life is just one giant question mark right now, there’s always something pressing on my mind. I can’t seem to focus on the social media posts scrolling across my phone screen, my brain won’t stop insisting.
My eyes stray from the device in my hand back to the man sitting next to me on the couch. He’s not working for once, there’s a book in his hands instead.
Just looking at him, the man makes me want to jump his bones. Callum’s so sexy, strong, and thick all over. I’d like to lick every substantial inch of him. I’m sure he’d enjoy every second of it too—before returning the favor. As hard as he is to read, there’s never a single moment he’s not charged up and ready for any opportunity to have me.
Callum is an enigma with more complexities than I thought possible in one person. His family is part of the New York Mafia, obviously very close to the head family. With his connections and involvement, it’s obvious that he was a member of the Cosa Nostra at some point too. But that doesn’t seem right.
To be fair, my knowledge of the mafia comes from true crime documentaries and romance novels—so it’s more than possible that I’m wrong—but leaving the mafia isn’t something you can do alive.
Live by the blood, die by the blood and all that jazz.
“It’s hard to read while you’re staring so hard,” Callum says, turning his head to meet my eyes. I don’t shy away from his gaze, staring at him in consideration. “Ask me, Dewdrop.”
“You’re a Made man.” I wait, and he lifts one shoulder in vague confirmation. “Tell me how you left the Outfit with your life.” His brows jump in surprise, and he pauses to look me over thoughtfully.
“Knowing that information is dangerous,” he informs me.
“Apparently so is knowing you,” I point out mildly with a shrug. “What have you been looking for? Levi, Viktor, the guy with the finger. You’re obviously hunting something.”
“Not what, who. I’ve been hired to track down an eight year old girl.” His answer knots my stomach. Eight? She’s so young, just a baby really. I open my mouth to ask a follow up question, but think better of it. It’s a rare occasion that Callum is open to questions. There’s a bigger mystery that I want answers to. I can finesse more answers about the girl later.
“How did you get into the Fixing business? And how long have you been doing it?”
“So many questions, Dewdrop. But I have some of my own. I’ll make you a deal—truth for a truth.” Of course he’s bargaining. It’s just like him to turn a conversation into a transaction. He can’t simply give something away without receiving something in return, that wouldn’t benefit him. Callum is an expert at spinning every situation for his gain. But this request seems fair, so I agree.
“Deal.”
He leans forward to place his book on the coffee table, before settling back on the couch. I shift in my place in the corner of the plush sectional, crossing my legs underneath me to get comfy.
“Even before Marcus and I were born, my father was part of the Cosa Nostra with Rafael Grassos’ father Don Salvator. He was a loyal soldier, working closely with Rafael doing Family business. At one of the street fairs, he met an Irish girl whose father was part of the Irish Mob. One thing lead to another and—despite all of the reasons not to—they fell in love.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet.” I can’t help myself, it’s a regular star-crossed lovers story. Callum’s lips twitch with a smile, and he continues.
“They wanted to get married, so they made a plan. The Italians and the Irish were at war over alcohol trades and territory on the docks, and they knew the only way they could be together was to get pregnant and force their families’ hands. They got married, and my brother was born three months later. The wedding was more than tense, a few members from both sides even came to blows.”
“That’s crazy.”
“It’s not uncommon,” he shrugs. “I grew up loyal to the Grassos family. I became a Made Man when I was fourteen. My initiation into the New York mafia was taking care of a supplier who was stealing from Don Rafael. That was the first man I ever killed.” My stomach drops at the mention of murder, so I change the subject.
“What about your mom’s family?” Callum flashes me a concerned glance that says he notices the shift in conversation, but he answers.
“The Irish and the Italians made attempts to get along, but turns out even being civil proved to be impossible.” He shakes his head.“I was twenty-one and my mother insisted we should get both sides of the family together for a Christmas party. My father thought it was a terrible idea, but trying to stop Tara Walsh from doing something is like trying to stop a hurricane—completely pointless. My father was right.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Exactly what you’d expect would happen when you put members of rival mafias together in the same room. Old feuds sparked and things turned explosive. A fight broke out, and one of my Mom’s brothers pulled out his gun.”
“Someone got shot.” My eyes widen, and Callum nods.
“The bullet went through my mom’s spine, almost killing her. Because those fuckers lost their temper, my mom will never walk again.” His hand runs over his beard as he thinks back. “That’s when I realized blindly acting on emotions was dangerous. There are much better ways to get what you want.
