SLICK

by Peavey Marshall

  "I know that," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll ask Vincent to look into it."

  "Then, what's the problem?" Her grey eyes peered at his face, a soft hand clutching the black fabric of his jacket. "Cas?"

  "Nothing." He stomped to his car and waited for his best friend to get in.

  Castor's mind was somewhere else as they reached the intersection. He had failed to notice that the light had turned green. The car behind them honked insistently, going as far as flicking a middle finger when they passed the Ferrari.

  "Ignore them," Caly said.

  He stepped on the gas, beating the red light that Callista spit out profanities. "Castor, that's enough!"

  The car accelerated, almost reaching the tail of the other car. The needles were in a frenzy as his speed increased.

  "Castor Hadrian, I swear!" Caly shouted in distress.

  Cas swerved to the left, lowering the speed as they entered a household area. "Sorry."

  "Stop the car."

  With her arctic tone, Castor could only follow. The car halted, the soft whirring ceased as its driver let out a sigh. "I said, I'm sorry."

  "What's wrong with you?" Callista's warm hand settled above his ringed fingers. His grip on the wheel tightened at her eager inquiry.

  "Nothing."

  "Hey!" She snapped her fingers in front of his face. Wrath simmered on her words. "I almost died back there. You owe me an explanation!"

  Cas licked his lips, looking at her. "You didn't die.”

  "Almost is the keyword," Callista emphasized, eyes filled with tumultuous dark clouds. Electricity sparked on her skin, subtle and soft like the beginning of a rain. He liked that she smelled of roses and vanilla, but it turned him, even more when she smells like thunderstorms. "Are you keeping secrets from me now? Is that it?”

  He's so fucked, isn't he?

  Castor rubbed at his tensed neck, raking his fingers through his hair. "I know what kind of organization I ran. I'm a master of separating myself from that thought. It's not my fault people have vices, and yet, this happened." Pain blossomed on his temples. He opened the roof of his car, freely scanning the darkening sky and letting the air blew at their faces. "I don't want people to be afraid of me. I want their respect and trust. But just when I thought that the business had become civil, this always happens. And I'm back to square one."

  "So?"

  He turned to her. "So... your father would have found a better way."

  Callista snorted. "My father would readily sacrifice one man for the good of many. You know how the story goes. He needed to make an example of one man to make people respect him. What's great about that?"

  Her bitter tone caused a raised eyebrow. "It's great. The less casual—"

  "No. Don't you dare think that! You don't notice, but someone who refuses to leave his family and instead change them is already one step closer to his goal. You, Castor Luciano, is a loyal man who would protect Vince even if you say you don't like him." She finally smiled, one that brightened her pretty face. "You're fine the way you are.”

  "Really?" he chuckled, not hiding the grin that curled on his lips.

  "Yes." Callista nodded. "At least, I know you won't put your daughter in this situation."

  Cas frowned, sensing the dejected lilt of her tone. His fingers tapped at the wheel in quiet contemplation. He knew that Callista's situation was difficult, but he couldn't change it. He didn't want to waste the chance of a lifetime. Damn, now he sounded like a hypocrite.

  He changed the subject. "Why do I suddenly have a daughter?”

  Caly burst out in a fit of giggles. "You don't want to?"

  Castor was tempted to tease her again, but he didn't want to test her limits. "Where do you wanna go?"

  "I wanna eat buffalo wings!" She let out a happy scream, turning the radio on.

  "Are you serious?" He glanced at the boxes of desserts she had bought earlier. "You're still hungry?"

  A song that blasted through the radio made Caly jerked to him. She lowered the volume, beaming at her best friend. "Sing this for me!"

  "What? No!"

  "Hey! You aren't forgiven yet!" Callista folded her arms, silver eyes challenging his emerald ones.

  "You're making me do things you're bad at," he muttered in jest. "I said sorry already."

  "My life is worth more than one apology."

  "Damn. You're right." Callista might have blushed, but the night had successfully concealed it.

  He sighed. No matter how Caly or his dad said that he had a golden voice, it was still embarrassing to sing.

  But he was whipped, so of course, he had no choice. This girl will be the death of him.

  "I've been reading books of old, the legends and the myths..."

  ***

  CHAPTER 24

  Callista had invited Franco to her house. She didn't want to try another one of his date ideas again. This time she might actually pop a vein and die from too much anger. She went to the kitchen, seeing the staff bustling for dinner preparation. Caly sat on the kitchen counter, plucking a grape from the fruit platter.

