by J. J. McAvoy
And she was weak.
I would not apologize for that.
I would not apologize for anything. Everything I had done, everything I would do, I did it to survive, whether people understood it or not.
“So…I guess we get to host another house party to welcome Calliope so people can see your family,” my grandmother stated, though it sounded more like a question.
“No,” I said even though it was what we’d normally do, but I didn’t want normal. “Call the family photographer.”
“A photographer?” Uncle Neal asked.
Watching the paper burning on my desk, I nodded. “Yes, the family portraits need to be updated,” I stated coldly.
“Couldn’t a photographer do so at a house party?” My grandmother pressed her lips into a firm line of disapproval. She wasn’t a stickler for tradition, but she still respected the way things were always done.
“All of you do not seem to be getting it…” I blew the ash from my fingers. “There will be no party because she does not need to be introduced. Calliope and her family are already known to Chicago.”
“What does that mean?” Uncle Declan paused; they all did.
“I’ve never heard of her or her weird looking grandfather, either,” Wyatt said. “Only that Nana hates his guts.”
Our grandmother said nothing. She sat in the chair, poised, calm, yet raging.
“Of course you haven’t. You never pay attention to other people.” Which is why he didn’t know Helen had been in love with him since they were kids.
“Well, I am paying attention now.”
I’d let him slide for that tone for now.
“Calliope Seraphina Orsini. She was born on November 28th, in Winnetka, Illinois. Her childhood residence is about twenty minutes down the road from here. She is the daughter of Roman and Camilla Affini.”
His eyes widened
“Affini as Affini Beauty and Fashion?” he asked, staring out baffled.
“Exactly.”
“Roman and Camilla’s youngest daughter,” my grandmother whispered, a bit stunned. “I forgot they had a third one…no. More likely, they wanted us to forget about their third daughter. Many people speculated she’d gotten herself into trouble, so they sent her abroad to hide her from the family.”
Just then, my Uncle Neal snapped his fingers. “She’s the one people said was an addict? Declan, remember last Christmas? The Jamesons heard she’d gotten herself locked up in México.”
“Wait,” Uncle Declan said seriously as he ignored Uncle Neal, sitting up on to the edge of the chair. “If she is an Affini, why does she go by Orsini?”
“Simple, her father, Roman, planned to get revenge on grandpa Sedric, for killing his brothers. So, he changed his identity and moved to Chicago but fell in love with Camilla, her mother, and decided to give up after Liam and Melody Giovanni got married. He did what the Italians and Irishmen asked him to do to: he let go of the blood feuds.”
“Those feuds did not die, Ethan,” Wyatt stated. “They still hate each other. Even now. A few weeks ago they were all planning on revolting. I had set fire to—”
“Yes, yes, I know, do not harp on small victories, brother. It’s annoying.”
He stared at me, then looked at the rest of this little family meeting. “Am I dead? Have I lost my mind? Or did he just tell us that his newfound wife is the daughter of a family of people who fucking hate our guts. And he knows this but still gave her the keys to the house? What the fuck is happening?”
I grabbed the paperweight on the desk, to my grandmother’s horror, as I aimed at his head.
“Ethan!”
CRASH!
The glass ball grazed right past his head into the wall and shattered, but not before putting a dent in the hardwood. Wyatt nearly fell over as he turned to look at me.
“You may be my brother…brother. But that does not mean I will keep letting your fucking disrespect slide! Watch your tone.”
Silence.
All of them.
Wyatt took a deep breath before sitting his wounded ass down. He tapped his cane into the floor. “Ethan, I am not trying to be disrespectful. I am trying to understand, because right now it looks like the mother of your child, who poisoned us all last night, happens to be related to the same people who harmed our grandmother and set out to kill us.”
“The Orsini family worked for the Giovanni family,” I said slowly for them. “They worked for mother and grandfather Orlando. They committed crimes against the Callahans. The Callahans committed crimes back. We are half Giovanni and half Callahan. To become that, we told them to drop the feuds. They listened. Have any of you been hurt by the Affini or the Orsini family since?”
None of them spoke.
“Then what is the problem?” I questioned, looking at my grandmother. “What happened to you in the past cannot dictate my future. Let it go, Nana.”
“Isn’t the fact that I let Fiorello Orsini into this house proof that I am? The man that killed your aunt and tried to kill me and your father is now sleeping in this house. His family is now my family…and proof I’ve lived too damn long,” my grandmother nearly spat out, rising from her seat. “You lead this family, Ethan, so it is your choice, as always. I do not know this Calliope well; however, you have claimed her as yours, so she’s yours.”
“But?”
“Until my dying day, even when I am ash in a grave, I will never trust any Orsini…living or dead, name changed or not,” she said as she took her leave.
And this was why the blood feuds never ended.
“Umm…” Uncle Neal spoke up. “This might seem…like the plot of a bad movie but, what if…this was all a trap. Like maybe Fiorello, Calliope’s grandfather, is using her to get the revenge her father failed to get?”
I stared at him for a long time before speaking coldly. “Wow. Thank you, Uncle, for that insight. That never crossed my mind.”
