plik

The  rumors  about  me  are  true.  Every  last  inch  of  them.
Intimidation,  robbery,  murder...Fve  done  it  all,  and  I'm  damn
good
at what I do.
Nobody will come between me and the revenge I worked so hard to
get. Not the bastards who are out to  kill  me first.  Not any of  the
women who wanna tie me down. Nobody. Until I set eyes on her.
Callie's  trying  to  start  over  when  she  winds  up  working  for  me.
She wants a new life and the last thing she needs is me in it. Bu t
I've never let that stop me before. One taste and I'm addicted.
My  enemies  want  to  use  her  to  hurt  me.  F**k  that.  Anyone  who
wants to come between us better bring a body bag. She's mine.
This  is  a  standalone,  full-length  mafia  romance  with  a
filthy-mouthed,  possessive  bad  boy.  Happily  ever  after
guaranteed.
Mine
A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Citrione Crime Family)

Copyright © 2016 by Penelope Bloom All rights reserved.
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electronic  or  mechanical  means,  including  information  storage  and
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SPECIALJMAGE-images/svgimg0004.svg-REPLACE_ME Created
with Vellum

Everyone in the city knows who I am: Vincent Citrione, top capo of the
most powerful crime family in the city. If you've got two brain cells to
rub together, you're scared sh*tless of me.
As for women, I given them the hardest, dirtiest f*ck of their lives
before showing them the door. They know better than to expect more.
Commitments? F*ck 'em.
At least, that was my motto until I caught her snooping in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Aubriella. I wanted her to be like all the rest of
the girls. I wanted to forget her.
But I can't forget her lush curves... or the soft moans spilling from her
lips.
She thinks she can say no to me and get away with it. She thinks she
can walk away after what she's seen. But one taste and I know she's
going to be mine. I don' t care what it takes.
I get what I want. And I want her.
This is a standalone, full-length mafia romance with a filthy-mouthed,
possessive bad boy. Happily ever after guaranteed.

Prologue - Damian and Callie
She's the first thing I see when we pull up to the gas station. I've
been out of jail for a few months now, but fuck, I've never seen a
woman  like  her.  Not  before  jail  or  after.  She's  leaning  against  a
Mercedes and she's exactly my type: not the kind of woman who
blows over in a strong breeze. She's curvy in the right places and
has a sweet, full  mouth that would look perfect wrapped around
my  cock.  If  it  was  another  day,  another  time,  I'd  go  make  her
mine. Not today though. Not now.
Benny gets out of the car first and I see the piece tucked into the
back of his slacks. I get out after him, holstering a .44 below my left
arm.
"You know the guy, right?" I ask.
Benny  looks  nervous,  but  he  nods.  "Balding,  40's,  name  is—"  I
hold up a finger to him in warning, cutting his words off like a
knife. "No details. Not in public."
He swallows hard, but finally nods his head. I clap him on the
back of the neck. "Good. Follow my lead."
I lean against my Mercedes while I wait for the tank to fill. My phone
buzzes, and a quick glance confirms what I already knew. Another call
from  Greg.  He  has  called  fifteen  times  in  thirty  minutes,  which  is
probably more than he has called me in the last six months. I distantly
consider pouring a little gas on the phone—just a little—and lighting it
on fire. Maybe I could answer the call before I do and let him listen to
the flames. Okay, maybe not. That would be a little crazy, but I feel a
little crazy right now.
Two men in suits are walking toward the gas station and something in
the way they move catches my eye. One of them is shorter and stout,
and  the  other  is  drop-dead  gorgeous.  He  flicks  the  slack  out  of  his
sleeves with a quick pop of his arms and adjusts the cuff on the sleeve
beneath his jacket. His face is all sharp, sculpted lines with heavy, dark
eyebrows and full lips made for kissing. Except you would have to be
crazy to kiss a guy like that. He has trouble written all over him, from
the tattoos snaking up his neck and his wrists, to the black purpose in
his

eyes that says nothing stops him from getting what he wants. He's bad
news,  so  dangerous  that  I  shouldn't  even  be  letting  myself  fantasize
about him.
Benny  follows  me  into  the  store.  I  tap  him  on  the  shoulder  and
point to the back coolers where the beer is. I give him the signal to
wait for my lead, and he nods, moving casually through the store
as  if  he's  browsing  for  something.  I  do  the  same,  all  the  while
conscious of the .44 at my side. It burns there, like a bloodthirsty
animal begging to be released.
Tonight is the night, though. I spent the last seven years in prison
planning this, to the very last detail. And it all starts tonight.
I move behind a rack of candy bars, glancing toward the back of
the  store  where  a  tacky  bead-curtain  blocks  off  a  room  lit  by  a
single  dangling  bulb.  Four  well-dressed  men  huddle  around  a
small  card  table  inside.  One  of  them  is  smoking  a  cigar  and  the
others are talking quietly.
I  catch  Benny's  eye,  nodding  my  head  toward  the  men  and
motioning for him to get ready.
I try to stop stealing glances through the store windows at the man in
the suit, my dark stranger. I finish pumping and decide to run into the
store for a Cosmic Brownie, not so that I can get a closer look at the guy
in the suit. Definitely not. Cosmic Brownies are a weakness of mine. I
had been trying to cut back on sweets, but brownies were made for days
like today. Days when it feels like it can't get any worse.
As soon as I open the door, his head turns toward me.
He's wearing a dark gray suit, but not like most men I know wear suits.
Normal guys wear suits to weddings and look uncomfortable, stiff, and
awkward. This man wears the suit like it's the most natural thing in the
world, like every line and seam of the clothes are made to accentuate
his body.
The heat of his glare melts the cold ball of anger I've been holding in
my  chest  since  I  caught  Greg  with  that  woman.  I've  never  felt  so
transfixed; like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a lion, I know I'm at his
mercy in that moment. He stands in front of the blinding white light of
cold drink display, his stunning black form cutting sharp lines against
the

brightness. One look and I know it's not just his clothes and eyes that
are dark.
He doesn't hesitate to look directly into my eyes for as long as he likes.
He bites his full bottom lip, sweeping his gaze down my body before
flicking  his  long  eyelashes  up  to  meet  my  eyes  once  more.  With  a
smirk, he looks away, walking out of sight behind a display case.
Instead of giving Benny the signal to move, I'm thinking about her,
thinking about the things I would do to her. Fuck. I've seen some
beautiful women—I live in New York for crying out loud—but this
girl  is  coming  dangerously  close  to  making  me  scrap  months  of
planning.  I'm  ready  to  tell  Benny  to  fuck  off  so  I  can  go  get  her
number  and  show  her  how  a  real  man  pleases  a  woman.  She's
never been fucked like I would fuck her. I could curl her toes with
a whisper, weaken her knees with a touch, and shatter her world
with a kiss. She deserves me, and I'm going to make sure she gets
what she deserves.
But not today. It can't be today. I've waited too long for this and
sacrificed too much. It all starts tonight. And it has to be tonight.
All the pieces are in place. One wrong move now and it all comes
crashing down.
I swallow hard, wondering if this man is only getting to me so much
because  of  what  I  just  went  through,  or  he's  really  just  that  alluring.
With my legs feeling a little bit weak, I finally get moving. I grab my
Cosmic  Brownie,  take  two  steps  toward  the  register  and  then  turn,
giving the entire box a long, hard look. I glare at it. If those brownies
didn't want to be eaten, they should have worn something less revealing
than a transparent cellophane wrapper. Those brightly colored spheres
of gorgeous sugar on top of each brownie beckons me. My hand hovers
over a second one. I grab it, smiling a little to myself. The thought that
puts me over the top was knowing that Greg would've told me to 'be
careful with the sweets' or he would've said something obnoxious like,
'you know those go straight to your ass'.
Well, ass, this is Callie calling. Get ready for a delivery of two Cosmic
Brownies. A few seconds later I replay the thought in my head