  "Hija! Why are you here?" Amanda Jones exclaimed, placing a plate of pesto pasta on the metal surface.

  "We can have dinner here, Auntie." She shrugged, shying away from the older woman's curious eyes. Mallorie's mother was more than their cook, but Caly wasn't in the mood to share her problems. "Franco will be fine with it."

  "Oh my! I didn't know you need to choose a dress, Miss Caly!" Eula cried from the doorway with folded bedsheets on her arms.

  She smiled at her maid. "It's fine, Eula." Callista stood up. Her white off-shoulder dress flowed in as she twirled. "I chose well, right?"

  "You look good in anything, Miss Caly!" Eula replied with a beam. "But I honestly expected to see you in jeans. I thought Mr. Castellano was a close friend. Like Mr. Luciano.”

  Thomas grunted in displeasure as he entered the kitchen. He went straight to the coffee machine. "Are you impressing that blond, Miss Caly? I don't like that boy.”

  Callista returned to her seat, smirking at their differing opinions. "And who do you like, Thomas?"

  "Castor, of course!" he answered, gesturing to Eula with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. "He never broke my trust once!”

  "But Mr. Castellano gave back Miss Caly in one piece! Not even a scratch!" Eula insisted, her petite form burning in defiance. "And he's very handsome!”

  "And Cas, isn't it?" Thomas shot back. His grayish hair didn't stop him from debating with the young maid that Caly had to laugh.

  "Stop it, you two. You have work to do!" Amanda interjected as she set a platter of garlic bread.

  Callista put a hand under her chin, tilting her head at the older woman. "How about you, Auntie? Who do you like?"

  Amanda bent to tuck a stray hair behind her head. "I'll go with whoever makes you happy, amor.”

  Her heart warmed at the woman's words. Why couldn't her father say that?

  Thomas and Eula retreated to tend to their work, and Caly was left alone with Amanda. The chef's work was done when she completed the dinner with an apple pie as dessert. Callista swallowed thickly. "It smells so good!"

  She gasped. Her happiness evaporating when she realized that she didn't ask Franco what he liked. Damn. She had to remedy this soon.

  Callista ran to her bedroom, rummaging through the boxes of her old things. She was ecstatic when she found the thing she needed.

  "Miss Caly, your guest is here!" Eula called out from the door.

  The heiress went back to the foyer, taking the steps two at a time. She stumbled to the door, the notebook firm in her grasp. "I'm here. I'm not late."

  Franco raised an eyebrow, deep blue eyes scrutinizing her form. Callista frowned just as the man spoke. "You cut your hair?"

  Caly gawked at him. She did trim her hair but doubted that anyone could notice. "Ah, yeah. Do you like it?"

  "Huh? Why would I like your hair?" The distress on his alluring face and the
extreme denial caused a tiny bit of affection in Caly's heart. She now had a good idea of what Franco was like.

  "Well, I like your hair," she smiled, relishing the way his features softened. Franco had cut his blond mane though it still fell over above his brows.

  He clicked his tongue and handed her the bottle of wine in his hand. "It's red. I feel like you're the type."

  Caly received the bottle. The last time they drank together, she had ended up kissing him. Franco had never brought it up, but she knew that both of them would simply blame the alcohol.

  She suddenly had a great idea.

  "Thanks. I like red." Caly gestured towards the kitchen. She noticed Franco's white rolled-up sleeves and dark pants. "Did you come from the office?"

  "Yeah. I had a meeting." He seated in front of her, eyeing the pasta and the apple pie before looking at her. "What's that?"

  Caly placed the wine and the notebook on the table. "It's a slambook."

  "What." He spat out the word like icicles dropping on a cave floor.

  Callista snubbed his disapproval. Franco Castellano was like a solitary iceberg. Aloof and independent with sheets of frost casing their beating hearts. They remain solid and firm no matter what storm blew. But not her. She wasn't just a storm. She's also fire.

  And she was adamant about breaking through Franco's defenses. Caly had faith that even the thickest ice eventually melts."Let's eat. We're gonna answer yours later."

  The perturbed look didn't leave his face even as they were eating. Caly asked him about the progress of his wine again, and this time, Franco was more than willing to share. She listened as passion sparkled in his eyes.