“All kidding aside, what if he is right?” Wyatt asked. He lifted his hands up in defense. “I mean, isn’t she an assassin?”
“If he’s right, I’m an idiot. We all die. The end.”
Once more they all just stared, and part of me…a very small, private part of me wanted to laugh at the look on their faces.
But I didn’t. I just stared back.
6
“You inherit your environment just as much as your genes.”
~ Johnny Rich
CALLIOPE
One bath and a new outfit later and I finally felt human again.
Mrs. Calliope Seraphina Orsini Callahan…my name was growing. I snickered at the thought as I sat out on the patio, staring out at the lawn…a very familiar lawn.
The lawn that started it all.
The past came rushing to my mind again just as the cool breeze blew across my face and the smell of fresh-cut grass came to my nose. But I pushed it back, turning my head when I heard O’Phelan come closer to me.
“These are yours, ma’am,” O’Phelan said, placing two phones, a tablet, as well as three blank black debit cards in my hand. “They are temporary; for now, anything else you may need, please let me know, until you’ve chosen your guards.”
“This is the complete staff list?” I asked him, lifting the tablet.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I nodded, looking over to Gigi as she worked on her letters next to me. Putting my hand on her head, she looked up. Smiling at her, I tapped under her beautiful eyes. I loved that they were different colors. Even if it wasn’t my eye color. The very fact that she had her father’s and her grandmother’s was good enough. “Are you happy, cuore mio? That you get to live here now? With Papa?”
“I’m happy!” she said before getting back work. She was very serious about it, too.
“O’Phelan,” I called out him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I know you don’t know me or exactly what I have done to get here,” I said as I softly brushed my fingers through Gigi’s hair. “But you, I’m sure
you are smart enough to know it wasn’t easy or pretty.” Or bloodless.
He didn’t reply, but he stood a bit straighter, his eyes hard…he knew.
“Working for me is very simple.” My eyes narrowed as he watched. “Never question me, never fail me, and never make me doubt your loyalty to me.”
“I understand.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You can’t possibly understand. You were hired by Melody, Ethan’s mother, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And since then, you have been an unwavering servant. Do you know what that tells me?”
“No, ma’am.” He frowned, clearly not sure what I meant.
“It means you are an old dog, loyal to an old master. It means I already do not trust you. It means if you cannot live up to what I have asked from you, say so now. Because I will offer you only this one chance to retire and go live out your days somewhere by the beach.”
He nodded. “Thank you for your offer, ma’am, but I enjoy my position. This old dog would rather be put down than sent to a useless beach.”
“I trust you won’t let me down then. Because I’m very good at putting down dogs.” I smiled, writing down on the paper what I needed.
“No, I will not.”
“I will see about that,” I replied, handing him my directions. And so it begins…or ends.
Everything was about perspective.
“Enjoying yourself?”
His voice was like rain on campfire and spiders on the skin. Sitting up straighter, I turned to see my grandfather as he walked on to the patio, dressed in a suit though he had nowhere he needed to be going…or at least, nowhere he told me he was going.
I nodded for O’Phelan to leave and he did. My grandfather tapped the top of Gigi’s head before he took a seat in the chair across from me. His old foggy eyes glanced over the phones, the cards, the list, and whistled. “Gifts to the new Mrs. Callahan. How nice.”
“Some call it gifts, others call it work,” I replied.
“So long as you know the difference,” he stated, reaching for the list of guards. “So long as you remember gifts can be taken away, and whom you work for.”
“I work for myself,” I stated.
“As all Orsinis should.” He chuckled.
I said nothing, because there was nothing I could say. I could feel it, exactly what he was worried about but would not say. The last time he trusted anyone…It was Orlando Giovanni and, in the end, my grandfather got screwed over to make sure his precious daughter could be married and live happily ever after…the irony. All the Orsinis had sworn then that they’d never work for another Giovanni again, let alone a damn Callahan.
I couldn’t help but shake my head. Just a few minutes ago, in a simple bath washing the blood off of me, I had felt like a human again…a mother, the new head of the house…the Mrs. Callahan. Then he came and reminded me that I had so much more blood to stain my hands with. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, shaking the guilt that tried to rise in the pit of my stomach. I’d already come this far. I’d already lied and betrayed this much so far.
There would be no forgiveness.
There was no going back.
“Grandfather,” I whispered. “Be patient.”
His expression worsened. “How do you think I’ve lived this long?”
By taking a spoonful of revenge one day at a time.
“Gigi?”
At the sound of his deep and composed voice, both my daughter and I turned to see Ethan as he stepped onto the patio, finally free from the clutches of his family’s never-ending questions. He was dressed in grey trousers and a button-down shirt. His dark hair was still a bit wet, so I knew he also snuck in a shower. His green eyes shifted to my grandfather as Gigi hopped down and ran to him.
“It seems I am in your debt, Fiorello,” Ethan said as he lifted Gigi into his arms.
“Really?” My grandfather grinned. “A debt from a Callahan, whatever could I have done for such a mighty reward?”
“My wife and my daughter would not be here without you,” he replied. “I am grateful.”
