’d had so little to work with: my brains, my willingness to work hard, and a bigger vision than anyone around me. It was going to be an uphill battle all the way and I couldn’t fight for my place in the world if she was going to fight me every step of the way.

  Letting her go? The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

  On one level, all those things were what drew me like a moth to her flame. Even a decade later, even when I’ve sworn that I’ll never let myself get hurt by a woman like her again, it takes every bit of strength I have to honor that promise.

  But she’s the kind of X-factor I can’t afford at any level to disrupt my carefully organized life.

  The awkward moment is punctuated when Rico slides a pizza and garlic knots in front of us, with a pitcher of diet soda.

  “Eat up, kids!”

  He doesn’t notice the tension and leaves, whistling to himself.

  “You know how much I care about your dad,” Evi says. “He’s really important to me. I’m really sorry, Seamus. I’m just frustrated I’ve been fighting the Stacys for a long time. You know I built that place from the ground up when I had nothing.”

  Doesn’t she see that I’m fighting too?

  Nodding, I blow out a frustrated breath. That explosive temper always takes me by surprise. Not to mention the reactions it elicits from me.

  My world, my demeanor, everything I’m responsible for is predicated on one thing: my ability to stay calm and control my reactions at all times.

  A man with as much responsibility as I carry can’t just let loose when he wants to.

  “I know, Evelyn. So why didn’t you ask me for help? You know you can count on me.” Her soft hands slide toward mine, as if to reach out, but then she freezes before drawing back.

&nb
sp; “I have to do this myself, Seamus.”

  Of course she’d say that. She’d look across the table in some shitty diner over cheap pizza, and look at Boston’s most in-demand, Harvard-trained lawyer offering to help solve her problems. And dismiss him out of hand.

  That’s Evelyn. Badass, party of one, my brothers used to say. I try not to let my mind wander to the times when I’d thought that maybe, just maybe, we could have been a party of two.

  She picks up a piece of pizza. I can’t pry my eyes from her full cherry lips as she takes a full bite. “Goddamn, this is good.”

  Pizza’s not on my diet. The Doyles are big men, tall, and I take keeping fit very seriously. My eyes head up to the menu board to the look at the salads, and then back down to the pizza. Evi watches me carefully, like she knows what I’m thinking.

  Fine then. Pizza it is.

  I take off my suit jacket and roll up the sleeves of my white dress shirt. The dry cleaners will wonder what happened if they see pizza stains—it’s not my usual fare.

  But Evi’s right. It’s delicious. The crust is thick enough to support the toppings, but still crispy. The cheese is gooey with just the right amount of salt, and I close my eyes for a minute, enjoying the sauce with its gentle spice. When I open them, Evelyn is staring at me.

  She tilts her head, giving me a wicked little smile. There’s something in that look that has me contemplating undoing a button or two, as I’m suddenly hot under the collar.

  She reaches a hand up and softly wipes some sauce from the corner of my mouth.

  Holding my gaze steadily with those wide gray eyes, she slips her finger into her mouth. The sight, imagining how wet and warm her mouth would be on other things, goes right to my cock.

  Jesus Christ.

  That’s another reason I can’t trust myself with this one. She radiates a lethal, unself-conscious sex appeal that threatens to unravel my self-control. My wrought-iron, carefully shaped, ever present self-control.

  Her finger leaves her mouth, and she slowly traces the shamrock tattoo on my forearm. At her touch, a shiver of anticipation dances across my skin. “You need to eat more pizza, Seamus.”

  I won’t let her know the effect she’s having on my body.

  “It’s not very healthy,” I say tightly.

  Are we even talking about pizza?

  Her eyes snap up to mine. “No, I suppose not, but it’s fun. You used to be a lot more fun.”

  Her gaze is dangerous. I could lean forward, capture her lips with mine, and show her what fun looks like. But I can’t let her make me lose control. Not again. She needs me cool and collected, even if she likes to see me break.

  “Fun like the Carneys?” I reach for a garlic knot and pop it into my mouth. Butter, garlic, and salty bread explode into the best flavor I’ve tasted in years.

  The moment breaks, and something passes over her eyes.

  “They’re doers, Seamus. You’re all talk.” She grabs another piece of pizza and bites into it with a ferocity that’s not directed at the pizza.

  I try not to imagine her biting me with the same intensity.

  “I get shit done too, Evelyn. I’m just smart about it.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. But I don’t care in that moment. Something in me wants to hit a nerve, strike a chord, remind her who she’s dealing with.

  “I’m an idiot, then? You are such an arrogant asshole, Seamus. It’s why none of those ice-blonde rich girls you date ever stick around. You come around this neighborhood acting like your shit don’t stink and think you can talk to me like that, Mr. Harvard Law School? Fuck you,” she starts to shove out of the booth.

  “I told you I’ll be taking care of this myself.”

  Why has Evelyn been paying attention to who I’ve been dating? I reach out and wrap my fingers, as gently as I can, around her wrist.

  “Evelyn,” I begin.

  “Evi,” she snaps. “You don’t get to change my name.”

  “Evi,” I concede. “Can we just try to work together? Please?”