and laugh at how gross it actually sounds. It feels good to laugh after
the  last  hour,  but  the  sound  is  too  loud  in  the  quiet  store,  and  a  few
heads  turn  to  look  at  me.  I  palm  the  brownies  and  hurry  toward  the
register, adding embarrassment to the list of today's tragedies.
In my hurry, I bump into a wall. A buff, gorgeous wall with tattoos.
I turn and instinctively grab the woman who bumps into me. My
hands are on her shoulders and she's close enough that I can smell
her perfume, close enough that I could kiss her.
"Excuse me," she says, standing motionless in my grasp.
I' m about to sabotage over a year of plans to do whatever it takes
to get between her legs when Benny catches my eye from the other
end of the store. He tilts his head toward the back room and I see a
fifth  man  with  sunglasses  setting  a  suitcase  in  front  of  the  four
men.
Damn. If we don't make our move soon, it will be too late. I didn't
spend seven years planning to throw it all away for a woman, no
matter how fucking sexy she is.
The guy in the suit lets me go and walks toward his friend. I bend down
to pick up the brownies I dropped, feeling light-headed. I  must have
forgotten to breathe while his hands were on me. It's an effort not to
gasp for air and embarrass myself even more. I'm not normally a mess
around guys, but I guess the last hour really rattled me. I pay for the
brownies and hurry out of the store. I look back over my shoulder once
when I reach my car, but can't see him anymore.
I get in my car and turn the radio on, trying to wrap my head around
what  just  happened.  The  strange  part  is  I  find  myself  thinking  more
about my dark stranger than about my cheating fiance. I flip through
the  radio  stations  until  I  find  a  sad  song.  I  feel  confused,  angry,
betrayed, stupid, and more emotions I can't even identify. So I crank up
the volume on the sad song and try my best to just feel one emotion for
a little while. It's time for a mobile pity party.
Callie - Chapter 1
I  check  my  mascara  in  the  rearview  before  getting  out  of  the  car.  It
looks about as bad as I'd expect after all the crying I did on the short

drive to Aubriella' s house. Some quick tissue work with a little bit of
spit clears up the worst of it. I grab my one suitcase from the backseat
of the Mercedes Greg bought me as an engagement present and slam
the  door.  I  set  the  suitcase  down  and  open  the  door  one  more  time,
slamming it even harder. I dust my hands and smile.
Greg always scolded me when I closed the door too hard.
I look at Aubriella's house and raise my eyebrows. She has done well
for herself. It's nestled in a sprawling gated community in upstate New
York full of McMansions and full-blown mansions. Greg and I had just
finished  a  month  long  house  hunting  stint,  so  I  notice  all  the  selling
points:  great  lot  with  trees  blocking  the  view  of  any  roads  or  other
houses, recessed driveway tucked below the house, custom glass walls
that make for a breathtaking view and probably give the entire house
spectacular natural lighting. I don't know the market in this particular
area, but the house easily cost somewhere in the double digit millions.
You go girl.
I step beneath the huge square overhang. The front door is huge and
made of clear glass, giving me a clear view into the living room. I ring
the  doorbell,  fidgeting  a  little  with  my  suitcase  and  taking  a  deep
breath.  I  haven'  t  seen  her  in  years.  Not  since  high  school.  We  were
inseparable, but calling her up after years without  more than a happy
birthday over facebook was terrifying. Asking her for a place to stay
while I try to put the pieces of my life back together? That was worse.
A little boy runs into view behind the glass, tearing through the house
and disappearing behind a wall. A few seconds later, I see Aubriella,
who is trailed by a little girl who can't be any older than two. Aubriella
hasn't changed a bit. In fact, she looks even better. Great, even. She still
has the dark hair I remember and those powerful eyes that hold you and
don't seem to let you go. She was always so strong, not like me. Greg
wouldn 't have dared cheat on a woman like her.
An unwelcome, vivid memory flashes in my mind:
His car driving by the restaurant. The blonde hair in the passenger
seat.
I  squeeze  my  eyes  shut,  forcing  myself  to  picture  something  else,
anything else, but all I see is his laughing face, his lying eyes.

The  door  opens.  Aubriella  smiles  wide.  Without  thinking,  I  rush
forward and hug her. I swallow hard, trying not to break down, again.
Be strong. I pull back, kneeling to smile at the little girl. She holds a
small hand up and rushes toward me and I give her the high-five she
seems to be asking for. She claps her hands together once with a silly
little grin and then her face goes blank. She backs away and clutches
Aubriella's leg, looking at me with a frightened expression.
She  knows  you'  re  broken.  Damaged.  Used.  I  mentally  scold  myself.
Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. The two-year-old definitely doesn' t
know  any  of  that.  Every  little  kid  gets  taught  to  be  careful  around
strangers.
The little boy comes running back into view with a tiny dinosaur in his
hands. He looks a little older than the girl, but not by much. He sees me,
does a high-pitched roar, and then runs back off.
"Come in!" says Aubriella.
Her voice startles me, as if waking me from a trance. I force a smile and
follow her inside. Aubriella picks up a little red toy truck and hands it
to the little girl, who snatches it from her and hugs it protectively.
"Honey, can you go give this to daddy?"
The  little  girl  rushes  toward  the  stairs.  My  eyes  follow  the  large,
winding  staircase  up  and  lock  on  a  tall,  darkly  handsome  man.  He's
breathtaking. He wears a dress shirt and makes it look as casual as a
t-shirt and as elegant as a suit at the same time. Almost every exposed
inch of his skin is tattooed. He's having a hushed conversation on the
phone  and  I  can  barely  catch  any  of  it,  but  it  sounds  like  he's
threatening someone. Still, when he sees the little girl, his face splits
into a gorgeous smile as he kneels to take the truck from her and scoop
her  into  his  arms,  interrupting  his  call  to  blow  a  raspberry  on  her
stomach.
I feel a jealous pang in  my  stomach. Greg's  words float up from  my
memory,  unbidden  and  unwelcome.  "When  are  we  going  to  try  for
kids? You 're not getting any younger, you know. "
A hot tear rolls down my cheek without warning and I quickly wipe it
away. Bastard.
Aubriella smiles up at him, so caught up in admiring her husband

that she doesn't notice my emotion. "That's Vince. My husband." She
says the words slowly, almost as if she's taking the time to savor how
they feel passing over her lips, like they're still newlyweds.
When we talked over the phone she said she got married six years ago.
Six years together and she still loves him that much? I feel an ache in
my  gut  that  has  nothing  to  do  with Greg.  It's  a  pain  that  tells  me  I'll
never find that. That kind of love is for people who are complete.
Vince  comes  downstairs  and  smiles  politely  at  me,  but  seems  to  be
almost oblivious of anything else in the room but Aubriella. He gives
her a look so steamy that I feel like blushing. He wraps her in a tight
hug, lifting her and spinning her. He smiles into her eyes, kissing her.
"I can't wait," he says.
"Vince,"  says  Aubriella,  laughing.  "You're  being  rude."  He  sets  her
down  and  pulls  her  possessively  to  his  side,  finally  giving  me  his
attention. "Sorry. Aubriella told me you were coming.
Callie, right?"
I nod.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and his features turn dark. I see a hint of
the  danger  in  him  and  want  to  take  a  step  back,  but  I  stand  still.  He
smooths his features quickly and holds a hand up to me. "This will just
be a minute."
Vince turns his back and starts having a hushed conversation over the
phone while the babies chase each other in circles around the house.
Aubriella gives me a meaningful look. "I get the impression that you
had to leave in a hurry. Do you need anything?" she lowers her voice.
"Money? I can help you, whatever you need."
I  shake  my  head.  "I  can't  take  your  money.  You're  already  doing  so
much by letting me stay here."
Vince's voice surprises me. "Do you know anything about bartending?"
he asks.
I turn and see that he has finished his phone call. "Yeah, actually. I did
it in college for a few months."
"My little brother owns a restaurant called The Spot. Things are a little
icy between us, but I know he'd give you a job if you told him I sent
you," says Vince.

Aubriella gives him a warning glare. It's husband and wife nonverbal
communication,  but  I  can  pick  up  that  he's  treading  on  dangerous
ground right now.
"I-I  could..."  I  stammer,  wanting  the  job,  but  not  wanting  to  do
anything to irritate Aubriella.
"Vince," says Aubriella through her teeth. "Callie is my friend." Now
it's  his  turn  to  give  her  a  warning  look.  "And  she's  just  going  to  be
bartending at the restaurant. Nothing else. I promise. I'll warn Damian
to leave her alone."
She glares harder  at him, if that's  possible. "Since when has Damian
listened to anyone?"
After a brief staring match, Vince turns to me with a reassuring smile.
"The pay is great." Who is Damian?
The last two hours were a whirlwind of activity as the Aubriella got her
kids ready for their vacation. I spent thirty minutes alone with her and a
pair of drinks in their basement bar while Vince watched the kids for
us. A few gallons of tears later and she knew the whole story. It felt
good to get it all out, but talking about what happened is like scratching
a mosquito bite; each time I give in and go back to it, I'm only making it
worse, breaking the skin even deeper. God, I'm such a mess right now.
I just want to put all this behind me and move on with my life. I want to
start over. Hell, I could even go for some rebound sex. After a lifetime
of  the  clinical  procedures  Greg  called  "making  love",  I  could  use
something real and passionate.
Where did that thought come from? Am I still thinking about the guy at
the gas station? Of course I am...besides being pissed at myself for not
seeing that Greg was an asshole sooner, I have hardly been able to think
about  anything  other  than  the  man  in  the  suit.  Just  remembering  the
power of his eyes is enough to give me chills.
Maybe the next few weeks that I'll be watching Aubriella's house will
be the perfect opportunity to reorganize my life and start moving on. It
could be a chance to put Greg and all his stupid fucking coral colored
shorts and polos behind me.

