SLICK

by Peavey Marshall

  "Why are we even traveling by car when we can go to New York by plane?" Callista yelled in frustration. The events a few hours ago were taking too much toll on her. Her inevitable return also gave life to the butterflies that slumbered in her stomach.

  "What will people say when they find out that Callista Genovese is in America after all? Your father told everyone you were in Italy. We don't want the governor's name to be ruined, right, your highness?" Castor said in a derisive tone.

  "So parking a Ferrari in front of a motel is not suspicious at all?" Callista glared back.

  When Castor only gave her a dumbfounded look, her winning smile appeared. She stuck her tongue out and brought a middle finger up, then trudged to the motel, leaving him gasping.

  Callista eyed the place, and in all fairness, it was decent. There was a bar next to the counter with a stocked refrigerator. The shelves behind the counter had a complete supply of chips and alcohol.

  The curly brunette glanced up when Castor entered after her. He went straight to the counter to get a room, bumping into Caly on purpose. The lady's eyes sparkled as she began asking her customer some more questions. Castor was happy to return the attention.

  Callista tutted. She sauntered closer to them. "I want a Dr. Pepper."

  The man didn't even bother to look at her. "You don't need any more sugar."

  Callista's grey eyes immediately turned dark. "I want it.”

  The tall guy sighed audibly. Castor knew her since she was thirteen, so he was aware of what she'd do if denied something. He gestured for the girl to move. "Give her one.”

  Callista begrudgingly snatched the cold drink from the girl's outstretched hand. Giving the stranger a warning glare, she turned back. "I'll wait outside."

  Black hair waved freely as the air blew. Callista sat on the motel's uneven steps and drank her soda. She was in a bad mood that seeing Castor openly flirt disgusted her to no end. After a while, she decided to open her phone.

  She typed one last apology to Don before logging out as Carissa Hodge. A sigh left her mouth, wondering what Castor did to erase this part of her life. Somewhere in her heart, she wished it wasn't something drastic like murder. Caly scoffed, shaking her head. The small town would probably take her disappearance as an elopement of some kind.

  She opened her Twitter account as Callista Genovese, and sure enough, her notifications popped repeatedly. Before she could check it, a pick-up truck pulled up on the motel's driveway. The rickety engine made her lookup.

  Three people jumped from the shoddy vehicle. They were loud, throwing their heads back and exchanging vulgar words. One of them had a glass of beer in his hand.

  "Oh, pretty rhady!" The first man spotted the girl. He swayed his way to the girl, burping in the process. "How much?”

  Callista stood up. She folded her arms, wishing for the men to disperse quietly. "I'm waiting for someone."

  "Huh? What..." He swirled to his two friends. "What did she shay?"

  The shortest of the three shook his head. He stood squarely, placing a hand on the loud man's shoulder, hauling him back. "Let's go, Randy."

  Randy shook the short man's hand. He shrugged, a growl escaping from his throat. Bunching his shirt up, he pulled out a gun and trained it on the girl. "I'm sure I'm better than your boyfriend!”

  "Randy! What the hell, man?" the other guy finally spoke. He tossed his beer, stepping away from their friend, who was beginning to run amok.

  "Come on!" Randy shouted, red-faced while hiccups emerged from his mouth.

  "He's not my boyfriend. He's my dog." Callista rose to her feet. She clenched her jaw, staring at the drunk man. "And he bites.”

  "Is this what I think it is?" Castor muttered behind her. He strode like a wolf. Every step had a predatory stroke but a confident weight on it. He positioned himself in front of his best friend, glowering at Randy. "Where do you think you're pointing that gun?"

  Dazed and stoned, Randy frowned. "Who the fuck–4

  Drunken words died down as Castor gripped his wrist from below. He twisted it in a clockwise direction, ignoring the cracking bones and the undoing of Randy's joints. Castor slammed him on the truck. His left hand locked Randy's left arm between their chests.

  The gun pointed above.

  Castor snarled, tightening his hold on the man's wrist. He altered the gun's direction and trained the gun's barrel under the man's chin. Randy whimpered while his friends could only look at the events unfolding before them.

  Castor put his finger above Randy's on the trigger.

  Callista wasn't innocent in the ways of the mafia. People getting killed was a natural occurrence, but her conscience was throbbing tonight. She could not bear one more person to get hurt because of her. At least not tonight.

  "Cas, remember. We can't raise suspicions here!" she said.