  She’s just about to throw the pizza in my face when the front door jingles open. For a second, I’d been so wrapped up in this argument, so wrapped up in Evi, that I’d forgotten where we are. The kind of mistake that a man like me can never afford.

  As the man walks in, it takes a second to recognize him: one of Stacy’s goons. A city inspector on his payroll. I’m sure he’s here to find some violations.

  “Jerry,” I say smoothly, sliding out of the booth. “What brings you to my neighborhood on this fine evening?”

  My smile is wolfish.

  Jerry stops, his droopy jowls shaking in surprise as his mouth opens. “Mr. Doyle. What are you doing here?”

  Good. I always enjoy the element of surprise.

  “Jerry, you know this is my neighborhood,” I walk toward him, reaching out to pat his shoulder. He’s not much to look at, but his power isn’t in his body. It’s in his ability to shut down places, sometimes legitimately, sometimes not.

  His eyes flash defiantly, and he wrenches away from my touch. I don’t back up to give him space.

  “I was just coming for…” his eyes track from Evelyn to Rico, who both glare. “My wife ordered some pizza, but I think it may be from another shop.”

  The edge dissolves into discomfort. Perfect.

  “And how is Carol?” I ask, giving him an expansive smile. “I hope she’s not still spending all her time at the card tables. It’s shocking the kind of debt you can get into at those establishments.” The state’s new gambling operations have sent quite a few people my family’s way for help, and Carol still owes my family quite a bit of money.

  Our eyes meet, and after a long second he looks away in submission.

  “She’s great, Mr. Doyle. Just great. Anyway, I’d better go. Good seeing you,” He nods at Rico, scurrying out like the rat he is.

  Evelyn sighs as she steps up next to me. Her nearness distracts me from the sense that victory, that what I want, is within reach. Jerry’s little surprise visit couldn’t have been timed better.

  “I guess working together might be okay, Doyle.”

  I try not to smirk at her. “Let’s get a box for that pizza.”

  3

  Evi

  Looking in the mirror, I slide bright red lipstick on and pop my lips.

  Body art and makeup: They layer between me and the world like armor. Even my tattoos are carefully crafted, lovingly designed, and woven through with intentions.

  Getting my full sleeve tattoos done took forever. But I’m covered in flowers all the time, and of course, my Empress.

  The Empress Tarot card: abundance. Creativity. A new life. All things I’d needed so badly in my life at the time I discovered her.

  I’d named my tattoo shop after her, and she’s the centerpiece of my left sleeve tattoo design. When I was lost, she’d found me.

  It’d been a rough time. I was a kid, eighteen, when Seamus Doyle walked out of my life, again, this time pissed I wasn’t going to college. Hell, he never stopped to consider that I’d barely passed high school.

  That’s Seamus: so tied up in the possibilities that he didn’t stop to think about whether those possibilities were something you actually wanted. He is so focused on the future he misses the present.

  And in that moment, we’d both lost something.

  Seamus had been my rock. The friend I could trust, an anchor to the big family I never had. A little uptight? Sure. But he carried too much on his shoulders even then. Sometimes though, his tunnel vision for how things should be caused him to miss what was right in front of him.

  Like me. Just exactly the way I am. No matter how hard I fight, I can’t keep memories of that day from flooding back. Even after all these years.

  It’s a beach that’s not too far from where the Doyles live, but just far enough that Seamus can get away.

  He always wants to get away.

  I don’t mind a change of scenery. But I’m better at just find
ing my place wherever I am.

  It’s still icy cold spring, and I pull my threadbare jacket closer around my body against the chill. Goodwill doesn’t exactly have the best options, and I’m not wearing that church-donated shit. Not after the original owner saw me in class and mocked me for three weeks straight.

  Fuck them. I’d rather freeze.

  The wind pulls my long dark hair forward, catching a tendril and making it dance, before it drops and starts again.

  Someday, when my mother can’t stop me, I’m going to cut it all off.

  Seamus paces, anger and frustration and something else boiling just below the surface. He’s got an envelope clutched in his hand. Finally, he spins and looks at me.

  The force of those electric blue eyes sets every nerve ending in my body on high alert. His hair, lighter than his brothers’, flops down over his eyes before he impatiently shoves it back.

  That’s Seamus. Always impatient. Always meticulous. Always striving for the next thing.

  “I got into Harvard.” He grits it out.

  Waves of competing emotions sweep over me. Elation; I’m so proud of what he’s achieved. It’s a big deal for kids like us to go anywhere, never mind fucking Harvard. Confusion. Why does he sound mad? And the beginning edges of something else, like fear and sadness and anger that roll into a single emotion.

  Desolation.

  Because it’s right there, the beginning of the tear in the fabric of our friendship, relationship, whatever the hell this is, that’s going to send us in different directions.

  “Say something, Evelyn.” He takes several steps in my direction, so close I could reach out and touch him.

  I don’t. But I want to and it’s taking every ounce of control I have not to throw my arms around him and hold on with everything I’ve got.

  “I’m so proud of you.” My voice is so quiet it’s barely audible over the crashing waves and insistent ocean wind.

  His eyes soften, the hard, intense mask that he wears slipping. I’ve never met a more complicated person than Seamus. Layers upon layers, a constant unraveling at odds with his need to put up walls.