Leaving  Greg  meant  leaving  my  job  and  my  financial  security  way
behind  though.  I'm  good  at  what  I  do,  really  good.  I've  launched  ad
campaigns that have saved struggling businesses and turned prosperous
businesses into thriving ones. The only problem is Greg and his father
are so connected that I'll probably need to leave the country if I want to
find a job after pissing them off. I had my own accounts, but I checked
on  my  phone  and  Greg  somehow  managed  to  get  them  frozen.  He
probably thinks I'll come crawling back and begging for money. Screw
that. And screw him.

18
Damian
I splash cold water on my face and look in the mirror.  Fuck. There's
blood on my suit, and this shit didn't come cheap. A bruise is forming
beneath my eye, so dark it's almost purple. I slam my fist on the sink so
hard  that  the  plaster  holding  it  to  the  wall  crumbles,  spraying  the
ground with white dust. The lights in this place are like needles in my
still aching head.
Benny is slumped in the corner, tapping his sweaty head with the hilt of
his .44 over and over. "Fuck man," he says.
"Get it together. We're not stopping. I don't give a shit what they
say."
He looks up at me. He has a long face like a dog who has been kicked
one too many times. Come to think of it, he's got the personality of a
dog, too. He's not the smartest or the strongest guy I know, but you bet
your ass he is loyal to a fault. "That could have gone bad."
"But it didn't," I snap. "I got scratched a few times, but we got what we
came for, didn't we?"
"Scratches? He stabbed you! He fucking stabbed you! "
Yeah, there is that. The pain is getting worse. It's like someone has a
hot  poker  beneath  my  armpit  and  they  are  just  jamming  it  in  there,
twisting it around. I pull off my suit jacket and undershirt, tossing them
on  the  ground.  They're  ruined  anyway.  I  look  at  the  damage  in  the
mirror. I didn't have much to do in prison besides work out and  plan.
My body shows it. There's no fat on me, just slabs upon slabs of muscle
that cast hard lines of shadow in the overhead lighting of the bathroom.
There's  a  thin  red  gash  beneath  my  armpit  and  a  long  trail  of  blood
soaking me all the way down to my slacks.
I kneel and rip two strips free from  my undershirt. I ball one up and
press it to the wound, holding it in place by pinning my arm against it
while I wrap the other strap around my broad chest and tie it off. It hurts
like a motherfucker, but I don't so much as flinch.
"Benny," I say. "You remember what we said when we decided to

do this?"
He  lowers  his  head,  tapping  the  barrel  of  his  pistol  against  his  scalp
repeatedly.
"I asked you a question."
"We said we'd go all the way or die trying."
"Exactly. Did we say we'd stop because one of us got stabbed? Did we
say  we'd  stop  because  we  had  to  make  more  bodies  than  we  wanted
along the way? No. We said we were going to bite and fucking claw our
way to the revenge we deserve. We said we were going to bury them
for what they did to us. I need to know if you're still in this. Because if
you're not, I don't care how long I've known you. I'll find someone else.
Do you understand me?"
Benny  looks  up.  I  can't  tell  if  the  look  on  his  face  is  fear  or
determination, but he nods. "I'm with you."
I  don't  bother  putting  my  shirt  back  on  before  moving  into  the
restaurant. After all, I own the fucking place.
It'  s  early  afternoon  and  the  restaurant  is  mostly  empty.  The  staff  is
changing  over  shifts.  Servers  are  flipping  tablecloths  and  sweeping
beneath  the  tables.  I  glance  to  see  if  the  bartenders  are  behind  the
counter because I could use a...holy shit.
It' s her.
The girl from the gas station. I don't even bother to wonder what she's
doing  here.  All  I  know  is  she's  mine  now.  I  feel  a  predatory  smile
spread over  my  lips. The stab  wound can  wait, I need to talk to her.
Now.

20
Callie
Five Minutes Earlier
It' s four in the afternoon, just three hours since I caught Greg with that
woman. Every time I close my eyes I see the discarded trail of clothes
leading from the living room to the kitchen I found when I came home
early. I didn't call ahead to let him know I was coming like I normally
would. I just drove, and I opened the front door as quietly as I could.
I can still see the thin, smooth legs, and the way her glossy red stilettos
dangled from well-manicured toes. I remember the way her legs shook
every time he pounded into her on our kitchen table. Slap. Slap. Slap.
I take a deep breath and push it all down. I'm standing outside a classic
looking  brick  restaurant.  It's  tucked  between  a  dry  cleaners  and  a
laundromat in the small town of Pike's Ward where Aubriella lives. A
huge wave of what the hell am I doing washes over me. Shouldn't I be
lying on Aubriella's couch, swimming in a sea of candy wrappers and
tissues right about now? Maybe. But screw that. What Greg did makes
me angry more than anything. I won' t be sad for him. I' m going to pick
up the pieces of my life and move on.
I  don't  know  how  long  bartending  will  last.  I'm  used  to  handling
million-dollar  marketing  accounts  for  corporations,  after  all,  but  I
know I need to do something. Aubriella practically begged me to get
some sleep and start tomorrow, but that was the last thing I needed. I
want  to  get  my  mind  off  of  him,  to  do  something  physical  and  just
forget.
Vince said the dress code wasn't strict, so I just wore one of the few
outfits I grabbed on my way out: a black top with a deep V-neck and a
pair  of  black  yoga  pants  and  black  converse  sneakers.  Bartenders
always seem to wear black, but I wonder if I subconsciously picked the
outfit to suit my mood. Black and bitchy.
I stand outside the restaurant and gather myself before stepping in. It' s
called The Spot and it looks a little run-down from the outside. Am I

absolutely  sure  I  want  to  do  this?  I  can't  put  my  finger  on  it,  but
something  deep  in  my  chest  tells  me  that  my  life  is  going  to  change
once I step through those doors. I shake the nerves out of my hands and
blow out a long breath. I don't really want to do  anything right now,
except maybe find the Cosmic Brownie headquarters and gorge myself
to death in the warm brownie mix. But I need to do something. I can
feel  how  close  I  am  to  giving  up.  If  I  don't  keep  moving  and  find
something else to put my energy into, I could lose myself.
I pull the heavy wooden door open and it creaks like a dying animal.
The interior of the restaurant is surprisingly modern but elegant. The
floor is some sort of light, unpolished wood and the walls are dark with
patches of leather padding above the booths. Pictures of what look like
the Italian countryside and vineyards adorn the walls. It's exactly the
kind of restaurant the Olive Garden tries so hard to look like, but never
quite manages. I immediately like the place.
A man behind the bar with a receding hairline nods to me and moves to
lean  his  hairy  forearms  on  the  bar.  He  has  a  shrewd  face,  like  he's
suspicious of me, but amused at the same time. "What'll it be,
beautiful?"
I clear my throat quietly. "I' m actually here for a job. Vince Citrione
said—"
The man's eyebrows climb his forehead and he straightens. "Of course,
of course. Come on. I'll grab Julia and she can start showing you the
ropes. My names George, but they all call me Tubbs."
It' s mid-afternoon and the restaurant is largely deserted except for an
elderly  couple  at  the  far  end  of  the  building  and  a  lone  man  who  is
reading a newspaper and sipping coffee. So when the bathroom door
bangs open and a shirtless man emerges, I notice. I notice real fast.
My eyes go straight to his torso. It's not the kind of body you get from
spending hours in an air-conditioned gym using fancy machines. It' s a
body made from hard work and conflict. Tattoos snake over his chest,
arms, and back, begging to be looked at closer, to be traced with a slow
fingertip. Or Tongue... One look at him and it's clear that every muscle
on  his  body  has  a  purpose,  and  it  serves  that  purpose  with  a  brutal
efficiency. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to notice that

