THE CALLAHANS (A Mafia Romance): The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Daddy wanted to know if you’d picked your best man yet.”

  I cleared my throat as I stood at the windows and looked down on the city. I couldn’t clear my head as easily as I had my throat; I couldn’t get my thoughts to move to anything but her. I groaned a little as I pressed my head between my palms, hoping the pressure would bring me back down to earth.

  “If you haven’t, you should probably do it soon. They need to know who to call about the bachelor party and the boutonnieres.”

  “Stacy.”

  “Stacy? Killian’s wife?”

  “She’s going to be my best man.”

  She giggled a little. “Daddy’s going to hate that. Perfect!”

  I turned, pleased with the pleasure in her eyes. “You’re okay with it?”

  “Of course. If she’s your best friend…”

  “I don’t really have a best friend, but she’s as close as I’ve got.”

  “Then it’s perfect.”

  “What about you?” It hadn’t occurred to me to ask about her maid of honor. It hadn’t really occurred to me to ask a lot of things about her. “Who will be your maid of honor?”

  “Seraphina.”

  “You don’t have any girlfriends you’d rather have?”

  “Momma insisted that it be Seraphina.” She cocked her head slightly. “I was her maid of honor.”

  I could imagine her in a bridesmaid dress. I could imagine her walking down the aisle, too, a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She’d be beautiful in whatever she was wearing, but she just seemed to have the perfect body for formal gowns. I’d have to find lots of excuses to dress her up once we were married.

  “I’ll have a few girlfriends in the wedding party, too. They told you, right, that you’ll need four groomsmen?”

  “Yeah. I’ve already told my brothers and Colin, a friend of the family. They were supposed to go get fitted for their tuxes today.”

  She nodded. She was standing in front of the couch, her hands restless at her sides. The fire was still burning through me, so I turned away and forced myself to focus on the city below me.

  “I guess I should go,” she said after a moment. “I don’t want to keep you from whatever it was you were doing.”

  “You’re not keeping me from anything.”

  “Then why won’t you look at me?”

  Because I want to throw you over my shoulder and carry you up to my bed? Because I can’t stop tasting you on my lips? Because I want to hold those beautiful breasts in the palm of my hands?

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  I turned and grabbed my keys off a side table, snatching her hand before I dragged her to the elevator.

  “And go where?”

  “New York. We have this restaurant there that I know you’d love. We could have dinner, talk a little…”

  “Are you sure?”

  I pulled her against my side and kissed her as passionately as I dared allow myself.

  “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

  Chapter 8

  Mia

  The food was incredible. It was a traditional steak house, kind of like something you might find in downtown Austin, but it had a New York sort of twist to it. There were truffles in the potatoes and oysters served as an appetizer. And the wine…it was a different one for each course, the waiter describing the fruits and other elements that gave the wine it’s unique flavor, explaining why it was the perfect complement to the course we were about to enjoy.

  It was so much fun.

  My father was a wealthy man. He lived a good life, but he didn’t spoil his children, a fact of which he was very proud. I had a middle-class upbringing. I always had what I needed, but I had to work for the things I wanted. And I’d never dined in such an elegant restaurant.

  Spider could never afford a place like this.

  “Tell me the name of the last movie you saw.”

  I cocked my head slightly. “Beaches.”

  “You’re kidding. Don’t you go to the movies?”

  “I do. But that’s the last movie I saw. They were showing it on television last night.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “What about music? What was the last concert you went to?”

  It was Spider’s band, but I wasn’t going to bring all that up now. We were having too good of a time.

  “Five S.O.S.”

  “Five, what?”

  I laughed. “It’s an Australian boy band. One of my girlfriends dragged me to see them here in New York.”

  “Yeah? Did you get lost in the crowd of screaming pre-teens?”

  “It wasn’t too bad. My friend had backstage passes, so we got to meet the drummer and his family. It was actually pretty cool.”

  He shook his head. “I’m marrying a teeny bopper!”

  I tossed a piece of bread stick at him. “You know what they say. You get exactly what you deserve.”

  “Is that what they say?”

  “It could be worse. My favorite band could be the Hansons or New Kids on the Block.”

  “Hey, New Kids isn’t that bad. I actually met Donny Wahlberg once.”

  I laughed, even after I saw the teasing light in his eyes. He chuckled, too, a little blush touching his cheeks as he picked up his fork and pushed around a few pieces of meat still left on his plate.

  “Just tell me you aren’t a diehard fan of Taylor Swift and we’ll get along just fine.”

  “Oh, no, not her. But I don’t mind Calvin Harris. And I like Imagine Dragons and Panic! at the Disco.”

  “I can live with that.”

  His eyes met mine and he reached across the table to take my hand. The light was dim, but it didn’t completely hide the scars I’d noticed before on his wrists. They were thin, pale, and almost invisible. But they were there. I ran my fingertip over one, then another, before looking up at him with the question in my eyes.

  “I told you,” he said softly, “I had a difficult childhood.”

