Absinthe Minded: A Mafia Romantic Comedy (Bourbon Street Bad Boys' Club Book 1) Read online

  Absinthe Minded

  Kathryn M. Hearst

  ABSINTHE MINDED.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kathryn M. Hearst. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Excerpt from HIGHBALL AND CHAIN copyright @ 2020 by Kathryn M. Hearst

  Worldwide Rights. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  First Edition published by Wyndham House, Inc. February 2020.

  www.kathrynmhearst.com

  Cover Artist Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Editor Holly Atkinson

  Proofreader Book Nook Nuts Proofreading

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Gabe

  2. Maggie

  3. Gabe

  4. Maggie

  5. Gabe

  6. Maggie

  7. Gabe

  8. Maggie

  9. Gabe

  10. Maggie

  11. Gabe

  12. Maggie

  13. Gabe

  14. Maggie

  15. Gabe

  16. Maggie

  17. Gabe

  18. Maggie

  19. Gabe

  20. Maggie

  21. Maggie

  22. Gabe

  23. Gabe

  24. Maggie

  25. Gabe

  26. Maggie

  27. Gabe

  28. Maggie

  29. Gabe

  30. Maggie

  31. Gabe

  32. Maggie

  33. Maggie

  34. Gabe

  35. Maggie

  36. Maggie

  37. Maggie

  38. Gabe

  39. Maggie

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Also by Kathryn M. Hearst

  About the Author

  For the hottest bartender in New Orleans…

  You know who you are.

  1

  Gabe

  “This has to be a mistake.”

  I reread the results of the paternity test and glanced from the newborn to the apparent mother of my child. Sure, I’d gone with her to do a cheek swab a few weeks back, but I never thought anything would come of it.

  In the time it took me to open my front door and scan the page, my swanky French Quarter townhouse had become the set of the Maury Povich Show—Gabe Marchionni. You are the father.

  I’d always wanted kids, but not like this, not now, and not with… Let’s just say, I'd always imagined I'd have them with Maggie, the one who got away.

  “Everything you need is in the bag.” Chantal tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Bye, Gabe. Have a nice life.”

  “That’s it? You’re leaving?” I motioned to the sleeping infant. “She’s too young. She needs a mom. I have no idea what to do with an infant.”

  “Take her to your parents. They’ll be thrilled.” The woman I’d dated a few times, almost a year ago, turned on her stilettos. “I have to be at the cruise terminal in fifteen minutes.”

  “Chantal, wait. You can’t be serious.” I stalked after her but remembered the baby on my doorstep. Unlike my ex-whatever-the-hell-she-was, I wouldn’t leave a child alone. “At least stay long enough to tell me how to take care of her.”

  “I wrote instructions.” She waved without bothering to turn her head.

  My every instinct screamed for me to go after her. Chantal had abandoned her child, our child, my child. What the hell was I going to do with an infant?

  I sank to the top step and sat beside the sleeping baby. Head in my hands, I ran through my options and came up empty. One thing was clear. I needed help and I’d need more than books with titles like Diaper Changing 101 and Infant Care for Morons.

  “God help you. Looks like you’re stuck with me.” She was a cute little thing all bundled up in pink blankets. Hints of dark hair peeked out from beneath her baby-beanie, and the cool, New Orleans winter, air had turned her cheeks and button nose rosy. “What’s your name?”

  The baby didn’t reply.

  I pulled an envelope from the diaper bag. Chantal had, in fact, left instructions. Feed and change her when she cries. That’s all she’d written. I resisted the urge to shout obscenities and scanned the birth certificate. My throat tightened. “She named you after me?”

  Looking back, I never should have dated Chantal. She was mixed up in a business deal gone wrong with my father. Our relationship had much more to do with physical attraction and my need to rebel than real feelings.

  I’d ended things when she’d tripped my crazy-girl-warning-system, but nothing could prepare me for this. Not only had she hidden her pregnancy, she’d named our daughter after me. Gabriella Antoinette DuBois.

  “How about we call you Ella?” I brushed my fingertips over her head, and my heart rate increased to an allegro. I’m a father. Mother Mary, give me strength.

  My thoughts drifted to a woman I hadn’t seen in over a year and hadn’t kissed in four. A woman whose heart I’d broken. Sure, I’d had my reasons, and yes, I’d behaved like a jackass, but I’d always believed we’d end up together.

  What would Maggie think about Ella?

  I ran my finger over the baby’s cheek. She turned her head and opened her mouth as if to nurse. “I bet she’d love you. Does she love me? Not so much.”

  Five minutes later, I put an end to my wallowing and got my ass in gear. I knew what I had to do, even if it cost me more than my pride. I grabbed my keys and my kid and strapped the car seat into the back of my Porsche. “Ready to meet your grandparents?”