  Calm settled for a while. Only Randy's sniveling could be heard above the silence. His friends were trading glances at each other as Randy pissed himself on his pants. Noticing the other two, Castor clicked his tongue sharply. "Don't even bother running away. Stay put!”

  Callista watched as Castor leaned in. His voice was gravelly, yet the dangerous velvety ring remained. "Next time, know where you point your gun."

  Castor hit Randy on the back of his neck. He let him slump on the ground and signaled for the other two to come closer. The loaded gun was all the motivation they need.

  "What's your name?" Castor asked, waving the gun in his hand. His well-defined jaw clenched in seriousness.

  The shorter man swallowed. "Mark Rogers."

  "You?"

  "J-Jesse Palmer."

  "You know the drill, right?"

  Jesse nodded while Mark stuttered. "W-we're not going to tell anyone.”

  "As if," Castor grinned.

  "N-no! We won't tell! Promise!" Mark continued convincing the devil before him. He did a cross-my-heart sign then glanced at Jesse. "R-right, Jesse?"

  "Cas, hurry up. They're obviously kids," Callista reprimanded.

  Callista was aware that Castor enjoyed this part. The scene where people's faces were painted with terror after an encounter with Blackjack.

  The Lucianos were known for raising chaos and ruling with fear. The display of their power was raw and untamed. Callista couldn't count on her fingers all of the time that Castor exhibited that wildness during their school days.

  Finally, Castor moved and emptied the gun. He began wiping it with his handkerchief. When he finished, he handed it to Jesse, who shaking twice as Mark. "Whatever happened here, it's on you now."

  He clamped a hand on Mark's shoulder, lowering his head to meet his eyes. "And kid, if you want to live longer, you better stay away from shits like this," he said, tilting his head to the passed out man.

  Castor and Callista watched as the two men scrambled to help their friend. Mark was better at hiding his fear than Jesse was, and Castor respected people like that. His father believed that anyone who could stand up to the Lucianos was allowed to live. He had that same belief.

  The truck pulled away as Callista yawned. "This has been a long night."

  "Let's go."

  She followed Castor to their room, pulling off her shoes when they entered. "So, you won't tell me why Dad wants me back?"

  "Not my place." He locked the door and proceeded to take off his jacket.

  "Fine." Callista dove on the bed away from the door and began to doze off. But like a montage, her memories of the day appeared—especially that one particular memory where her lips tasted someone's lips.

  "Cas."

  Castor was rid of his shirt, his back muscles rippling against the light. He placed his foot on the chair and unlaced his left boot. "Hmm?"

  Callista focused her gaze on the man's face. "Don't kiss me again.”

  "You call that a kiss?" Castor's upper lip tugged upwards, meeting her grey eyes. "You're more deprived than I thought.”

  "Ass–1

  "Ninja turtle can't reach the spot, huh."
Her best friend resumed undoing the laces on his other boot. He set his shoes on the side of the bed, scratching at his dark hair. "What do you expect from a person with a name like that?”

  Callista sat up on the bed. Her nude lips curled into a sneer. "Please, don't be surprised if you wake up with no balls." She faked a gasp, long fingers against her bottom lip. "Oh, do you even have one?”

  Castor's laugh rumbled inside the room. He yanked his gun from the back of his pants and put it under his pillow. He collapsed on the bed, facing her. "Don't let me shoot you then.”

  Before Callista could retort to his statement, her eyes caught sight of a crumpled piece of paper. She picked it up, and a number was written there.

  Unbelievable.

  She tore the paper with force she didn't know she possessed. Callista felt Castor's questioning eyes. "What? We're early tomorrow."

  The possessiveness she felt over Castor Luciano was a feeling she didn't wish to explore. They were friends with an ongoing love-hate relationship. That's it.

  There's only one person she wanted to be with. It was that boy.

  Too bad she couldn't remember his face clearly except that he was blonde like the other million people in the world.

  But one day, she would.

  She would have what she wanted.

  ***

  CHAPTER 3

  The only time Callista Genovese felt guilty was when her bodyguard was shot in front of her. She had nightmares for days that turned into weeks. Knowing someone had died for you was like committing an unforgivable sin. It eroded her soul, and for the first time, she had hated her sparkling life. Eventually, it led her to have a vacation, which lasted for three years.

  Castor stopped his car in the front doors of the Genovese mansion. He waited for Callista to get off, but she remained rooted in her seat. "Hey, this is your house. Have you forgotten?”

  He rolled his eyes, pinching her cheeks. "Callista!"

  Callista jostled herself from his grasp. "Just wait. I'm composing myself."

