by Vivian Wood
She’d saved his life, and Callum had sworn to himself that he would protect her.
But was bringing her into his life protecting her, or signing her death warrant?
8
Viola nosed through Callum’s cupboards and fridge as she watched his balcony meeting. She was starving, hadn’t eaten in half a day, but the drama outside was pretty riveting, too. Cormac stormed out of the loft first, with Declan leaving in a hurry not long after that.
She kept an eye on him as she made herself a peanut butter sandwich, bread and peanut butter being the only actual foods in Callum’s fridge. The rest was just wine, liquor, and various kinds of spicy mustard.
He didn’t come inside after the other two Black Saints departed. He pulled out his phone and had a long conversation, gesturing a lot as he talked. He looked angry, especially the moments when he glanced back at her.
I didn’t even want to come here, she thought. I could be driving across the state line right now, heading north through Tennessee.
She took her sandwich back to the starkly impersonal guest bedroom, then spent a few minutes scattering dust bunnies and shaking out the bed linens.
Collapsing on the bed, she ate her sandwich in slow bites. She grabbed her cell phone, a half-formed idea bubbling up to the surface of her mind.
She wanted to know who she’d shot, and what the reaction to it was back home. There weren’t a lot of avenues to find that out, short of calling her father and asking…
Which she would never, ever do. If he found her…
She’d be bound, gagged, and on a plane back to New York before she could say kidnapping victim. And after that…
She shivered at the thought.
Still, she had one more trick up her sleeve when it came to eavesdropping on her old life.
Vi didn’t exactly do social media, Facebook and Snapchat and all that stuff. After all, the last thing she wanted to do was broadcast her face and current whereabouts online.
But in order to check in with the familia and monitor their goings-on, she’d made a fake Facebook account under the name Gianna Falconi. Using a photo she’d found online of a cute Italian girl, she built up a whole fake story.
Gianna was a distant relative of the Valettis, a happy New York native who worked at a bakery and had little to do with her mob-connected family, but didn’t judge them either.
Viola was shocked at how many of the Valettis had accepted her profile as genuine. Soldiers that worked for her father’s crew, cousins and aunts that Viola had been close with as a girl. On top of that, she’d friended tons of girls from high school, who’d greeted her enthusiastically and always told her happy birthday on Gianna’s made-up birthday.
All of them were seemingly unable to tell one cute brunette from another, giving Viola access to a treasure trove of information.
The men were a little less blatant, but the women… they posted about everything in their lives. Photos of family gatherings, death and birth announcements, who’d married and divorced. Not just in the Valetti family, but in any of the five major Italian families that dominated New York.
So when Viola needed to know something about the people who’d populated her old life, she went straight to Facebook. She only had to scroll through a few posts before she found what she was looking for.
A photo of her high school friend Mariella, holding hands with her boyfriend, a smiling man with the dark eyes and dark hair that were unmistakably Sicilian in origin. Mariella’s status said, “I will always love you Antony, you are the love of my life. Send prayers and thoughts pls.”
Viola looked at the tag on the photo. Antony Valetti.
“Fuck!” she muttered.
Yep. She’d shot one of the Valetti soldiers. Not only that, but she’d killed him. If Callum couldn’t track down that witness, there was no telling what he might tell the Valettis about her, and she couldn’t have that. Not after what it had cost her to leave her old life behind.
When Viola had run away, her father had put out a substantial reward for her forcible return.
A photo of her at age nineteen had been plastered in every damned pasta joint and mob bar in New York City and half of Jersey; she’d seen that for herself in the few days between leaving her father’s house and managing to get herself out of the city.
Viola touched her long blonde hair, biting her lip. A gift from her Grecian model of a mother, she had gorgeous naturally flaxen locks.
Distinctive locks. She’d only just got the courage to grow her hair out and stop dyeing it red this year, and she had to admit that she’d gotten quite vain about it. She really, really didn’t want to lose it…
But she’d also rather not be spotted, snatched off the street, and returned to her father so she could be forced to play third wife to one of his creepy old friends.
She’d have to get her hands on some dye and scissors, and sooner rather than later.
She walked her empty plate back out to the kitchen, finding the balcony and the rest of the loft vacant. If Callum was even here, she couldn’t tell.
Putting her plate in the empty dishwasher, she padded over to the front door. On impulse, she reached out and turned the handle, just testing.
Only it didn’t turn under her touch.
She grumbled a curse, rattling it. Her heart sunk in that moment, realizing that she was locked in.
Viola hated being trapped.
The last time she’d been captive, she’d still been living under her father’s roof, faced with the prospect of being forced into an arranged marriage.
She went through the apartment, checking Callum’s home gym first before working up the nerve to knock on his bedroom door. No answer.
She turned the handle, again just testing. It turned easily, but she didn’t try to open the door. If he was home, she had no idea what he might be doing just now.
She retreated down the hall to the guest bedroom on silent feet, contenting herself with watching TV on the enormous flat screen. She fell asleep watching some competitive cooking show, and when she opened her eyes again it was pitch black out.
