Page 8 of Taken By the Mobster

Loud footsteps crossed the hardwood floor, then they inserted a key into the lock. She took a step back and pushed a hand through her hair. She wondered who would open the door.

It wasn’t who she expected. The man who opened the door was shorter than Declan, though no less attractive: his red hair was short; he was clean-shaven; and his eyes were hazel. He had on jeans and a black-and-green flannel shirt. She recognized him from the bank; he had stayed in the lobby while Declan and his men had taken her back to the vault.

“Did you need something?” he asked, concerned.

“A bathroom,” she croaked. “Please?”

The man nodded. He stepped in, took hold of her elbow, and led her out of the bedroom. They crossed a small living room with a connected kitchen. He took her down a short hallway and stopped in front of an open door. He gestured for her to go in.

Olivia went in, shut the door, and flipped the lock. She hurried to the toilet, breathing a sigh of relief when she could finally relieve herself. When she was done, she washed her hands and splashed some water on her face. Then she took the colored contacts out of her eyes and washed them down the drain. She left the water running while she looked around the room. There was a tiny window, maybe two feet by two feet, and covered in thick, opaque glass. There was nothing on the sink or near the bathtub she could use as a weapon, so she checked the drawers and medicine cabinet, hoping to find something she could use.

Unfortunately, the drawers only held cotton balls, nearly empty toothpaste tubes, deodorant, and two bottles of aspirin. The medicine cabinet was empty. Under the sink, she found three rolls of toilet paper and a stack of towels.

A knock on the door made her jump. She twisted off the water and opened the door.

“Are you done?” the man asked impatiently.

Olivia nodded. He took her arm again and led her back to the bedroom. It wasn’t until they were crossing the living room that she realized no one else was in the house; it was just her and this man. She wondered where the others were. She stepped into the bedroom and turned to look at him.

“Thank you, um—.”

“Conor,” he responded. “My name is Conor.”

Conor Sullivan, Declan’s best friend. Olivia remembered Conor helping her and Declan sneak off to see each other after her father had forbidden their relationship. He must not remember her either.

“Thank you, Conor,” she mumbled.

He gave her an odd look, almost as if he was trying to remember something, or had noticed something about her. After a few seconds, he gave her a curt nod and pulled the door closed.

Chapter 5

Olivia

The sun streaming through the thin curtains woke Olivia the next morning. She stretched, one hand hitting the wall above her head. She rolled to her side, wrapped her arms around her legs, and tried not to shiver. The thin blanket covering her wasn’t enough to keep her warm. She concentrated on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, hoping to take her mind off the bitter cold seeping into her bones.

For a moment, she forgot where she was, and that she was a prisoner, the captive of a man who would probably kill her. The emptiness beside her brought reality rushing back into her mind, reminding her she was alone, cold, and trapped in a small, locked room. Fear clutched at her heart.

She ignored the sharp knock at the door soon after waking. Whoever it was could go away and leave her alone. But the knock came again.

“Go away!” she yelled. She squeezed her eyes shut and hugged her legs tight against her body. She wanted to be left alone.

Instead, the door swung open on creaky hinges. She opened her eyes and saw Declan’s broad shoulders filling the doorframe.

Olivia sighed; a bone-deep shudder worked its way through her, and her teeth chattered. Declan grumbled something incoherent and disappeared, leaving the door wide open. She smelled cigarette smoke and heard men talking. She opened her eyes and saw two men sitting at a small table covered in bowls and coffee mugs. A television played behind them and, just a few feet past them, was another door. The door that led outside, that led to freedom.

Declan reappeared with a heavy quilt clutched in his hands. He stalked across the room, unfolding it as he approached. He stopped at the side of the bed, shook it out, and let it fall on her. It covered her from head to toe. The door closed a few seconds later, the lock clicking into place.

She burrowed beneath the quilt, pulling it over her head, letting its warmth surround her. Maybe the Declan she had known all those years ago was still in there somewhere. If he planned on killing her, why give her a quilt to keep her warm? It didn’t make sense.

For the thousandth time in the last twelve hours, she wondered if she should tell Declan who she was. If he knew she was Liv O’Reilly, not Olivia Miller, he might let her go. Then again, he might turn her over to Clyde.

She hadn’t felt so helpless since her father sent her to live with the Muldoons, her future in-laws. It was supposed to help ease her mind, allow her to get to know her future family before the wedding took place. However, Sean O’Reilly didn’t know the horrible position he put his daughter in.

Even though Olivia was supposedly free to come and go as she pleased from the Muldoon compound, she was a prisoner, and she knew it. Everywhere she went, a bodyguard accompanied her. She was worth too much; half of her four-million-dollar dowry sat in an offshore account, and her father held the other half. Her future uncle-in-law, Donovan Muldoon would receive the money once she said the vows.

Her life in exchange for four million dollars and the promise of peace between the Muldoons and the O’Reillys, two big mob families. According to her father, it was a small sacrifice.

The male heir to the Muldoon empire was her betrothed, Clyde Braniff, who was also Donovan Muldoon’s nephew. Donovan Muldoon never had children of his own, forcing him to leave his fortune and the family business to his sister’s son. Clyde terrified her. He was the cruelest man she’d ever met. A psychopath without empathy for others, a man who cared only about himself and the power he could attain. He viewed Olivia as property and nothing more.

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