  Ella stared at me with a stoic expression that reminded me of my father. If she grew up to be half as much of a pain in the ass as my old man, I was in serious trouble.

  “You have nothing to worry about. They’ll love you. It’s me they’re going to kill.” I tugged at her seatbelt to make sure it’d locked and slid into the driver’s seat.

  I could only guess how my parents would react, though I doubted they’d throw me a party. My father had given me and my brother the same lecture a hundred times. We’re Catholic. No sex before marriage, but boys will be boys. You screw up and make a kid, you man up and get married.

  Hell, my mother hated my brother Joe’s girlfriend, an Irish girl from the wrong side of town. But she’d planned the wedding after he’d knocked Rebecca up.

  Good thing Chantal left town. I shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of my life with a woman like her.

  I drummed a beat on the steering wheel and considered the best way to approach my folks with the news. They’d never turn away their own flesh and blood, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t make my life a living hell—and they had the means to do it.

  Despite the fact I’d recently celebrated my thirtieth birthday, my parents had me by the short and curlies. They were old-school Sicilian, which meant they controlled nearly every aspect of mine and my brothers’ lives, either by guilt or their tight hold on the purse strings. It also meant that the family business went the way of the Capones and Gambinos.

  Shocking to most, but I’d grown up in it. Yep, my surprise baby was a mafia princess.

  “Yo
u okay back there?” I glanced in the rearview to make sure the car seat/carrier hadn’t fallen over. Not for nothing, but rear-facing car seats suck. How am I supposed to know if she turns blue or something if I can’t see her?

  With the French Quarter behind me, I turned on St. Charles Street and headed for the Garden District. Driving up Chestnut Street gave me the same sinking feeling as climbing the first hill on a roller coaster. Once I turned into Casa de Marchionni, my stomach would be in my throat until the ride ended—only this would last the rest of my freaking life.

  How in the hell did I knock her up? I replayed mine and Chantal’s sexcapades. The woman was wild, too wild for me to have risked going in bare. Nope. I was sure I’d suited up, but then how had I won the less-than-one-percent-condom-failure lottery?

  I parked and hurried to the passenger’s side of the Porsche. With the front seat moved as far forward as it would go, I squeezed my upper body into the tight space, but couldn’t quite reach the release button. I lifted to the balls of my feet and attempted to close the distance.

  My foot slipped and all hell broke loose. I fell. The hard-plastic handle on the car seat hit me in the solar plexus. The baby wailed. And for some ungodly reason the antitheft alarm went off.

  Ella’s carrier laced over one arm and the diaper bag on my shoulder, I limped through the front door into the pristine white marble of my childhood. “Ma?” I called from the foyer. “Pops? Anyone home?”

  Footsteps approached from the direction of the kitchen, too quick to be my mother.

  I turned and smiled at Hildie, the woman who had raised me and my five brothers.

  “Miss Hildie.” I drew her frail body into a half embrace. “Still as pretty as ever.”

  She arched a brow at the screaming infant. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be looking after a baby, and a loud one at that. Where are her parents?”

  “She’s mine.”

  White showed all the way around her eyes. “Lord have mercy, your mama didn’t tell me you had a daughter.”

  I leaned closer to keep my voice down. “She doesn’t know.”

  “I’ll go get her for you. Go into the parlor and wait.” The woman gave the baby one last longing look and hurried out of the room. I knew self-preservation when I saw it. Miss Hildie would keep her distance until the fireworks ended.

  I crouched and attempted to free Ella from the straps and buckles of her carrier. Tried and failed. Seriously, who the hell makes these things? Houdini?

  Evelyn Marchionni stood in the entryway of the parlor dressed in white capris and a matching sweater. She looked as magazine-perfect as the rest of the house.

  I forced a smile, but she stared at the baby and made the sign of the cross—a hell of a thing to do after laying eyes on her granddaughter for the first time.

  “Hi, Ma. This is Gabriella Antoinette.” I stood and motioned to the baby. “Ella, this is your grandmother.”

  Evelyn took a quick step back, as if trying to keep herself from toppling over.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. No need to add more fuel to the fire. Instead, I grinned and waited for her to finish with the dramatics.

  “Give me that baby.” She held her arms out and tapped her foot.

  “I would, but I can’t get her out of this thing.”

  Evelyn sighed the sigh mothers have used to condemn their children since Eve gave birth to Cain and Abel. She shook her head, knelt beside the carrier, and extracted my daughter. The baby on her shoulder, she smacked the back of my head.

  “Ow. Jesus.”

  “And he takes the Lord’s name in vain!” Evelyn’s Italian accent thickened her words and ruined the illusion of a dainty southern belle. “She’s at least a month old and you just now bring her to me? Are you nuts? Is she yours?”

  “Yeah, she’s mine. I only found out about her an hour ago.”

