Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

“Murphy entered the life and he fought his way to the top. He took control and he was smart. He is smart. He pursued legitimate businesses. He made the right connections. And now… He’s built the mob into something new, something this city’s never seen before. Murphy’s men do what’s necessary to keep the streets clean, but crime? Fuck no. Pardon my language, Mols.”

I giggle, shaking my head. “It’s fine.”

“Now Murphy is a – I don’t know – a businessman, a protector, a quasi-politician. Whatever he is, this city’s a hell of a lot safer with him than without him.”

“Because if he wasn’t there, more dangerous men would take over?”

Dad stares at me for a moment, his eyes hard. “More dangerous men? No, Molly, no. Murphy is the most dangerous man. That’s why he’s on top. He’s just learned to – what would you say – tame his instincts, I guess. He’s learned to hold back that violent part of him. But if he has to be, he’ll be ruthless. But only to those who deserve it.”

My thoughts shiver between glowing belonging at the thought of Murphy being savage enough to protect us, and hateful regret that he’s had to unleash that part of himself.

“Who deserves it?” I say, glancing around the break room, but it’s empty now apart from us. I don’t want to get caught talking about Murphy at work.

“Evil people, Molly. People who do things to children. Murderers.”

“And you can still be his friend?” I murmur. “Even knowing he’s killed, people?”

Now it’s Dad who looks around, his face hardening when he sees we’re alone. He meets my eye again, slowly, and then gives a stiff nod.

“Of course I can. I know Murphy better than anyone. He’s the most decent man I’ve ever met, even if he’s had to live outside the rules to make this world a better place.”

I stare out of the window again, at the glittering city. I must be tired – or maybe it’s nerves making my eyes go crazy – because the lights seem to dance across my vision, making images.

I see a blazing silhouette of Murphy with his powerful arms wrapped around me, holding me so tight nothing can ever hurt me.

Our children shimmer around us, leaning into the group hug… And in the back, a sun-made Dad smiles over us all.

But no. He wouldn’t.

If I told him now, he’d hate me. He’d hate Murphy.

Wouldn’t he?

“Dad,” I say, turning back to him.

He nods, running a hand through his thinning hair and twisting in his seat to look at the door. He’s clearly consumed with the job interview and half paying attention to this conversation.

“Yes, Mols?” he says, in the same tone he used to use when I was a kid and would ask why over and over.

“Why isn’t Murphy married?”

I expect him to spin on me, eyes narrowed, saying, Why do you want to know? Do you want to marry him? What the fuck’s wrong with you? He’s my best friend. We were just talking about how much he means to me and now you’re going to fuck him.

My heart pumps treacherously in my chest, but Dad chuckles.

“Who would he marry?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m just curious. Most billionaires are married, aren’t they?”

I don’t know if this is true, but I watch Dad to see if he corrects the b in billionaire, but he just nods.

Whirring sizzling heat moves through my chest, my womb infusing my body with a homemaker’s essence, as I think about our family being provided for, never having to worry about rent and eviction and debt the way I did with Dad. And yet he’d never take all the help Murphy offered.

I’m not as proud as Dad.

I love Murphy.

Holy shit.

I love him.

It flutters around my mind, battering wings of impossibility. I can’t love so thunderously, so quickly, can I? But it feels like the truth, a warm balm over my aching heart.

It’s him. It was always him.

I crushed and now I love.

“Molly.” Dad narrows his eyes at me. “Are you listening?”

No, I want to tell him. I’m too busy thinking about how crazily in love I am with his best friend.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“You asked me about Murphy being married and then stared off into space. Are you okay, Mols? Driving in the city getting to you?”

I shake my head, even if it’s partly true. “I was just making conversation. I swear. And then I was thinking about what I want for dinner.”

“Hmm,” he says, making me wonder if he believes my white lie. “Well, Murphy never wanted to marry. He never wanted to date, really. He said to me a long time ago he’d know the woman of his dreams when he saw her. He’d know instantly, he said.”

Dad chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t know how he would know, but that’s Murphy.”