She rose, turning off the TV, and then went to the window.
The window in her room looked out on a long cobblestone street. Lights twinkled here and there, but Savannah grew sleepy after dark. Unless it was St. Patrick’s Day or one of the big music festivals, the city was quiet at this hour.
It was one of the things that she loved and hated about Savannah. The first few months she’d lived here, she couldn’t shake that big city attitude, the feeling of being isolated and adrift in such a small city.
After living here a year though, she’d come to appreciate Savannah in different ways. Yeah, there were no twenty-four hour dim sum restaurants and the museums were less cosmopolitan, but the weather was nice most of the year and the local food was really good.
And for all its small-town ways, people had been very welcoming to her, not digging into her shallow and vague background stories. They took her at face value, not demanding anything more than that.
Vi pressed her fingertips against the window pane, trying to quell the sudden surge of worry. She still felt trapped, stifled. Controlled.
Tomorrow, she’d have to explain to Callum that she couldn’t stay here.
She heard a sound, something like a creaking footstep. Heart leaping into her throat, she turned her head toward it.
Silence.
Then, creeeeeak.
Someone was walking in the apartment.
No, not walking. Sneaking through the apartment.
What little she knew of Callum said that he wasn’t exactly a man who would sneak around in his own loft.
Vi tiptoed over to her suitcase, unzipping it as quickly and stealthily as she could. She fished around in the bottom, producing a switchblade. She was her father’s daughter, after all, and she didn’t take chances.
Keeping the blade closed, tucked against her palm, she padded to the door. Ever so softly, she opened her doo
r and checked the hallway.
Clear, silent.
She crept down the hall, sticking to the wall to avoid those creaky spots in the floor. When she peeked into the kitchen and living room, she saw…
Nothing. No one.
Exhaling, she walked to the French doors, peering out onto the balcony.
Creeeeaaaak.
She whirled, heart pounding. Callum was only inches behind her, grabbing her wrists and twisting until she dropped the knife with a gasp. He picked her up and backed her against the French doors, knocking the wind from her lungs.
Only then did she notice that his eyes were barely open. He certainly wasn’t looking at her… in fact, he didn’t seem to be conscious.
“Callum, what the hell are you doing?!” she cried as he moved closer, caging her in against the window.
She struggled, and he growled softly until she stilled.
He pinned her in place, but didn’t hurt her. With his eyes still half-closed, he lifted a hand to brush a lock of hair back from her cheek, whispering something unintelligible under his breath.
What the hell is happening? she wondered.
Then Callum leaned in, his lips descending to crush against hers in a hard, insistent kiss. She froze under his touch, completely confused as to why the hell Callum was…
Sleepwalking? Sleep-kissing? Whatever it was, she didn’t understand it.
He stepped closer, pressing his body up against hers. She gasped when she felt his erection against her belly, long and thick and unmistakable. When she opened her mouth, he invaded, sweeping his tongue against hers in sensual strokes.
Despite the strange moment, she couldn’t help the burst of heat low in her body, the way her breasts swelled slightly with arousal. Her mind instantly flashed to their night together, an illicit image of the way he bent her over, held her down, and fucked her until she screamed his name again and again.
His hand shifted to cup her breast, pinching her nipple through her thin t-shirt until she groaned. It felt good, but…
When he ground his cock against her belly again, sliding that hand down toward the waistband of her sleep shorts, she knew she had to stop him. If he touched her like that…
Well, she’d had a dose of his talent in that arena, with his fingers and his tongue. She might not be able to push him away after that; she absolutely could not complicate things any more than she already had by fucking him again.
She struggled, managing to catch his wrist and twist it at a painful angle.
His eyes opened, bright green and filled with confusion. He stilled, then shoved himself back from her body, his brow furrowing.
“What the fuck?” he said. Accusing, almost.
She cleared her throat. “You… you were sleepwalking?”
His expression tensed. “Go back to the guest room. You shouldn’t be out here at night.”
Callum turned on his heel and stormed off toward his bedroom, closing the door with a definitive slam.
Vi brought her fingertips to her lips, still swollen from his kiss. Her body ached for more, her traitorous brain couldn’t stop thinking of the last time…
Pushing off the glass door, she drifted toward the guest room, mind muddled with exhaustion…
And if she were honest, a little lust…
9
Callum stood outside a crumbling beach cottage on the outskirts of Savannah, glaring off into the distance. Inside, several of the Cúram’s foot soldiers were setting up a new drop house, a place where cash and drugs could be stored while under constant armed guard.
He glowered at a fresh-faced young soldier named Ned when the kid came out to grab the last unmarked moving box from the white transport van. Ned nearly tripped over his own feet as he redoubled his pace, trying to get out of Callum’s line of sight.
Yeah, Callum was in a bad fucking mood. And yeah, he was taking it out on everyone who worked for him.