he has some kind of bandage tied to his side and it's covered in blood.
Then I see his face. It's him.
The man in the suit from the gas station. The predator. That's what I've
started thinking of him as, whether I realized it or not. It was in the way
his eyes claimed me, the way he owned the space around him. That's
exactly what he is. He's the predator, and I'm the prey. I saw it then and
I  see  it  now.  Watching  him  walk  is  mesmerizing.  There's  a  perfect
confidence  in  him,  as  if  he's  at  complete  ease  while  simultaneously
coiled and full of power, ready to strike out at any moment.
His eyes find mine and he pauses mid-stride. The shadow of a smile
crosses his face, but it's gone so quickly I don't know if I imagined it.
He scans  me from head to toe, taking extra time at  my hips and tits,
then  his  attention  is  gone  and  he's  striding  toward  the  bar  without  a
backward glance.
The absence of his attention feels like being splashed with cold water. I
feel  breathless,  momentarily  empty.  When  the  feeling  passes  I  tell
myself  I'  m  being  ridiculous.  No  matter  how  hot  this  guy  is,  he's
obviously bad news. It's not like I would actually get along with a guy
like  him.  It  doesn't  take  two  looks  to  know  that  he  and  I  are  from
different worlds. We're different people. Maybe right now the last thing
I want is to stay in my own world.
"Sir," says Tubbs. "You're hurt."
The man looks down at the bloody wound below his arm and shrugs
dismissively. "It's nothing. Just get me a warm towel to wipe this
shit off."
Tubbs  starts  to  turn  and  then  the  shirtless  man  stops  him  with  an
outstretched hand.
"No. Actually, I want her to get me the towel."
There's a hint of an accent in the man's voice that I find fascinatingly
attractive.  It's  not  overpowering,  not  even  present  in  every  word  he
says,  but  it's  there.  It's  a  faint  swirl  of  vowels  and  consonants,  an
exaggeration of certain sounds and an omission of others that makes his
voice interesting and intensely sexy.

I' m startled to be noticed again. Hell, I had almost forgotten I was in
the room, too. I swallow hard. I don't know what comes over me, but
I'm speaking before I even think. "I'm a bartender, not a servant."
Tubbs sucks in a sharp breath. I can see his mouth hanging open from
the corner of my eye.
The shirtless man moves toward me in no hurry, making every step feel
like  a  threat.  His  voice  is  low,  barely  above  a  whisper,  but  it  cuts
through the room like a thunderclap. "I asked for a towel."
Now  my  temper  flares.  I've  been  through  enough  shit  without  this
asshole thinking he can order me around like a slave. Gorgeous or not,
I' m one cheating ex-fiance beyond taking crap from anyone right now.
"No. You told him that you wanted me to get you a towel. You didn't
ask me for a thing."
He bites his lip, eyes taking me in from head to toe. "What if I fire you
for mouthing off?"
My stomach clenches and I feel suddenly breathless. I look to Tubbs.
"He can't—can he?"
Tubbs gives me a sad look. "That's Damian Citrione you're talking to,
hun. He owns this place." Something in his voice tells me that owning
this restaurant is the least of the reasons I shouldn't have spoken to him
like that.
I swallow my pride and turn to Damian, trying to ignore the sight of his
ripped body only inches from mine. I don't know why I suddenly care
so  much  about  keeping  this  job.  Whether  it's  to  avoid  having  to  tell
Aubriella I got fired a few minutes after stepping in the door or because
I want the distraction that bad—or if I just want an excuse to see him
again. To see Damian again. "I'm sorry," I say, the words like acid in
my throat. I'm sorry that I might lose this job, but I'm not sorry I stood
up  to  your  rude  ass.  "Next  time  you  treat  me  like  a  slave,  I'll  obey
without question." I nearly wince. My words come out hard and dry,
and I know I' m about to get fired for them.
His face is stone, but there's a hint of laughter in his eyes. "You're sexy
as hell when you're pissed."
I bite down hard, fighting through a torrent of emotions: anger, arousal,
fear. "You can't talk to your employees like that. It's totally

inappropriate."
A smirk splits his face and the flash of his white, perfect teeth is too
much. He's drop-dead gorgeous and I hate him for it. "Inappropriate?
Yes. You could say the things I would do to you are inappropriate."
That slight accent is doing all the wrong things to me. I inhale through
my nose, holding back my anger as I move behind the bar, find a towel,
and run cold water over it. I don't even care if it's a clean rag. I stomp
back  toward  Damian  and  hold  the  rag  out  to  him,  planting  my  other
hand on my hip as I wait for him to take it. I'm one wrong word away
from  walking  out  of  this  place  and  doing  my  best  to  apologize  to
Aubriella and Vince. Then again, I know if I walk away right now I'll
never  stop  thinking  about  this  guy.  Asshole  or  not,  his  eyes  promise
endless hours of steaming passion like I've never felt before..
He takes my hand and presses it to his side. His palm is warm against
mine, sending liquid heat coursing through my veins. I know that his
hard body is only separated from my hand by the thin, wet cloth and it's
making my muscles feel as soft as butter. A brief mental image of him
ordering me to bend over one of the barstools while he prowls behind
me and rips down my pants flashes in my head. I've never met a man
with  so  much  confidence,  so  much  command.  Not  even  Vince,  who
despite the clear danger in his expression has softened some from his
time with Aubriella. Damian is still wild and untamed, unpredictable
and dangerous as a rattlesnake.
My  cheeks  burn  with  mingled  fear  and  embarrassment.  Asshole.  My
hand moves of its own will, gently scrubbing the blood from his side,
cleaning him. I can clean the blood, but I can't wash away the source of
it all. Just like I can't change him.
Dammit. I' ve just met the guy and he turns out to be a total asshole,
even if he is ridiculously attractive. Now I am lamenting how I can't
change him? Why should I want to change anyone? Isn't that what was
always wrong with Greg? He put more energy into trying to make me
the woman he wanted  me  to be than he did into getting to know the
woman I am. Eight years and he never really knew me. He just knew
that I wasn't the woman he wanted.
So he went out and took her.

"I think you got that spot pretty clean."
I start, realizing my hand has been rubbing a circle over the same
smooth cluster of muscles beneath his ribs.
The elderly couple hasn't even glanced up during the entire exchange,
but the man reading his newspaper is openly staring as Damian tries to
make me jump through hoops.
"Anything else, boss?" I ask. I mean it to come out rude and prickly, but
calling him boss makes my skin tingle. There's a seductive edge in my
voice that was completely unintentional and I wish I could take it back.
Hell, I wish he would just put a shirt on so I can stop trying to operate
with soup for brains.
"For now," he says.

26
Damian
Benny  is  pacing  around  the  dimly  lit  office  in  the  back  of  The  Spot,
running his hands through his hair like a fucking maniac, and all I can
think of is her. I had to ask Tubbs after she left that night for her name.
Callie  Beccaccio.  And  holy  fucking  hell  was  she  drop-dead
unbelievable. Curves in the right places and Jesus Christ, those big doe
eyes of hers and the way her smile is a little crooked? Yeah. She may
not know it yet, but she's going to end up in my bed. She'll end up bent
over the hood of my car for all I care.
"You listening?" asks Benny.
"I already know the plan, Benny. I' m just humoring your dumb ass. So
if you need to keep reciting it you go right ahead."
He ruffles his hair again and keeps pacing. "You're sure they won't pin
this back on us?"
"You keep making me repeat the plan and I' m going to start wondering
if you're wearing a fucking wire."
Benny stops dead, his long face snapping toward me. I see the fear in
his eyes. I feel a little shitty for putting him through it, but there's no
room for mercy in my line of work. I learned that the hard way. The
real fucking hard way. I paid seven years for it, and if I have to be an
asshole to stay on the streets, so be it..
"It's okay, Damian. I got the plan, you don't need to—"
"I'm just fucking with you, Benny. Relax. I'll make it real simple for
you, okay? We're not getting my brother's family involved in this. He
has a family and a fucking wife to worry about. I' m not bringing any of
this  shit  on  him.  So  we're  doing  this  on  our  own.  We  look  after
ourselves, and we make our own way. In blood."
Benny nods, sitting down and pulling at the patch of hair on his chin. "I
just hope it's not our own blood."
I cross the room in a few quick strides and kneel in front of him, taking
his face in both my hands. "It won't be, because no one is as fucking
vicious as we are. No one wants it as bad. The Sanatores ran

