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Dad’s Irish Mafia Friend
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My dad’s best friend is an Irish gangster…and he’s woken up desires in me I never had before.
When my dad dies suddenly, making his best friend my guardian, I come to Dublin to find him. From the moment we meet, I know my first time has to be his.
But I’m clueless about the Irish underworld I stumble into, and the reasons my dad left the city before I was born.
Out to protect me, and then to possess me, the only way he can keep me safe from dad’s enemies is to claim me as his own.
Will this older man risk everything to keep this younger woman forever, or is a happy ever after too much to hope for once the debt to my dad’s been paid?
*Dad’s Irish Mafia Friend is a 61,909 word insta-everything standalone instalove romance with an HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
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Raindrops streaked down the window as soon as we started to descend. I pinched my nose and swallowed hard against the bubble of pressure building in my ears.
My first glimpse of Ireland was cloaked in clouds.
Everything looked about as grey as the tarmac landing strip, which was fine by me. This was no holiday.
I was out of my seat the moment the seat-belt sign pinged off. I hadn’t slept on the flight, and maybe I’d regret it later, but I was too pumped up with adrenaline to care. The whole journey I’d been rehearsing just exactly what I was going to say to Garrett Brannigan once I found the sonnovabitch.
I’d been rehearsing it for months, dreaming about what I was going to say to him and I didn’t want any more delays.
What kind of man didn’t even come to the funeral of his supposed best friend? What kind of man refused to pick up his phone and wouldn’t respond to the emails of his deceased friend’s daughter?
Some friend. Some man.
Dad must have thought he was all that, but when I found him I was going to give him such a piece of my mind.
I couldn’t get off the plane fast enough.
My father’s sealed letter to Garrett was burning a hole in the pocket of my hoodie, and I was freaking well going to make sure the man got it in person. I’d told my lawyer as much before I told him I was done with his services.
I’d left on my American passport, but I had my brand new Irish passport in my hand as I joined the fast-moving EU Only line at passport control. The gold harp on the front was shiny and the cover didn’t have a single crease in the deep red.
Thank God for dual nationality.
The man in the booth smiled at me as he checked my picture against the jet-lagged version of me standing in front of him in sweatpants, my red-brown hair scraped back in a messy bun, glasses perched on my freckled nose, greasy and grouchy from over ten hours stuck in coach.
“Welcome home Ms Kearney. Did you have a good holiday?”
“Huh?” My brain grated into gear. “Oh. No, it’s my first time here. My parents were both from Ireland.”
I couldn’t have cared less about Dad’s stupid never go back rule.
That might have been all well and good before he decided to make it impossible for me to touch my college fund, but like hell I was going to sit on my hands and bankroll the money-grubbing lawyer’s trip to Dublin to track Brannigan down for me, charging me for every damn hour, when I could do it perfectly well myself.
Besides, it didn’t count as going back when I’d never been to the country in my entire life. How could it?
They were Dad’s ridiculous grudges, not mine.
The man handed me my passport back. “Well enjoy your stay.”
My smile almost cracked. Enjoying myself was the last thing I had time for.
Before all this, I’d thought trust funds were something for Hollywood rich kids. Then the lawyer I didn’t even know Dad had employed started telling me that this man I’d never met all the way back in Ireland had control over how I spent my money until I turned twenty one.
I swear to God, I loved my father, but if he hadn’t been dead, I would have killed him myself.
What had he been thinking? I didn’t have anything of my own in San Francisco. The house was in the company’s name, and the company was in the damn trust too and that meant I couldn’t do a thing about it when they terminated the lease.
There was no one who gave the smallest shit about me. No family to stay with while I got my head together. Nothing. He’d tied everything up in the trust because of some antiquated fatherly protection bullshit and than the worst had happened he’d had a heart attack.
I hadn’t seen it coming. Dad hadn’t either, or he’d have figured out something better than the bullshit inheritance plan the lawyer read out to me. I bet he didn’t even think it through. I bet the scum-sucker just told him that trust funds were something people put in place to safeguard their kids while they were still young.
Dad would have liked that. He always liked the idea he was looking after me, even when we both knew it was the other way around.
But I was nineteen, not fifteen. I didn’t need a freaking stranger telling me what to do. Least of all one who was on the other side of an ocean and didn’t pick up his phone!
Did he think I was going to blow the lot on Prada handbags and Manolo Blahniks? I couldn’t understand it.
I had to sort it all out as soon as possible.