“Do not be too grateful,” he chuckled, nodding to me. “This one is the true handful, but then again, I’m sure you are starting to notice.”
“I am.”
“I am sitting right here,” I said, looking between the two of them. “This conversation feels very chauvinistic. I dislike it.”
“See ‘handful,’” my grandfather snickered, rising from his seat. He looked us over, and because he could not help himself, he had to add another line. “Though I wonder, if you are so grateful. Why did it take me to bring them here? Why weren’t you reasonable from the beginning, Ceann Na Conairte?”
Ethan’s hand flexed and his reply was chilling and cold. “I wasn’t aware.”
“Ah, right.” He nodded but his tone was clearly full of disbelief. “Well then, I guess I cannot fault you for that.”
I watched as he walked away.
“Does he really have Alzheimer’s?” Ethan asked when he was gone.
“He said he does, and so do his doctors,” I answered. “But then again, anything can be faked.”
Medical records.
Death records.
Taxes.
…Even love.
I glanced up at him as he stared down at me. But before we could talk, we were once again interrupted because God forbid we have one dull hour in this house.
“Sir,” Greyson said, holding a phone.
Ethan sighed gently.
“Heavy is the head…” I said.
He didn’t put down Gigi, he just walked over and took the phone from Greyson. The man stepped out of his way, closer to where I sat. He nodded to me. “Ma’am.”
I lifted the tablet. “Ryan Greyson, age 34, born in Chicago, 6’6”, 260lbs…” I started to read.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you like working here?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.
I tilted my head to the side. “I suppose you couldn’t really say no, could you.”
He laughed softly. “No, but I truly do.”
“Hmmm.”
“Ma’am…have we met before?” he asked.
Without hesitation, I shook my head and lied. “No.”
Ethan returned, giving him the phone. “Go to the wharf tonight, but be discrete. The police presence is increasing.”
“Yes sir,” he replied, nodding to me before taking his leave. Rising from my chair, I placed my hand on Gigi’s face. She’d fallen back asleep in his arms.
“Greyson.”
“Tomorrow,” Ethan said.
“Fine. Hopefully, it has a much better start than today.”
“One day at a time,” he reminded me. “We need to talk…privately.”
I waved my hand out so he could lead the way. “After you, Boss.”
I handed him the wine glasses and the bottle when we entered his—well, our—bedroom, and he glanced down at it as if he didn’t know what to do.
“I went through the trouble of getting the wine. The least you can do is pour it.”
“I am more concerned with how you could possibly be having more wine at this hour after drinking half a bottle last night.”
I did not like his expression—the smug and amused look. “First of all, I am Italian; we drink wine whenever the fuck we want to drink wine. Secondly, this barely has any alcohol; it is basically red water.”
His eyebrow rose before he took the bottle from my hand, reading the label. “So, you are arguing that 9.5% is barely alcohol and is water?”
I frowned at his tone. “Okay, water is a bit of a stretch, but honestly, anything under 10% is grape juice.”
“9.5%—”
“Shut up and give me my bottle back; obviously, you do not deserve it! That’s what I get for trying share with you, asshole,” I snapped, trying to reach for it.
He shifted his arm farther from my reach.
“Really?” I snappe
d with my hand on my hips.
His lips turned up in a smile he rarely showed to anyone else. “I guess I will allow it as you had a rough day.”
“You’ll allow it?” I gasped, baffled. “I see. You must have hit your head somewhere in the midst of this morning chaos—”
“Shh, you’ll wake her,” he cut me off, nodding to Gigi, who was now in bed. “I would love to stay and watch over her, too, but we have a lot of work to do and discuss.”
“I’ll be taking this,” I said, snatching my wine before stepping into my walk-in closet.
The moment I stepped inside, the lights turned on. I stepped onto the Italian hardwood, looking around at all the bags, heels, and clothes I’d purchased. It was so big there was even a staircase in the corner to reach more of my gowns. Flipping the light switch on the side of the wall, the floor in front of me shifted instead of any other lights turning on. The floorboards went down creating a staircase, just like I’d designed it.
Walking down, the lights turned on behind my guns, knives, and a few color-coded bottles of poisons, along with my favorite desk and dark-red velvet chair. This hidden room was actually bigger than my closet itself, with a small bathroom, too. It was a bunker of sorts. I ran my hands over my guns, then my needles, only pausing when I saw a folded letter sitting on top of a gold, black, and ivory gun that I didn’t recognize in the center of my collection.
The gun looked more like art than a weapon. The slide was black covered in gold vinery, the barrel and the trigger gold; however, the side grips were made of ivory, and the same design included them as well.
“My father had that gun made for my mother. She said it was too flashy and stereotypical for a mafia leader, especially a woman,” Ethan’s voice said from behind me.
Taking the gun, I checked it before speaking again. “Did you replace any of the pieces?”
“No.”
I shook my head, taking it apart slowly, nodding when I saw the recoil spring guide as well as the slide lock spring. “She used it and replaced pieces that would give. Some pieces are newer, and the color is slightly off. She was maintaining it as if it were new. She must have really loved it and didn’t want him to know.”