their mouths and got us locked up, and if they had their way, we never
would have got out. They need to pay. Okay? You and I, Benny. We 're
going  to  be  the  guys.  Once  the  Sanatores  and  Anastasios  are  done
tearing each other apart, we're going to step in and grab the power. You
want  protection  around  here?  You  come  through  us.  You  want
someone hit? You come through us. You want to place a bet? Us." I let
him  go  and  stand,  moving  to  look  out  the  back  window  at  the  clean
small town and the clueless people outside. "As long as the Sanatores
think the Anastasios were behind that shit we pulled at the gas station,
we're  golden.  We  just  need  to  sit  back  and  watch  the  fireworks.
SPECIAL_IMAGE-images/svgimg0001 .svg-REPLACE_ME
Ever since Callie walked into my restaurant last week and got the job,
I've  been  finding  more  and  more  excuses  to  be  at  The  Spot.  Tonight
she's wearing a black skirt that is just short enough to make me think I
might catch a glimpse of her ass when she kneels beneath the bar and
just long enough to keep me from getting the payoff I want. If I'm going
to see that ass of hers, it's not going to be by accident, which is fine by
me.
I lean out from the kitchen and find her pouring two drinks for a guy
and his girl. The girl has had so much plastic surgery that she looks like
Mrs. Fucking Potato and the guy must get botox or some shit because
he looks permanently surprised. Callie notices me and nearly stumbles
over  the  rubber  mat  on  the  ground.  She  catches  herself  in  time  and
barely avoids spilling the two drinks before blowing a  strand of hair
from her face and setting them down in front of the guests.
I' m about to find an excuse to get her to come back to my office when
a guy in a leather jacket approaches the bar. The place is packed, and I
shouldn't notice him in particular, but I do. I've been around assholes
and violence too long not to spot it from a mile away. He's looking for
trouble.
If you fuck with Callie, you found trouble. Asshole.
I' m a little surprised at how protective I feel toward her already. Don't I
just want to take her out back and lay her over the hood of my car for a
good fuck and then be done with it? Maybe.
The guy in the leather jacket flicks his sunglasses down over his

eyes and leans back on the stool like he owns the place. With a smug
grin, he snaps his fingers as Callie passes. I smile when she walks right
past him even though she obviously heard him. He shifts in his chair,
face twitching while she grabs a plate from another guest. This time he
reaches over the bar and grabs her arm before she can pass him.
My hand is on his throat before I realize I've moved. Forks and knives
screech on plates  before a single  moment of stunned surprise hushes
the restaurant, and then the only sound is the rasp of his throat as he
struggles for air. He grips at my forearm, trying to pry my hand away,
but my grip is a steel vise and no amount of struggle is going to get him
free. He's trying to say something.
I let up my grip for a second. "What was that, asshole?" I ask.
"Fucking prick. Let me—"
I still have him by the neck as I lean partially over the bar. I shove him
with  one  hand  and  watch  with  satisfaction  as  his  stool  slowly  tips
backward  until  he  can't  right  his  balance.  He  tries  to  jump  from  the
falling stool, but it brings him down with a loud thump. His head whips
back and smacks into the ground.
Callie stands beside me. Her lips are pulled back slightly, either in a
grimace  or  a  smirk.  I  can't  tell  which.  Frankly,  I  don't  care.  No  one
comes into my restaurant and touches my staff. I should take the fucker
out back and put some hot lead in him. Seven years ago, I would have.
I would have done a lot of shit if I hadn't been ratted out. There's no
point though. The guy is crawling on all fours looking for his shades
like a
dog.
I turn my back on him and focus on Callie.
"You okay?" I ask, touching her arm. Just feeling her smooth skin gives
me an electric jolt of excitement. I don't know that I can drag this out
much  longer.  She's  different  from  the  women  I've  been  with  before.
They were always easy, even the ones who wanted to play games and
act like they were hard to get. It has always been that way with women.
Not her. I don't know what it is about her, but I want to find out more. I
don't know if just fucking her will be enough.
She jumps at my touch. "Yeah. I've dealt with assholes before. I'll be
fine." The way she holds her glare on me says I'm one of those

assholes. Can't argue there.
I hear the door slam. Probably the guy leaving, but I don't bother to turn
and  look.  People  gradually  resume  their  conversations  and  soon  the
regular din of conversation has returned.
"Good. I'll make sure he's never allowed in here again."
"Look,"  she  says.  "I  know  you  just  wanted  to  help,  but  if  I  have  to
worry that my boss is going to strangle every guy who gives me a hard
time, this is going to be a really stressful work environment."
I smirk. Why does hearing her call me boss make me want to pin her to
a wall and fuck her? "Fair enough. I'll wait until you're not watching
next time."
She rolls her eyes, but I can see the hint of a smile fighting to claim her
mouth.
Benny slides a mask over his face and then gives me a thumbs up. I nod
to him and he slips around the back of the grocery store. Jobs like this
prickle at my dignity a little, but we need the cash. Once we are able to
start going more public with recruitment, I'll need the money for guns,
payoffs, court fees, you name it. I've already set up a relatively steady
stream of income  from the  restaurant and a few places we've shaken
down for protection money, but we need more.
It' s starting to get late in the evening, and the grocery store is pretty
packed. It's not ideal, but we had to make our move when the trucks
show up, and the good shit comes in now. Ripping off delivery trucks
has been a staple of my business model. Most people don't realize it,
but if you have a way to offload the goods, you can make more money
from robbing a truck than you can from emptying the safe at a store.
Bulk groceries are where the money is. Each truck actually carries up to
ten grand worth of food, which we can sell to our fences for five or six
grand, depending on the day.
Benny should be working his way around back. I take a few minutes to
grab  a  small  shopping  cart  and  fill  it  with  some  things:  prosciutto,
lasagna  sheets,  parmesan,  mushrooms,  a  baguette,  and  the  most
expensive bottle of wine I can find. I casually roll the cart to the back of
the store and wait by the door that leads to the loading bay. A

young girl comes out of the door and I wheel my cart in before it closes.
Outside, I see Benny crouched near the large bay doors. A semi-truck is
backed into the loading bay. Two high school kids are leaning by the
door. One of them literally jumps when he sees me.
"Sir," says the taller of the two. "You can't be back here."
I reach behind my back and pull my pistol free, racking a bullet in the
chamber for dramatic effect. I' m not about to shoot some kids, but they
don't know that. Their faces go white.
"Please," says the shorter kid who jumped.
"Just answer my questions and do what I say. Where is the truck
driver?"
"H-he  goes  to  the  diner  across  the  street  while  we  unload."  "Where
does he leave the keys?" "I-don't..." starts the tall one.
"On the tire," interrupts the short one. "I've seen it. He puts them on top
of the front tire. Passenger side."
"Good.  Now,  I  want  to  see  you  two  run  as  fast  as  you  can  in  that
direction."  I  point  my  gun  out  the  open  bay  doors,  past  the  parked
semi-truck and toward a seemingly endless field of grass. "Now!" I say,
jabbing the gun toward them.
They scramble, tearing out of the place as fast as they can.
"On top of the tire!" I shout to Benny. "Passenger side."
He  steps  out  from  the  shadows  and  then  lifts  his  mask  to  give  me  a
peculiar look. "You went shopping?"
I shrug. "I needed some shit. I've got big plans for tonight, and I figure
if we're going to rob a place, I might as well get everything I need."
Thirty  minutes  later,  I'm  driving  my  '69  Camaro  toward  the  place
Callie's staying. The car roars at the slightest touch like a wild fucking
animal and I love every second of driving it. Smooth riding luxury cars
never appealed to me. Give me a car that's raw and powerful and I'll
call it a day.
Callie never told me where she lived, so I dug through her file and lifted
her address from there, but I'm her fucking boss. I'm suppose to

know where she lives. I was confused as hell when I saw the address
though. Why is she staying at Vince's place? What the fuck is my
brother doing with her in his house? If I know him at all, he's loyal and
would never cheat, so something else has to be going on.
My groceries are piled on the seat beside me. By now, Benny should be
at the warehouse unloading our lifted goods. I have another guy who
will buy the stolen semi. He'll tear it apart and give me a few grand for
the parts too.
Little by little.

