Page 37 of Taken By the Mobster

Olivia found Ezra in the same room where she’d helped Drew. She peered into the room and saw Ezra sitting on the couch with a ball of yarn and two large knitting needles. She stared out the window at the falling rain.

“Ezra?” Olivia said.

The older woman turned to look at Olivia. “Come in, Ms. O’Reilly.”

Olivia gave her a tentative smile. “You know who I am.”

“I’m very familiar with the Muldoons and the O’Reillys,” Ezra explained. “The minute I laid eyes on you, I knew you were Sean’s daughter.”

Olivia stepped into the room and perched on the edge of the nearest chair. “How?”

“I worked at Folger’s Café for years. Every mobster that walked through the door was someone I knew. I knew their families too.” She worked the needles in her hands, creating something out of nothing as she spoke. “When someone shot up Folger’s a few years ago, I sustained injuries. I wanted out, so I packed up my things and moved up here. Now and then I help those boys who were close to my heart.”

“Like Declan?” Olivia said.

“Yes, like Declan. I have a soft spot for that one.” Ezra smiled and tugged on the yarn in her lap. “I think you do too.”

Olivia laughed. “I do.” She crossed and uncrossed her ankles and shifted in the chair. “We dated when we were younger.”

Ezra looked at her over the top of her glasses. “I remember. I seem to remember you breaking his heart, too.”

The laughter died in Olivia’s throat. Was that true? Did she break Declan’s heart? She knew how hard it was on her when her father forced her to stop seeing Declan; had it been just as difficult for him?

“I never meant to break his heart,” she whispered. “But my father—.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Ezra said. “Your father was a … demanding man.”

Olivia chuckled. “That’s an understatement.” She sat back in the chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Do you mind if I stay down here? It’s lonely upstairs.”

Ezra nodded. “If you’d like.”

They sat and chatted about mundane things, like the horrible rainstorm outside and the books they’d recently read. Ezra enjoyed talking, and Olivia was content to listen. Once they’d exhausted all topics of conversation, Ezra turned on the TV and they watched it in comfortable silence. Ezra’s sudden change of attitude surprised her, but she appreciated it.

“He’ll be back soon,” Ezra said with a laugh after the ninth or tenth time Olivia checked the time on the grandfather clock in the corner. “Trust me when I say Declan knows what he’s doing.”

“I know he does,” Olivia said. She stood up and stretched. “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Would you like some?”

Ezra shook her head. “No, thank you.” She returned to her knitting.

While Olivia waited for the water to boil, she sat at the kitchen table, laid her head down, and closed her eyes. The rain still fell outside, the sound soothing. Her thoughts turned to Declan and all that had happened in the short time she had been with him. The turns her life had taken astounded her, but none more than the one where she fell in love with the mobster who kidnapped her and held her hostage. But there it was, right in front of her, and she couldn’t deny it, nor did she want to. She was head over heels for Declan Quinn—again—and there was no turning back.

Returning to her life in Boston had seemed like a pipe dream. She always figured if she returned to Boston, it would be to live a life of misery as Clyde Braniff’s reluctant wife. She’d resigned herself to a life away from her sister and her parents. Now there was a possibility that she might go home and see them.

For three years, Olivia had lived in fear, so it was hard to even hope that things might improve. Being with Declan, knowing he wanted to protect her and keep her safe, gave her hope.

A crash and a muffled cry from the middle of the house startled her and pulled her from her musings. She sat up and looked toward the swinging kitchen door. Maybe it had been the TV.

“Ezra?” she called. She waited a few seconds, then called her name again. “Ezra?”

There was no answer.

Olivia got out of her seat, instinct telling her to be quiet, and crossed the kitchen. She stopped on her side of the swinging door, pressed her ear against it, and listened. When she didn’t hear anything, she pushed open the door, slipped into the hallway, and took several steps toward the library.

“Ezra? Are you all right?” Olivia called again. Still no answer.

She was halfway down the hall, almost to the library, when the scream of the teapot on the stove erupted. Startled, Olivia squeaked, spun on her heel, and hurried back down the hall. She shoved open the kitchen door, ran to the stove, and pulled the kettle off the burner.

Maybe Ezra was upstairs or in the bathroom. Olivia was on edge after everything that had happened and all she had been through. She was jumping at shadows.

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