Page 2 of Daddy's Mad Love

“She’s my granddaughter.” He said the words as if they were an explanation in and of themselves. There was no care, no concern for her, only fact. “She’s family.” No one left the Family. Even if he didn’t particularly care for his granddaughter and her ideals, he still wanted her tucked away in the family fold. I could understand that. “The wedding will seal our alliance.”

A trade alliance based on the whiskey coming into Don Bianco’s hands from Chicago while the rum from Jamaica passed from our harbors to him. The profits would be enormous.

“Are you going to retrieve her?” my father asked, looking at Don Bianco.

“No,” I said before Don Bianco could answer. I looked up and met both of their eyes steadily. Don Bianco appeared annoyed at being interrupted but also curious, while my father was almost amused. He likely anticipated my answer, knowing me as well as he does. “I will handle my… courtship.”

My father’s lips twitched, and I was sure he almost smiled. In contrast, Don Bianco’s expression didn’t change one iota before he nodded his acceptance.

Now that I agreed, the conversation moved to hashing out the trade agreement and settling on a date for the wedding.

Picking up the picture of Miss Hailey McQueen, formerly Bianco, I tucked it into my suit jacket pocket. The sad-eyed girl was mine now, and I would decide how to handle her, not my father and not her grandfather.

For her sake, it would be best if she gave in without a fight, but I found myself hoping that she wouldn’t.

1

Hailey

Walking into the fourth precinct, my feet were smarting from my new shoes, which seemed to have shrunk around my feet as the day went on. I couldn’t help smiling with pride. Yes, my feet hurt, and I was exhausted, but it had been a good day. I’d managed to help every single person who had asked today, the first time that had ever happened.

Not that I didn’t want to help them all, but sometimes, it just wasn’t possible. I’d learned to take the small victories where I could and be happy with the good days.

“Miss McQueen! Welcome back.” Officer Bruce Ward moved through the desks separating us, his words bringing me to a halt. I smiled back, wondering if he was finally going to ask me out to dinner. He’d been dancing around the subject for weeks now.

Taller than I was by several inches, his clean-cut good looks had most of the social workers and secretaries swooning—blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that could charm a baby bird out of its nest, not to mention a hero. I don’t know why his attention had fallen on me, but we’d eaten lunch together several times over the past few weeks. I hoped he’d ask me out on a real date soon.

Some of my friends had been encouraging me to ask him out, but I wasn’t ready to be that much of a modern woman. Wearing knee-length skirts to work was daring enough, not to mention the sleeveless, short dresses we wore out to the clubs. Several of the other social workers I’d befriended kept trying to get me to cut my hair fashionably short, but so far, I hadn’t been able to make myself take the final step.

I felt somewhat lost between the traditional upbringing I wanted to leave behind and the daring modern fashions I was both enamored with and scared of. Just shortening my skirt had felt like an act of rebellion.

Bruce came to a halt in front of me, his smile widening. He’d given me permission to use his first name, but in the station, we kept things professional.

“Officer,” I greeted him, a flirtatious lilt to my voice. I almost giggled and ruined the effect. “How has your day been?”

“Not bad, but it’s even better now,” he said with a wink.

This time, I did giggle, clutching the folders I was holding against my chest like a schoolgirl with a crush. Little butterflies fluttered in my stomach, hope rising inside me. Was he finally going to ask me on a real date?

Before he could say anything else, a small commotion at the station entrance stole both of our attention. Looking over, it took a moment to see what was happening, but when the cops standing in the way parted, I saw the police chief striding into the station with another man at his side. Younger than the chief, he looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties and was handsome enough to be a rival for Bruce, though with brown hair and dark eyes—eyes that scanned the room until they locked onto mine for a moment.

The butterflies in my stomach started doing flips, my breath catching in my throat from the intensity in his gaze. It was like staring into the eyes of a predator, and my instincts screamed… danger. The suit, the predatory air of confidence, the assumption of power—I’d seen men like him before. I’d grown up around them.

Mafioso.

Familias.

Familiar and dangerous.

The second his gaze moved on, I ducked my head and stepped back, my heart pounding as I clutched the folders to my chest for an entirely different reason. Logic tried to reassert itself. I was far, far from my grandfather’s territory and the influence of the Bianco Family. There was no reason for anyone to recognize me here, even if they were part of the mafia.

Perhaps he wasn’t mafia. Not every confident man with an air of danger about him was necessarily mafia. Besides, if he was, he would hardly be walking and talking with the police chief as if they knew each other, right?

Except Grandfather said the police were his pawns.

I hadn’t wanted to believe him, but I hadn’t gone to the police in Chicago when I’d run away, either. I’d moved to New York, where he couldn’t reach me or the authorities.

“What are you doing?” Bruce turned his head to look curiously over his shoulder at me, brow furrowing.