Really, it wasn’t Ned’s fault, or any of the other soldiers who were stuck putting up with Callum’s ire and furious temper today.
No, it was her fault.
The nosy little blonde had caught him sleepwalking last night. What the hell she was doing wandering at all hours, he had no idea. All he knew was that he found a switchblade lying on his living room floor this morning.
Oh, and he’d spent the whole fucking night tossing and turning, suffering from a mad case of blue balls.
Fuck. It didn’t make sense. As far as he knew, in his sleepwalking state he’d thought her an intruder, then pinned her up against the French doors.
Didn’t explain why he was already hard when he opened his eyes, looking down to find Viola trapped in his arms. Or the look on her face, sort of… expectant.
Just thinking about the feel of her against his body made his pulse pick up, even standing here in the yard of the drop house.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering what she was doing while he was gone. He’d locked his bedroom door and locked her in the apartment. There was nothing incriminating for her to find…
It still made him anxious, though. For a second, he thought about installing a couple cameras, see what she was up to all day.
Then he gave himself a shake. What was he going to do, sit and watch her from his cell phone all day? At any rate, she wasn’t going to be in his house much longer. Once he figured out what the hell to do with her, she was gone.
It was better that way. Simple, easy, uncomplicated.
Besides, he’d already fucked her once. And yeah, it was goddamned amazing, but…
He didn’t sleep with women twice. He didn’t shack up with them, protect them, find himself curious about where they were and what they were doing.
It wasn’t Callum’s thing. There was no magic pussy in the world that could tame him, and that was that. He was only thinking about Viola because she’d risked herself to save him, that was all. Now he needed to put her out of his thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand.
His job today was to switch over half the drop houses from their old locations to new ones, lock down the number of associates who knew the locations, and report back to Fallon.
There was no time or energy to be wasted on blue-eyed temptresses, not today.
Mind over matter, he told himself.
Ned and the other boys trotted out, all looking like whipped dogs, waiting for the lash.
“Done?” he asked.
Ned nodded, glancing at the other two for confirmation. His dark-haired comrades just nodded silently.
“Who’s staying tonight?” Callum asked.
“Me and Connor,” Ned said.
Callum could actually see Ned straightening his spine as he spoke up, despite his nerves. Maybe he’d been a little hard on the kid today, but Ned was proving to be the leader of his little group.
Would’ve made a good SEAL, Callum thought absently.
“All right,” Callum said. “The rest of you, keep your fucking phones on. We can’t afford to lose another drop house, so I want you checking in with each other all the time. Day and night, today and tomorrow, and every goddamned day from here on out. Is that clear?”
All three nodded, the dark-haired one on the right looking like he was about to shit his pants. Callum hoped to hell that that kid wasn’t in charge of anything that would affect the safety of the drop houses, because he looked like someone could knock him over with a fucking feather.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Callum warned them as he turned to head to his car.
He got in and pulled away from the curb, thinking. He looked at his watch, knowing it was time to get home to check on Viola, but he had one quick stop to make first.
He drove to Mel’s Diner, one of the most touristy places on the harbor front. A place where you went to get your crab legs and a little tiki umbrella in every drink…
And the best word on what was going around.
He walked in and scouted out the staff. “Bingo.”
Callum headed to the bar,
sitting down for a drink. He watched the sweet little redhead as she flirted with a customer, knowing he would be next.
She laughed, turning her head, and caught sight of him. Her eyes widened slightly. She excused herself and came down Callum’s way.
“Lisa,” he said.
“Callum. You aren’t supposed to be… out and about.” She said it like he was some bedridden hospital patient, when all he had were some bandaged flesh wounds.
Thanks to Viola… echoed through the back of his head. He shook it off.
“I need a drink. And some information.” He gave her his most winning smile.
“You can’t be here,” she said quietly, licking her lips nervously as she looked around. “Everyone is real upset about what happened yesterday. Real upset.”
“Anything specific?” he said, glancing around when the couple to his right got up and left.
“Y’all have a good one!” Lisa called to her guests. “Listen. They’re looking for you. You and another person, a female.”
Her lips thinned as she said that bit, and he cursed internally.
Externally, he said, “Yeah?”
“Look, if they even see me talking to you…” she said, shaking her head.
“Thanks, Lisa. See you later,” he said, rising and placing a hundred dollar bill where he’d sat.
She looked around, reached for the bill, and nodded as she moved down the bar.
Heading out, he couldn’t stop thinking of Lisa’s announcement.
Someone had seen them together, and they were playing fast and loose with the truth.
He hopped in his SUV and got the fuck out of there, driving toward his loft. His stomach rumbled, turning his thoughts toward lunch. He had absolutely nothing in the house, which made him feel a twinge of guilt.
He’d left Viola there with nothing to eat. Some protector he was.
He stopped at the grocery store and got a sackful of basics, though he had no idea what Viola liked. Then he hit the Vietnamese place next door, ordering a bunch of dumplings and rice noodle soup.