  "Can you hurry up? It's already evening." Castor inclined back to his seat, arms under his head. He closed his eyes. "I'm fucking beat.”

  "Don't you want to go inside?" Callista asked. She hoped he would because she wasn't looking forward to facing her father alone.

  "No."

  "Why not?" She whined this time.

  "I'm tired." Castor bent down and searched his glove box. He pulled out a golden necklace with a cross pendant on it. He threw it to her. "I got this from your apartment before I burnt it down.”

  "You what?"

  Castor cleared his throat. "Well, technically, it was a gas leak.”

  "You're preposterous!" Callista grabbed the necklace from him. She stormed out of the car without looking back.

  "See you tomorrow, your majesty!”

  She ignored Castor's gibes and stood in front of the enormous white double doors of the mansion. Callista wore her necklace, gaining courage from it, and took a deep breath. She pushed the doors open and found herself once again in the large Venetian foyer.

  Callista twirled, scanning the place, and remembered the last time she had been here.

  ~~~~

  "Daddy, I want to go!" Callista shouted, dragging her luggage with her.

  Caesar Genovese shook his head. His grey eyes were wide with worry. "You're unreasonable! It was natural for a bodyguard to protect you!”

  "No! He wouldn't have gotten shot if I don't have bodyguards in the first place! I hate this life! I hate people following me! I hate people watching what I do!" Her very grey eyes turned a shade darker. Callista stomped her foot, hoping that she got her point across.

  "Caly, for god's sake! You've been kidnapped once! I will not let that happen again!" Her father shouted in return. He placed his hands on his hips. "I will not let you out of my sight!”

  "That happened years ago!" Callista let out a long sigh. She muttered softly, "Dad, I'm sorry. I want to go. I need to go."

  ~~~~

  "Caly?"

  Callista turned to the source of the sound. Her father stood at the top of the staircase, eyes wide at seeing her. He dashed from the second floor, which was very uncanny for the governor of New York. He smothered his daughter with a tight embrace.

  "You're back," he said and peeked behind her. "Where are your things?"

  "What do you expect from Castor?"

  Her father chuckled, straightening his suit jacket. "I'm sorry. I want you here as fast as I can."

  Callista followed her father's rapid pace in the living room. She sat on the beige sofa, facing his father on the large pale couch. She crossed her legs, disregarding the fact that she needed to take a bath. "I told you specifically to call me if it's an emergency. This better is worth it, daddy.”

  The older man shoved the newspaper on the table towards her. His styled hair and clean-shaven face added to the gravity of his words. "This is war, Callista.”

  Callista's ear perked up with her father's wordings. She snatched the paper from the table, and the face of a familiar man immediately jumped to her eyesight. "Franco is getting married?”

  "And he's getting married to a Gallo," Caesar added. He clasped his hands together, staring straight at her. "Head of Wall Street's most profitable hedge fund."

  "Why are you worried?" Caly's forehead creased.

  Caesar's bluish-grey irises darkened. He loosened his tie and spoke with a heavy tone. "Nicholas Luciano had already asked permission for a full-on assault against the Castellanos. I asked him that I will take care of it.”

  "Daddy, I don't understand. Is the Gallos that important to tip the balance off?" she asked. Callista waited for her father's reply, but it didn't come. Caesar Genovese pursed his lips. "Dad? They just came from Italy!”

  "You don't understand, Callista. They're a foreign invader. For the Lucianos, that's already a broken rule." Caesar eyed his daughter in earnest. "I want you to stop this wedding.”

  "What?" Callista shot up from the sofa. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows scrunching with disdain.

  "Caly, I want to avoid a bloodbath on this state between these two families," Caesar muttered with a firm tone, glancing at his daughter. He stood up, hands on his pocket, and the stature of a politician. "I want you to do it quietly.”

  "And I'm perfect for that?" she growled. Callista yanked at her dark tresses while she frantically paced the living room.

  "You're my heir. Of course, it has to be you!" Caesar gazed at his daughter's eyes and grabbed her hand. "Callista, this job has been in our family for years. It's true that my great-grandfather benefited with a lot of money by looking the other way. But I'm not like the persons who came before me."

  "And you're not like them either," he smiled, cupping her cheek against his right palm. "We don't look the other way."

  "Daddy, I'm sorry." Callista put her hand over her father's. She bit her lip, looking down, and blinked the tears away. She met his eyes and saw the exhaustion lines on his face. Deep down, she knew she couldn't leave again. "I'm sorry for running away and leaving you alone. With this crap.”