32
Callie
"This place is amazing," says Julia.
I run my finger along a decorative strip of stone that's embedded in the
wall. "Yeah, it's incredible."
Julia has worked a few shifts with me at The Spot already and insisted
on  coming  to  help  me  settle  in  when  she  learned  I  was  staying  by
myself. The truth is, I really just wanted to sleep, or at least lay in bed
and  stare  at  the  ceiling,  but  Julia  wouldn't  take  no  for  an  answer.  I
haven't had enough time to process everything. In some ways it feels
like it has only been a week and in others it feels like it has already been
a week. One week since the life I knew was revealed for the farce it had
been all along. I still feel the swirl of unresolved emotions and painful
memories threatening to crack my thin facade of control.
"How did you say you know her? The woman who lives here, I mean,"
asks Julia.
"From high school," I say.
"And  she  just  trusted  you  with  her  house  out  of  the  blue?  That's
really...something."
I smile thinly, wanting to change the subject. Julia seems like someone
I  would  normally  get  along  with.  I'm  just  so  on  edge  right  now  that
every question feels like an accusation.
"Hey," I say, sitting down on the couch and covering my legs with a
soft blanket. "What do you know about Damian?"
Julia  sits  across  from  me  on  a  modern  looking  chair  shaped  like  a
hollowed-out bean. There's a knowing smile on her face. "Already?"
I blush. "Already what?"
"You know what I mean. You're already wanting to fuck him?" I give
her a look. "I ask what you know about him and you assume I want to
sleep with him?"
"You're saying you don't?"
I  open  my  mouth  to  deny  it  and  realize  I  would  be  lying.  I  swallow
hard, looking down. "I just want to know what kind of guy he is. Like,

who just walks around a restaurant they own shirtless and covered in
blood like that? And I've never seen one, but that looked a lot like a stab
wound."
"I think every woman who has ever met Damian wants to know what
kind of guy he is. All they ever find out is that he...how can I put this
delicately? He has a huge cock."
If I had been drinking something I would have spit it out. A laugh rips
through me, and it feels good. Julia smiles back at me.
"So have you...you know?" I ask.
"Fucked him? No," she says. The look on her face tells me not to push
the subject any further so I don't.
The moment that would have been awkward is avoided when my phone
buzzes on the coffee table. I lean forward and see the name on display.
Greg.
My hand hovers over the phone for a second. He has been calling all
week, and I still haven't answered. As much as I want to pick it up and
scream my head off at him for being a worthless, cheating, fuck, I'm
afraid to. Everything I saw still has a dreamlike quality to it, like if I fell
asleep now I might wake up and realize it never happened. Somehow I
know  that  confronting  him  will  break  the  spell.  The  truth  will  come
crashing down on me, and I don't know if I'm strong enough not to be
swept away by the force of it.
I pull my hand back into my lap and force myself to look away from the
phone.  Julia  gives  me  a  slightly  concerned  smile  that  is  probably
supposed to be reassuring. She probably just put the pieces together.
New girl at work shows up out of nowhere. She's staying with a friend.
Avoiding calls from a guy. Yeah, it is probably painfully obvious.
The doorbell rings.
"I  should  get  that,"  I  say,  glad  for  an  excuse  to  get  away  from  the
still-ringing phone.
I swing the door open, expecting a FedEx guy or something. Instead, I
see  Damian,  looking  suave  and  dangerous  in  a  black  dress  shirt  and
black  suit.  His  buttons  are  undone  enough  to  give  me  a  hint  of  the
perfectly smooth, tattooed chest beneath. I can't help myself from

remembering  how  he  looked  without  a  shirt,  and  I  can't  help  but
wanting to see it again. He's holding a bag of groceries in one hand and
a bottle of wine in the other.
"What is this?" I ask.
"I saw that you were staying at my brother's place, so I figured I'd come
by."
I give him a quizzical look. "You say that like it makes sense."
He  smirks.  "What  if  I  said  I  wanted  to  cook  you  the  most  delicious
dinner you' ve ever had?"
I fold my arms. "I'd say that I already ate." I hate that my heart beats out
of my chest just from being near him. I don't know if it's from fear or
attraction. Or both.
"Good thing I brought a pack of cards, then. We'll play while you build
up an appetite."
I smile wryly. "You're persistent. But I can't, I have a friend over right
now."
"I  was  just  leaving,"  says  Julia.  She  gives  me  a  quick  hug  and  then
winks at me when Damian can't see. She mouths the words fuck him.
Before I know it, Damian has stepped inside and Julia is gone. I don't
even  remember  inviting  him  in,  but  he's  walking  toward  the  kitchen
already. Shit.
I move after him, trying to think of a polite way to tell my boss that I
want him to leave. Sir, could you please leave? I'm not sure I can be
around  you  for  an  extended  period  of  time  without  doing  something
stupid like jumping your bones.
"Where does he keep the wine glasses?" asks Damian.
I lean against the fridge and watch as he searches through the kitchen
cabinets. "I really don't think this is a good idea."
"See, that's  exactly how I know it  is  a good idea. If it seemed like a
good idea, it'd probably be boring as shit."
I furrow my eyebrows. "Do you do this often?"
"What?" he asks.
"Invite yourself into people's houses and forcefully cook them
food?"
He finally finds the wine glasses and starts uncorking the bottle.

"This isn't your house."
I sigh. "You know what I mean."
He pours the wine and hands me a glass. "If I knew what you meant,
that'd  mean  I  understood  you."  He  sips  his  wine  and  raises  his
eyebrows,  obviously  pleasantly  surprised  by  the  taste.  "And  I  don't
understand you. But I want to."
"I thought you just wanted to sleep with anything that breathes and has
a pair of tits."
He walks toward the living room, forcing me to follow him or be left
standing in the kitchen like an idiot. He sits on the couch and kicks his
feet up on the coffee table. "You've been talking to Julia too much. You
can't believe everything you hear about me."
"Can I believe it if it comes from you?"
He smirks. "Maybe."
I sit in the bean chair Julia was in, sipping the wine for the first time. I
see why Damian enjoyed it. It's sweet and smooth, not dry and cloying
like I normally find wine to be. "I' m not looking for a relationship," I
say when the silence stretches too long.
"So  you're single,  then. I was wondering about the engagement ring.
Bad breakup?"
I sigh, not sure why I haven't taken it off yet. "It's irrelevant. I'm just
not..."
"Hey,"  he  says,  leaning  forward  and  locking  me  in  place  with  his
intense eyes. "All jokes aside, if you tell me to fuck off, I will. But if
you don't, I' m not going to stop until you're mine."
My  heart  hammers  against  my  ribs  and  I  feel  breathless.  Jesus.  His
words  and  the  way  he's  looking  at  me  are  almost  too  much.  I'm
ashamed to feel myself getting aroused. A few seconds pass and I can't
bring  myself  to  speak.  Two  words  and  it's  all  over.  I  can  go  back  to
feeling sorry for myself and moping around. I can update my resume
and start looking for another marketing job around here.
Before I know it, a minute of silence has passed and he hasn't looked
away. A slow smile spreads across his lips as he sips from his wine.
"Glad that's settled."
I sink into my chair, blushing. Why do I feel like I just promised to

sleep with him?
"Bullshit!" I yell.
Damian groans as he flips over the cards. He is terrible at this game,
and I can't help giggling as I watch him scoop up all my discarded cards
and his own. I have one card left and he has a handful.
Damian narrows his eyes at me. "Aces." He puts down two cards and I
put down the last card I hold. "Bullshit!" he yells, slamming his palm
on the table. I flip the card and show him the ace. He laid down an ace
and a two.
I  laugh  as  he  drops  his  cards  and  sighs.  "Fuck.  I  think  you  cheated
somehow."
I smirk. "Playing you in cards does feel like cheating. It's not really
fair."
He tosses a card at me and stands to go check on the food. I smile over
the rim of my wine glass, watching his tight ass and the way it looks in
the slacks he's wearing. He stripped off his jacket and wears his dress
shirt  with  the  sleeves  rolled  up  and  a  few  buttons  undone.  I  keep
finding my eyes wandering to those undone buttons. I've had too much
to drink already and can feel it going to my head. I know I'm getting
tipsy because I'm definitely not as bitter as I should be. I'm even on the
verge of enjoying myself. I keep feeling like I should be in mourning or
something. After all, my fiance cheated on me. He also had my bank
accounts  frozen  and  has  probably  blacklisted  me  at  every  marketing
job in the continental US, yet here I am, staring at Damian's ass and
loving every second of it.
"You  like  pepper?"  he  asks,  raising  his  voice  over  the  sizzling  of
pancetta in the skillet.
"Sure."
He grinds a pepper mill over the skillet and gives it a skillful toss. "I
can't say I took you for the chef type," I say. He turns and quirks an
eyebrow at me. "What was it? The tattoos?" I shrug. "I guess when I
picture guys like you, I don't picture them going home and cooking."
"Guys like me?"