  I nodded as my eyes dropped to the marks again. I was encouraged by the fact that he didn’t pull away.

  “Are there more?”

  “Quite a few. I used to tell girls that they were from a car accident because it seemed like an easier explanation. I even made up this whole story, how I was out with my brothers and we stole Pops’ car. After a while, it got around the high school—then around the college campus—and I didn’t have to tell it anymore.”

  “Have you ever told anyone the truth?”

  He was quiet for a minute, and I could feel his pulse increase slightly under my fingers.

  “No, not really. Abigail knew, but that’s because she was my caseworker. Most of it was written in my files with the state.”

  “But you never talked about it?”

  “They made me go to a counselor when I was younger. But we talked around it more than we ever talked about it.”

  I started to pull back, but he grabbed my hand and tugged it back into his.

  “Does it frighten you, the idea of being with a broken man?”

  That caught me by surprise. I looked up at him, tears making my throat ache a little.

  “You aren’t broken, Ian. You’re the most together man I think I’ve ever met.”

  His eyes widened slightly, a new light coming into them as he studied me. Then he suddenly stood and pulled me out of my chair.

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  I followed him through the streets of Manhattan, overwhelmed as I usually was, with the number of people still on the street even though it was nearly midnight. The old woman in the back of my mind wanted to yell at these people and tell them to go home, to go to bed. But then there was the little girl in me that was secretly thrilled to be part of this recklessness.

  Ian led the way to Central Park, pulling me along one of the many paths. I’d been to New York often when I was in college—it was the destination for most of my wilder friends—but I’d not been to this part of the park. It was beautiful, but dark.
There was this sense of danger that seemed to settle over us the deeper into the park we went, but Ian slipped his arm around my waist and I felt protected in a way I couldn’t even begin to describe.

  “They used to bring me here,” he said in a low voice that I had to really concentrate to hear. “I haven’t allowed myself to walk these paths since then, since Abigail found me.”

  “Who?”

  “My uncle.”

  There was tension in his body when he spoke the words. But the moment they fell from his lips, he was relaxed again.

  “My parents lived here in the city. They were the ultimate yuppie couple. He was a lawyer; she was an advertising executive. I had a nanny, and there was a maid…I can remember coming here to the park, playing with other children just like me when I was just a toddler…four or five, I suppose. I suppose it was a good life, but I can’t really remember it. I can see the nanny’s face, but I can’t really remember what my mother looked like.”

  We came to a little playground then, and he pulled me over to one of the benches, wrapping his arms around me to protect me from the slight chill in the air.

  “They were killed in a car accident while they were taking a weekend alone together up in the Adirondacks. My uncle was my only family, my father’s brother. I don’t know if I’d met him before they died. I was seven at the time, but I guess the shock of my parents’ deaths blurred my memories. There are so many things I can’t recall from that time.”

  “I suppose that’s normal. I don’t remember much before I began kindergarten.”

  He nodded, his hands splaying over my middle as he pulled me back against him a little tighter.

  “I wish I didn’t remember the time after that.”

  I ran my hands over his, feeling the slight tremble in them that came from something other than the cool night air.

  “My uncle was one of those guys, the relative that everyone has in their family, who was unwilling to do an honest day’s work. He made his money playing the lottery and coming up with get rich quick schemes. When my dad died, it was as if he’d won the ultimate lottery. But he had to take me to get the money. And when it ran out…”

  He grabbed my fingers as they made the top edge of the pattern I’d been tracing against the back of his hand, holding my hand tight in his.

  “First it was pictures. He’d bring in props—stuffed animals and dogs and once there was a goat. I thought it was fun, like we were actors preparing a role. But then he brought in this other little boy who told me things, horrible things…”

  “Ian, you don’t have to—”

  “I want to. I want you to know what you’re getting in this deal.”

  I turned into him, brushing my lips against his chin.

  “I’m getting a good man who cares enough about me to share his darkest secrets.”

  He groaned, pressing his lips against mine for a long second. He caught my bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling a little before he let go. He was quiet for a long time, his hand still clinging to mine as he held me close. I relaxed against him, rolling my head against his shoulder.

  “I’m not a good man,” he whispered after a while. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve used people and hurt men who were only trying to survive.”

  “You’ve done what you had to do to survive.”

  “Not always. We’re criminals, Mia. We hurt people to make money. We steal from good people just because we can. And we kill—”

  “Don’t you think I know? I’ve grown up in this world.”

  “But the thing is, it doesn’t bother me. Every time I raise my gun to someone, I see my uncle on the other side. Or the men he sold me to when he brought me here to the city. I see everyone who ever hurt me, and I pull that trigger with something that is so close to glee that it scares the shit out of me.”

  “But it does scare you. Doesn’t that mean something?”