  They started dessert when Franco opened the wine, pouring the alcohol on both of their glasses. Caly opened the slambook, pressing the top of the pen. "Let's start."

  Franco scratched at his temple. "Can we not do that?"

  "No. We will do this. I will ask you questions, and you will answer." The glint of her silver eyes left no room for a negative reply. "Favorite color?"

  The man took a huge gulp from his wine before he replied in a dry tone. "White."

  "Song?”

  "I don't know."

  "Movie?"

  "I don't care.”

  "Food?"

  "Anything."

  "Even trash?”

  "What?"

  "Favorite drink?"

  "Wine."

  It didn't take long for Caly to get bored. She looked up from writing, glaring at Franco, who's attention was on his wine. "What is love?”

  "What?"

  "What is love?" She sat straight, sipping from her wine glass.

  Franco was wide awake. He blinked a few times before his frown deepened. "You just made that up."

  "Of course not."

  He didn't look convinced as he grabbed the slam book from the girl. His eyes trailed at the pages, but Callista went batshit when he flicked the pages. "Wait!"

  Franco shot up from his seat, keeping the book away from her reach. A gloss of fiendish mirth passed over his irises. "These are your answers?"

  "Don't read that!" Caly circled the counter when Franco doubled his steps to get away from her. Callista blew out air, hating her much shorter steps. She scowled. "Am I chasing you now? Seriously?"

  "This says you're bad at singing?" A smirk tugged at his lips. "Let me hear it."

  She scoffed, sending glowers his way when he raised the slambook out of her reach. Caly cursed his six feet height. She hit him on the chest. "Franco! I wrote that when I was eleven! Give it back!"

  "I promise if I hear it, I'll answer your questions," Franco declared. "Or do you want me to read your most embarrassing moment?"

  "Oh, god!" Callista groaned, running her palms over her face. How did the tables turn?

  "Let me read it." He squinted at the letters just above her head. "My most embarrassing moment was when—"

  "Fine!" she shrieked, stomping her feet on the floor. Caly's cheeks burned. She had never sing again after her confidence was torn at her middle school performance. She cleared her throat. "Wise....men....say---- ”

  Franco laughed, doubling over in happiness that engulfed the whole kitchen. He placed the thin notebook over his mouth but his chuckles spilled out in bouncy ripples.

  Caly ogled at the scene before her. Her previous outrage dispersed with the seraphic sound her ears were exposed to. She arched an eyebrow. "I told you I was bad. You happy now?"

  "That wasn't just bad! It was worse!" He laughed again but hid it better with a loud cough.

  She pouted. Her chagrin was back no matter how gorgeous he appeared with his dimpled smile and sky blue eyes. "Okay. That's enough before I bring up the fact that you vomited on our first date."

  "What? I didn't—"

  His reply was cut off when Caesar Genovese marched into the kitchen. His grey eyes flitted between the younger people. "I'm sorry. Did I disturb you two?"

  "It's fine. We'll go to the library." Caly rolled her eyes and nodded to Franco. He grabbed the rest of the wine, a slambook on the other as he followed her in silence. Caly could feel his uneasiness when they arrived at the library. "What?"

  "Is it fine to leave your dad?" he asked.

  They slumped on the couch. Callista stretched her legs, placing it on the wooden table as Franco set the bottle and wine glasses. They drank in silence before Franco spoke. "Did you two fight?"

  Caly shook her head. "For such an intelligent man, I can't believe using me is the only way he could think of."

  "What else can he do?"

  "If it was me, I'm gonna put you and Cas in the same room until you become friends." Callista faced him. "I know your family had a lot of animosities but only genetics are passed down, not sins.”

  Franco opened his mouth to speak but Caly put up a finger. "Let's not talk about this alright? I finally made you laugh. Don't ruin the mood."

  He sighed before he leaned forward. The smell of his expensive perfume hit her nose. Her chest hammered as his face got closer. Callista could see his thick lashes, his snowy skin, and the pink swirls on his pale cheeks.

  He smirked, pulling away with the slambook on his fingers. "I want to get this."

  She let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, okay."

  His sapphire gaze danced with unabashed delight. "You thought I was going to kiss you?"

  Callista crossed her arms in defense. Franco was getting away with a lot of jabs at her. "Why not? You did it once."

  "You may want to review your memories, Miss Genovese. Even with our alcohol addled mind, I knew you assaulted me," he replied. Franco's tongue had loosened enough for him to exchange jeers with her.