“I slowly started to separate myself from the Outfit. I knew leaving outright would be a death sentence, so my moves started out small. I made myself indispensable to the Grassos family as a ‘cleaner’ of sorts, taking care of messes. I kept all the dusty skeletons from falling out of their closet. That’s how I met the Manici family who run the Chicago Syndicate, along with politicians, officials, celebrities, and CEO’s. Eventually I was valuable enough to step away from the Family business relatively unscathed.”
“Relatively unscathed? I repeat.
“The Grassos felt possessive at first. They didn’t like when I started working with outsiders.” Callum explains. “The shift in power caused some growing pains, but ultimately Rafael learned his place.”
“So what about your brother? He’s still in the Outfit, right?”
“That’s a different question. It’s my turn.” I open my mouth to protest, but the look he gives me is a reminder that I promised, so I relent.
“Alright,” I agree, scooching forward on the cushion. “Shoot.”
“Tell me about the nightmares.” Callum doesn’t bother with small talk, there’s no beating around the bush. Instead, he plows straight to the point. This isn’t something I wasn’t planning on sharing with him—or anyone outside my therapists office.
I narrow my eyes as I mull it over. Callum sits patiently, watching and waiting. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for the story.
“It was two weeks before my contract at New York Presbyterian ended, I was scheduled for a three day stretch of twelve hour shifts. A trauma came into the ER, a bus was hit by a semi truck. The wreck was so bad, they were carting some of the victims in several pieces.” I can’t help the tears that mist in my eyes, so I pull my gaze away. Tilting my head back to look up at the ceiling, I will the waterworks to recede. When the first tear falls down my cheek despite my best efforts, I close my eyes instead. “I’ve seen a lot of carnage in my job, a lot of car accidents. But not like that.”
A shaky breath escapes me, anxiety dragging at my stomach at the memories. Biting my lip, I force out a calming breath before opening my eyes and lowering my chin. Callum sits silently, patiently. His eyes never leave my face, and a line forms between his brows.
“There were eighteen patients; seventeen from the bus, and the truck driver. Fifteen of them were between six and seven years old. It was a school bus.” I can’t help the sob that escapes me. Closing my eyes again, strong arms wrap around me and I’m being pulled onto Callum’s lap. His body envelopes mine, his solid frame settling some of the panic inside me as I’m tucked under his chin.
“A class of first graders were going on a field trip to the Museum of Natural History. It was their first real trip away from the school as full-day students.” My voice trembles, shoulders shaking as I suck in shallow breaths. Callum doesn’t say a word, somehow knowing that I need to get this out. “One of the little girls, Andie Brentwood, was crushed from the neck down. Every one of her organs was affected, and she was bleeding out internally.
“She kept asking me when she could see the dinosaurs, she said she sold cupcakes for the money to buy her ticket. All of the operating rooms were filled with other children who had better chances of survival. Andie Brentwood bled out forty-three minutes after the crash, holding my hand. Her parents weren’t there yet, they couldn’t get to the hospital because of the traffic caused by the accident.”
Andie’s face flashes behind my closed eyes; curly blonde hair, wide brown eyes lit with pain, and two missing front teeth. I have to open my eyes before the image breaks me. “Three kids out of fifteen survived. Two of them are expected to fully recover, one will be in a wheelchair the rest of his life. The bus driver and the teacher died at the scene.”
“And the truck driver?” Callum’s voice is gentle, his nose pressing into my hair. I can’t help the small huff of disgust at the memory of the man who caused the horrific massacre.
“He walked out of the ER that same day with just a few cracked ribs from the seatbelt and a broken nose from the airbag.” Hatred burns in my stomach at the thought. “He was high on opiates. He never tried to slow down, didn’t even touch the brakes before impact.”
“Was he arrested?” Callum asks. I nod against his chest.
“He was walked out in cuffs. But he shouldn’t have been able to walk at all.” I’d never considered murdering someone until I saw the balding man shuffled out of the ER with barely a scratch. “People like Carl Suco don’t deserve to live after taking away so much life from this world.”
“He’ll get what’s coming to him. They always do.” There’s something in Callum’s voice, a dark promise, that settles the animosity growing inside me. “When you get nightmares, what do you see?”
Curly blonde hair, wide brown eyes lit with pain, and two missing front teeth.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see the life drain from Andie Brentwood’s eyes. I see Tess Webb’s body severed in half at the spine. I see Adnan Fasil impaled by a bus seat. I see so many bright young lives destroyed and ripped away too soon, and there’s nothing I can do to save them. I can’t help them.”
I suck in deep shaky breaths to regulate my breathing and calm my erratic heart rate. Callum remains silent as I sit in his arms, trying to calm down before my panic attack can fully form. It takes several long minutes before I’ve pulled myself together enough to speak again.