  He turned my face toward his, his breath warm and flavored with the good meal we’d just shared. Our lips brushed and then heat moved between us, passion that I felt every time he touched me. I twisted in his arms and climbed onto his lap, wrapping my arms around him as I kissed him with everything I had to give him. His hands slipped under the thin sweater I was wearing over my dress, his flesh warm against mine. He broke the kiss, burying his face against my shoulder for a long time.

  “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he mumbled.

  I kissed the top of his head. “You chose your family over everything else.”

  He nodded, a soft chuckle blowing heat against my chest. “You don’t know how right you are.”

  He was laughing as we left the park, hand-in-hand, his step light as he asked me if I’d ever tasted an authentic tiramisu.

  “You’re talking to an Italian girl. My parents sent me to Tuscany as my graduation gift after college.”

  “But you’ve never tasted the one we sell at my father’s restaurant.”

  “How many restaurants does your father own in Manhattan?”

  “Seven.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “No. And four of them are practically right next door to each other.”

  “Is your dad a frustrated chef or something?”

  “He doesn’t even know how to cook. But he knows a good business when he sees one.”

  It was past midnight now, but the restaurants and clubs were overcrowded. He pulled me through the door of an Italian restaurant where people were waiting on the sidewalk to get in, staring at their smartphones and grumbling about things they were letting go in order to wait there. The man behind the reservation book looked up with a dry, sober expression. But the second he saw Ian, his face brightened.

  “Brother!” he cried, coming around his podium and embracing Ian with one of those well-executed bro hugs. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight!”

  “I’m not here on business. I just wanted to get one of Paul’s tiramisus for my fiancée. She’s never tasted it.”

  “Oh.” The man’s eyes suddenly jumped to my face, the high color on his face changing to something that resembled mud. But then he forced a new smile and focused on Ian. “Well, then, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Thank you, Tom.”

  The man gestured toward the dining room. “Table five’s open.”

  Ian took my hand and led the way into the depths of the restaurant, helping me into a chair at a table that was right smack in the middle of the dining room. It was a classy place, the tables all covered in expensive linen and flowers in crystal vases on each one. The cutlery was clearly top of the line, the glasses thin and clear and beautiful.

  And the faces that adorned the tables, some I recognized from television and movies, some from magazines that still arrived on a monthly basis at my parents’ house. It was like stepping onto a movie set.

  “Your dad owns this place?”

  “Yeah. It’s one of the properties I oversee for Callahan Industries.”

  I couldn’t stop looking around, and I couldn’t help the little sighs that slipped from between my lips every time I saw something else that surprised me. Ian lived a life I couldn’t even imagine. And I was about to become a part of that.

  It was hard to wrap my mind around it.

  “Paul wants to bring it out himself, so it’ll be a second,” Tom said as he approached our table. His eyes were polite when they regarded Ian, but there was open curiosity in them when he looked at me.

  “Thanks,” Ian said, effectively dismissing him as he reached across the table to take my hands.

  “We should come up for the weekend sometime, catch a Broadway show and a good dinner. Maybe take in a concert, too.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He smiled. “Maybe after our honeymoon.”

  “You planned a honeymoon?”

  “Of course. It’s not a wedding without one, is it?”

  He lifted my hand to his lips, my engagement ring sparkling as it caught the light. He played with it
between his fingers for a second as his eyes came up to mine again.

  “Thank you for coming here with me.”

  “Thank you for bringing me.”

  “Mr. Callahan,” someone said, his voice as boisterous as my father’s. Ian sat back and smiled as a tall, wide man came toward us through the crowded dining room, two plates of tiramisu in his hands. His smile widened as he spotted Ian. He gestured with the plates and said, “My best batch yet.”

  “Thank you, Paul,” Ian said, standing to greet the man with an enthusiastic fist bump. “How’ve you been? How’s the wife?”

  “Good, good as always. It’s been a while.”

  “I’ve been preoccupied.” Ian gestured to me, a proud smile replacing what had been a pleased, but less enthusiastic one. “My fiancée, Mia Rossi.”

  “Fiancée?” Again there was that surprise that I’d noted on the maître d’s face. He studied me with raw curiosity, a slight narrowing to his eyes. “I thought you—”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand to him. He lifted it, studying the engagement ring with a bit of a frown.

  “Well,” he said after a long moment, “I’ll leave you to it.”

  I was getting a bad feeling about being here. It was pretty obvious that the chef and the maître d knew something that I didn’t, and I didn’t like that.

  “Ian…”

  “Try this,” he said, lifting a fork to my lips. “It’s heavenly.”

  He seemed so relaxed, so excited, that I couldn’t help myself. I took the bite and closed my eyes as the flavors burst over my tongue. Espresso and cream…such an amazing combination. Italian cooks knew what they were doing! When I opened my eyes, Ian was watching me with this palpable expectation.

  “Delicious.”

  “I told you!”

  He sat back with a little laugh, lifting a large bite to his lips and sighing as the flavors burst over his tongue. I don’t think I’d ever seen a man quite as pleased with a bit of food as he was in that moment. And that made me forget everything but the look on his face in that moment.