I move into the kitchen and lean on the island behind him, watching as
he  tosses  the  pancetta  in  the  skillet  and  stirs  the  lasagna  sheets  he's
boiling  in  water.  "Yeah,  you  know.  Bad  boys.  The  kind  of  guys  my
mom would turn over in her grave if she knew I was talking to." He
turns, suddenly serious. "I'm sorry about your mom." The sincerity in
his words touches me and I'm surprised to find myself on the verge of
tears. Just like that. "Don't be. She was terrible. Disowned me when I
was younger and I practically never talked to her after." I don't mention
the reason she kicked me out. I never do.
He goes back to the skillet, talking over his shoulder. "Family should
always be together."
"Yeah. But it doesn't always work out that way."
The food is delicious. He made some sort of creamy mushroom alfredo
sauce with bits of flavorful pancetta and prosciutto cooked in. Then he
twirled in tender lasagna sheets to soak it all up. Every bite is like an
explosion.  For  the  first  few  minutes,  I  eat  in  complete  silence,
marveling at how much flavor he managed to cook into the meal. "Do
you like it?" he asks.
I wipe my mouth, blushing when I realize I've just been pounding down
bite after bite silently. "This is amazing. You're really full of surprises,
aren't you? "
He smirks. "Stick around, I've got some other surprises you wouldn't
believe."
I blush again. I swear, I must have gone the last ten years of my life and
blushed two or three times, and those were because of embarrassment.
Being around Damian makes me feel like some blushing maiden from a
medieval story.
"Why are you really here?" I ask. "It's not to cook me dinner." He folds
his napkin and sets it down on the table. "You want the
truth?"
"I do."
"All right. I came here because from the moment I saw you, I knew I
needed  to  have  you.  I've  seen  beautiful  women  before  and  wanted
them, but no one has ever stuck in my head like you. I haven't stopped

thinking  about  you,  about  the  things  I  want  to  do  to  you."  He  leans
forward and the predatory smirk flashes across his face.
My  voice  sounds  small.  Distant.  "What  would  you  do  to  me?"  I
swallow hard. My heart is pounding in my ears and I have to press my
thighs together. His words are doing something to me, something that
scares me and excites me at the same time.
"I'd  start  with  your  pussy.  I'd  work  you  with  lips  first,  and  then  my
tongue. And I'd take my time about it. Once you were done cumming
on my face, I'd pin your hands above your head and—"
I hold my hand up, feeling breathless. His smirk widens. If I let him
keep  talking,  I  won't  be  able  to  stop  it  from  happening.  It  will  stop
being a fantasy and it will be real. And I can't take real right now. Not
yet.
Someone pounds on the front door.
Damian stands up, looking toward the sound. "Wait here," he says.
I' ve never been good at following orders, so I sneak behind Damian as
he moves to the door. He swings it open and my stomach clenches.
It's Greg.
After just a week of separation, Greg looks ridiculous to me now. He's
wearing  Easter  pink  shorts,  a  white  polo,  and  brown boat  shoes.  His
hair  is  slicked  back  with  too  much  product  to  reveal  his  smooth,
contemptuous features. He never seemed scrawny or frail to me before.
After all, he religiously works out in the gym three times a week, but
next to Damian, he looks like a child.
"Who  the  fuck  are  you?"  demands  Greg.  Then  he  leans  around
Damian's wide shoulders and spots me standing there. "What the fuck,
Callie?"
"You need to leave," says Damian.
"Why? So you can fuck her? That's my fiancée, asshole, let me in."
Damian  puts  a  hand  on  Greg's  chest  and  when  Greg  tries  to  slap  it
away,  Damian  grabs  Greg's  arm  and  twists  it,  pinning  him  face  first
into the doorframe. He leans close, speaking into Greg's ear.
"Do you hear that?" asks Damian.
"Hear what?" asks Greg. He sounds like he has cotton shoved in

his mouth from being pressed so hard into the wall.
"The sound of your fiancée not telling me to stop before I permanently
fuck up your shoulder."
"Callie," he whines. "Tell him to stop. Tell this fucker to get off
me."
All I can think of is the sight of those stilettos and long legs, bouncing
every time he pounded himself into her.
Damian looks back toward me, eyebrows raised.
"He's not worth it," I say. "Just let him go."
Damian smashes Greg's face into the doorframe before letting him go.
Greg stumbles backward, pressing delicate fingers to his nose and then
looking incredulously at the blood. "I think you broke my nose," but his
voice is so stuffed it sounds like he says "dose".
"Whoops," says Damian. "I can be real clumsy. You may want to fuck
off before I accidentally break something else."
"Do you have any idea who my father is? The district attorney is a close
friend of my family. If I talk to the right people, you'll—"
Damian steps forward. "I'm not interested in what your friends can do
to me. What can you do?"
Greg  glares  over  his  bloody  hands,  still  clutching  his  nose.  "You'll
regret this."
He  stumbles  away  from  the  porch,  looking  over  his  shoulder  once
before yanking the door of his BMW open. He pulls it shut, still careful
not to close the door too hard. Ridiculous. The engine roars and he tries
to  back  out  quickly,  but  overcorrects.  He  slams  on  the  brakes  just
before  hitting  a  tree.  Then  he's  forced  to  back  slowly  out  of  the
driveway because he's not a good enough driver to go any faster.
I can' t remember what I ever saw in him.

40
Damián
I search her name on the computer in the back room of the restaurant.
Callie Beccaccio. I find some social media shit, but I don't want to be
that creepy, so I stick to the generic results. I find something about her
job. Marketing consultant for B&G Conglomerate Group? The fuck is
that? I'm about to search for more when Benny bursts through the door.
"It's starting," he says with a smile. "Tell me," I say.
"Carlito Anastasio was just found dead on a pier out in Long Island. No
one knows, but there are whispers that it was the Sanatores." "Shit," I
say, slamming my fist on the table.
"Shit what? We've spent months trying to start a war between
them. Why shit?"
"Because Carlito's sister married into the Ricci's family." Benny falls
into the nearest chair, looking dejected. "Fuck. What do we do?"
"I don't know yet. The whole fucking idea was to let the Anastasios and
the  Sanatores  chip  away  at  each  other  until  one  of  them  was  weak
enough  for  us  to  make  a  move.  If  the  Ricci's  get  involved?  They're
fucking crazy. There won't be shit left to take over. They will burn the
whole place to the ground."
"So what do we do?" asks Benny again.
"Something stupid. I need to handle something first though."
Callie is laughing with some guy at the bar while she pours him a drink.
I clench my fists and go to the guy, tapping him on the shoulder. "That's
my seat," I say.
Callie gives  me a warning look. I reassure her with a wink. The guy
turns. "There are open seats all over. Fuck off." "Whether I have to kick
your ass or not, I'm sitting in that stool in the next ten seconds. So why
don't you go get yourself one of those open

seats and skip the embarrassment."
He takes me in from head to toe, scowls, and then gets up, leaving the
restaurant without even touching the drink Callie just poured. I sit and
down it in one shot.
"Really?" she asks, putting her fists on her hips. "Am I supposed to be
impressed by that?"
I smirk. "You weren't?"
"No. You can't just punch and threaten your way through life."
"Those aren't my only two techniques." I take a second to admire the
healthy amount of cleavage she has on display, biting my lip.
She sighs, pulling her shirt up but I can see the red staining her cheeks.
"When are you going to just admit that you want to fuck me?" I
ask.
She sets a glass down a little too hard. "I don't need another asshole in
my life. So if that's what you are, just get lost, okay?"
"You were wrong about me before, weren't you? What was it you said,
'Damian, you're so full of surprises, I can't believe I was so wrong about
you!'"
She smiles a little, eyes still on the bar for a moment before she lifts her
long lashes and meets my gaze. "I definitely didn't say that."
I lean back, resting my arm on the back of the stool next to me. "I'm
paraphrasing, but that was what you meant. I saw it in your eyes."
She turns to take a sip from a water bottle.
"Why don't I get you off early sometime. Maybe tonight?" I ask.
She almost chokes, spitting some of the water out and wiping it away
with the back of her hand. When she recovers, she's scowling at me.
"Do you think about anything other than sex?"
"You're the one with your mind in the gutter. I'm just talking about
getting you off work. I am your boss after all."
"What if I say no?"
I raise my eyebrows, leaning back and folding my arms like it's a tough
question and I'm hesitant to answer. "Refusing a direct order from your
boss? People have lost their jobs over less."
She rolls her eyes, but still goes to grab her coat and leans into the

back and yells for Julia to cover for her.
I hold the door for her, mainly so I can look at her ass when she walks
past.
She stops when she sees the car, turning to give me a questioning look.
"Is this yours?"
"You like it?" I ask.
She tries and fails to hide an excited smile. "It's okay."
I  don't  have  many  weaknesses,  but  cars  are  one  of  them.  I  know  I
should really be stockpiling all the cash I can for when we make our
move to take over, but I couldn't help myself when I saw this baby at an
auction.  Glossy  black  with  chrome  detailing  and  it  was  owned  by  a
collector since he drove it off the showroom floor in 1969.
I open the car door and gesture for her to get in.
"I can open doors on my own, you know."
"Not when you're with me," I say.
I get in and start the engine.
"With you?" she asks. "What exactly do you think this is?"
"Whatever you want it to be," I say, gunning the gas so hard that her
hands flash out, bracing against the door on one side and my thigh on
the other. She squeezes the hard muscle of my leg tightly, not letting go
even when I ease off the gas and pull on the main road. I grin at her, but
she only scowls and pulls back her hand.
This girl.
What  kills  me  most  is  she  won't  even  admit  to  herself  how  bad  she
wants it. It' s all over her. I can practically smell it on her. Fuck. I bet I
could even taste it. I downshift, loving the way the car bucks against me
as I push it harder. Maybe that's what draws me to cars like this. The
harder you push them, the louder they scream, but there's no denying
that they were made to be pushed, made to be tested to their absolute
limits. Hell, it'd be a shame not to.
I bite my lip, looking at the way Callie's black cotton skirt is riding up
her thighs as the car purrs under her.
"It looks like it's going to storm, maybe you should slow down," she
says.
I check the rearview to look for clouds but notice a black car