“Sorry,” I breathe, pulling away from his chest to sit up straight. Forcing in a deep breath, I let it out slowly in an attempt to regain my composure. “I’m fine.”
Callum’s hand takes my chin and turns my face to look him in the eye. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Dewdrop. You never have to apologize to me for how you feel.” His thumbs brush away my tears tenderly. Gazing into his eyes, I’m being drawn into him. Our mouths are a breath away, and my heart rate stutters.
He’s being so unbelievably sweet, it’s overwhelming. The urge to kiss him is too strong, and when he glances at my lips I don’t hold back. Leaning in, I brush my lips against his.
Callum takes the invitation like I knew he would, using his hand on my face to pull me into him. He doesn’t rationalize that I’m emotional and vulnerable, he doesn’t care. This greedy, demanding man will take everything I freely give him without question or pause, just as long as I’m sober and willing.
And god, am I willing.
His lips capture mine in a kiss so deep that I feel it all the way to my toes. Fire licks through me as our mouths move together, and I want more. I always want more with Callum, it’s like we can never get enough of each other. I shift on his lap, sliding one of my legs across until I’m straddling him. Without hesitation his hand slides up my thigh to palm my ass.
He keeps it slow, drinking me in like he could kiss me like this forever. There’s no hurry, no frenzy. Even when I feel him harden against my ass, there’s no attempt to deepen things. He takes his time, exploring my mouth; nipping, licking, sucking. And I’m lost in him. Just as I’m getting dizzy, he releases me.
Pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips, I sit back on his lap. He brushes the hair from my face, cupping my cheeks in his large hands. “Is that why you’re always in the kitchen in the middle of the night?” he asks. I nod against his hands.
“I’ve only gotten a few good hours of sleep in the last few weeks.” The night I spent in Callum’s bed after having sex in the bathroom comes to my mind—the only hours of restful sleep I’ve had since the trauma. Callum catches it before I avert my eyes.
“Tell me,” he insists, lowering his head to catch my gaze. I might as well, I’m in too deep now anyway. With what I’ve shared tonight, so raw and deep, it’s just a drop in the bucket at this point.
“When I was in your bed, and you laid on top of me,” I admit. Warmth floods his eyes, the edges of his face softening. And there’s something else that flashes across his expression, something primal that looks a lot like satisfaction.
“I wore you out,” he rasps.
“I felt safe.” It’s the truth, the realization hitting us both at the same time. He brings my mouth back to his, kissing me soundly. I speak against his lips, “You owe me at least five truths after all this.”
“Deal,” he replies without contest. “But not tonight.” With that, he’s standing from the couch and taking me with him. My arms clasp around his neck, clinging to him, legs wrapping around his hips. He cups my ass, supporting my weight without faltering.
“What are you doing?” I breathe in surprise.
“Taking you to bed.”
“Cal.”
“You need a good night’s sleep.” His deep voice vibrates in his chest against me. “I’ll keep you safe from the nightmares.” He carries me into his bedroom, leaning down to pull back the covers before gently laying me in the center of the california king.
He steps away, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt and walking into the closet. I take the opportunity to get more comfortable and unclasp my bra under my top, pulling my arms out of the sleeves to tug the straps down my shoulders and out the bottom of my shirt. Leaning over to the side of the bed, I drop my bra on the floor.
Callum emerges from his closet wearing a pair of pajama pants hung low on his hips and nothing else. Callum is a very impressive man. He’s not a body builder with muscles just for show. His strong frame is thick and solid, built for power—a Viking ready for war.
Flipping the switch next to the bed, the room is doused in darkness save the soft glow coming from his closet. The mattress dips under Callum’s weight, and I’m being pulled back to the center of the bed by a strong arm wrapped around my waist. I let out a breathless laugh looking up at Callum kneeling over me. Being back in this bed, sinking into the lavish sheets surrounded by the scent of Callum’s musk, I can already feel the peace settling over me.
Without a word Callum takes his place laying on top of me, strong arms circling my waist with his head tucked between my breasts. The considerable weight of him sandwiches me between his body and the mattress. I feel so small with him, a foreign feeling in my fat body. There’s something about being dwarfed against a viking of a man that makes me feel so delicate and petite.
When did Callum become my safe place? The thought terrifies me.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I yawn, feeling the need to clarify. “Between us, I mean.” I’m lying to myself, we both know it. Because despite my declaration, it sure does feel like something is shifting between us.
Callum settles against me, letting out a heavy breath of gratification from his place between my breasts. “Go to sleep, Dewdrop. You can go back to wishing you never met me in the morning.”