  “Of course, she’s yours. Look at those eyes. She looks like you.” Cooing over the baby, she reached over and smacked me again. “Where’s her mother?”

  “She’s gone. Left Ella with me and took off.” I sighed and sat on one of the stiff loveseats.

  Evelyn glared until I squirmed. “I take it you two aren’t close?”

  I shook my head.

  “This is going to kill your father, you know.” Her voice cracked, but it had nothing to do with the melodrama she’d dished out until then. This was real concern for her husband.

  I dreaded the day when my father left this earth. For the usual reasons, of course, but also how my life would change. “How’s he doing? What are the docs saying?”

  “The same. He refused the chemo.” She waved her hand. “This girl you impregnated… Dare I ask if she’s Catholic?”

  “Atheist.”

  After whispering a slew of curses in Italian, she turned her face toward the ceiling and prayed—also in Italian. “You will come here and live with us. You’re a good boy, but you’re like your father…you can’t keep it in your pants. You can’t raise a child—not a little angel like this one.”

  “I got it covered, Ma. I just need a little help getting going.”

  “No way will I let a grandbaby of mine grow up in a bachelor’s pad.” She lowered her voice as if we were in mixed company. “It’s bad enough that Guthrie girl is raising your niece and nephews.”

  Maggie Guthrie, my brother’s sister-in-law, my ex, and the love of my life.

  My chest tightened. I hadn’t seen her since Joe and Rebecca’s funerals, but I’d thought about her every damned day.

  2

  Maggie

  I adjusted my black jacket and fluffed my hair one last time before I pressed the enter conference button. Within a couple of seconds, four faces, including my boss, stared back at me from the monitor and then it went blank.

  “No, no, no.” Panic wrapped its cold hard fingers around my throat. I pressed various keys in rapid succession, checked the connection to the power cord on the laptop and the wall. Nothing. On hands and knees, I crawled under the dining room table and groaned. Someone had almost chewed the cord in half, and I knew who.

  I glared at the dog. “Cocoa! What did you do?”

  The chocolate lab lifted her head, snorted, and went back to sleep.

  Grabbing my phone, I dialed Marlena’s cell.

  No answer.

  I tried again. “Come on, Marlena.”

  On the verge of a meltdown, I called the office on my way to the garage. “Hello, this is Maggie Guthrie. I have a conference call with Marlena Dupree. I’m having technical difficulties. May I speak to her?”

  “One moment, please,” the disembodied voice replied.

  The duct tape sat on the shelf where I’d left it. Hurrying back to the computer, I stubbed my toe on the chair and had to bite back a groan when the receptionist came back on the line.

  “Ms. Dupree isn’t in her office. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “No. I know. I mean. We were on a conference call.”

  “Do you know which room she’s in?”

  “No. Can you find her? She’s not answering her cell.”

  “Of course.” Hold music replaced the impatient voice as I dove under the table and wrapped a long strip of tape around the mangled cord. Praying to anyone who would listen, I poked my head out from beneath the table to check the monitor.

  Nothing.

  “Oh, come on.” I pinched the tape tighter, and the screen came to life. I banged my forehead on the table but managed to type my password into the welcome screen. What felt like an eternity later the machine booted up, and I re-entered the virtual conference call.

  Four faces stared with varying degrees of concern. Marlena, my boss, spoke first, “Good morning, Maggie. Thank you for joining us. Is everything all right, dear?”

  “Yes. Sorry about that, technical difficulties.” I smiled at the screen and turned my cell phone to silent beneath the table.

  “Very well. Let’s start, shall we.”

  Igno
ring the bead of sweat running down my forehead, I squared my shoulders and waited for Marlena to speak.

  “Maggie, as you know, the mission of NOLA Society News is to inform residents and visitors of the cultural side of New Orleans.” Marlena paused to allow the others on the call to nod. “We loved your work when you first joined us…”

  Loved? My throat tightened, but my plastic smile remained in place. “Thank you. I love my job.”

  “Our heart goes out to you, taking on your sister’s children. However, your change in circumstances has impacted your columns.” Marlena sighed.

  “Our readership isn’t interested in local family-friendly events,” Ted Denning, Director of Marketing, added.

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing. In fact, I have an idea for a new piece.” I lied through my teeth.

  My life had gone to complete shit in the previous three days. Not only had Ryan, the youngest of my deceased sister’s children, come down with an ear infection, I’d received a court summons for yet another custody hearing. Not to mention, my late rent payments and a second notice on the power bill. I desperately needed this job.

  I’d figure it out. There was no sense in feeling sorry for myself or asking how this had become my life. Shit happens, even batshit crazy stuff like my sister and her husband dying and leaving me custody of their kids.

  Marlena’s voice drew my attention back to the monitor. “Maggie, at this point—”