behind  me  instead.  There  are  two  adult  men  in  the  front  seats,  and  I
can't explain why, but the car is making my trigger finger itch. On a
hunch,  I  swerve  to  take  a  turn  down  a  random  side-street,  cutting
between a row of small houses with well-groomed lawns. Callie gasps.
"I  said  slow  down,  not  try  to  crash  the  car!"  she  says,  clutching  my
thigh again.
I pull up beside a house and park on the street, watching my rearview.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
I say nothing, still watching as the black car takes the turn and drives
slowly past us. A few dozen feet in front, the car hits the brakes and
suddenly pulls to the side of the road to wait. I'm being tailed. I don't
know if it's the Sanatores, the Anastasios, or the Riccis. All I know is
it's bad. Benny and I were supposed to be completely off the radar. If
anyone is tailing me, it means someone at least suspects we're involved.
But how?
"What's going on?" asks Callie.
"Stay  here,"  I  say.  I  reach  past  her  and  pull  my  .44  from  the  glove
compartment. She winces when she sees it, eyes going wide.
I grit my teeth, squeezing the grip of the gun as I tuck it into the back of
my pants. I glance around the quiet neighborhood, making sure no one
is outside. It's clear, for now. I walk to the parked car and rap on the
window with my knuckles, leaning down to point at the guy behind the
glass. "Open the fucking door." I say.
He gives me the finger and starts to reach for something in his jacket
pocket, so I rip my gun free and smash it through the glass, grabbing
him by the collar. His buddy in the passenger seat reaches to pull a gun
on me but I'm too fast for him. I point the .44 between the passenger's
eyes. "Move and I splatter your brains across this window."
The passenger at me, but he's smart enough to stay still.
"Roll down  your  window—other hand, asshole! Good. Now toss the
gun out." He does as he's told. "Both of you, out of the car. This door," I
say through gritted teeth. What, did the fucker think I wanted him to
step out on the other side of the car right next to where he threw the
gun?

I take a step back, keeping the gun leveled at them as the driver steps
out and the passenger has to crawl over the stick shift to get out. I can
tell they are mafia muscle from one look. The driver is pretty jacked
with a jaw like a brick, the passenger is more wiry with the cold look of
a killer in his eyes.
"Who sent you?" I ask. From the corner of my eye, I notice a woman
step out the front door with two tiny dogs on a leash, pause, and then
hurry back inside.
"Damian! What are you doing?" yells Callie.
I move my eyes toward her, gesturing for her to get in the car. It's not
safe for her here. Damn, it wasn't even safe for me to stop and—
It  feels  like  a  brick  wall  crashes  into  me  and  then  my  head  is
rebounding off the pavement. The big one is on top of me, reaching in
his jacket for some kind of weapon. My vision is blurred, but I still see
the other one running around the side of the car for his gun. I'm in a shit
position as far as leverage goes, but I'm able to hook my elbow around
the big guy's wrist, squeezing and rolling. He realizes real fast that he
has to roll off me or his wrist is going to snap like a twig as I twist,
using my whole body to push into him.
The weight comes off me as we reverse positions and I scrape my gun
off  the  ground  from  where  it  fell  and  jab  him  in  the  teeth  with  the
muzzle. The hard steel punches right through and he claps his hands to
his mouth. I dive to my stomach, pressing my cheek to the ground so I
can see beneath the car. I see the gun lying on its side and two feet. Just
when a hand reaches to grab the gun, I squeeze the trigger.
Boom!
The  sound  echoes  out  in  the  quiet  neighborhood.  The  wiry  one  is
standing  now,  holding  his  wrist  as  blood  spurts  from  the  gunshot
wound that took off his index finger. I jump and slide over the hood,
pistol whipping him  and putting  my foot on his chest. I kneel down,
still  putting  all  my  weight  into  him  as  I  press  the  cold  barrel  to  his
forehead. "Name. Give me a fucking name."
"Ricci. Cristiano Ricci," hisses the man, wincing against the pain and
the expectation of a bullet.
I feel ice in my chest. "What do they want with me?"

"Fuck if I know. We were just supposed to keep an eye on you."
Callie  is  standing  behind  the  passenger  door,  leaning  forward  and
covering  her  mouth.  Damn.  She  has  already  seen  too  much.  I  can't
make her a witness to murder too.
"Get in the car, Callie," I shout.
"Why, so  you can kill him?" she asks. I can hear  the  emotion in her
voice, it's thick and pained.
"Just get in the fucking car."
"No," she says. "If you're going to do it. You're going to have to do it
while I watch."
I  grit  my  teeth,  finger  tensing  around  the  trigger  as  I  come  within
millimeters of ending
this cocksucker. But I don't. I can't say what it is. Maybe it's just how
bad  I  want  to  make  her  mine.  Maybe  not.  For  all  I  know,  it's  just
bullshit. Maybe when I finally get between her legs, I'll be bored and
want to toss her aside like all the women before, but I'm not so sure
anymore, and that scares me.
I get off him, gripping his shirt and pulling back my arm as if to break
his face with the gun, but I relax, even if my face is still twitching with
rage. What kind of message is this going to send? Damian Citrione gets
tailed by two Riccis and he lets them walk? Every asshole in the city is
going to think they have free license to spy on me and only risk losing a
few teeth or a finger.
It's stupid as hell, and I know it, but it doesn't change what I'm going to
do. I walk away from brick-jaw, who's still squirming on the ground
trying to find all the pieces of his teeth. I turn my back on the killer,
who looks more like a beaten dog than anything else. I get back in the
car and slam the door, waiting for Callie to get in. She sits down, face
stony and hard.
"I can't believe you," she says.
"You want me to just say how's it fucking going? Nice of you to tail me
today?"
"So you nearly killed them just because they followed you? What kind
of person does that? How did you even know they were following you
before you punched through the fucking window?"

The  darkening  sky  flashes  white  and  a  few  seconds  later,  a  thunder
splits the silence, cracking sharp at first and dying in a growl of low
rumbles. Rain patters on the windshield.
"I can't take risks right now," I say.
"So what if you decide I'm a risk? Are you going to shove a gun down
my throat?"
I purse my lips thoughtfully. "It's not my gun that I want to shove down
your throat."
She glares. "I'm not playing."
"I'd never do anything to hurt you. Not unless you wanted it."
Her eyebrows pull together. "Why would I want you to hurt me?"
"People think pain and pleasure are opposites, but they're not. They are
compliments, just like hot and cold. Get out of a hot tub and jump into a
pool—it'll feel a hell of a lot colder. You don't know how good fucking
can feel unless you've mixed it with a little pain. I'll show you soon."
Callie tries to turn away before I can see how she bites her lip, but she's
not  quick  enough.  My  cock  stiffens.  She  wants  it.  I  know  she  does.
Still,  she  has  her  arms  crossed  and  from  the  look  on  her  face,  she's
pissed at me. Oh well. I know how to cure that.

47
Callie
The rain is pouring down hard and the sky is black. Blinding flashes of
white cast the countryside in sharp relief, emphasizing how alone we
are out here. I don't know my way around the area to begin with, so I'm
far beyond lost. Being lost with Damian feels terrifying and thrilling at
the same time. I knew he was dangerous, I just didn't expect to see it. I
think the part that scares me most is how the violence only draws me to
him more, making me want to help him, to fix him. I can see a good
person somewhere inside him, deep inside, but I think he's on a path to
bury that goodness once and for all. Unless I can help.
It looks like we're in the country, which is surprisingly beautiful, even
in the tumult of the storm. He pulls off on a small dirt road that cuts
between farmhouses and huge plots of land. He turns through an open
fence and drives across an overgrown field, parking the Camaro in the
grass beneath a huge tree with a trunk at least three times thicker than a
normal tree. Lightning illuminates the sky and I see that we're in the
middle of a rolling field about a mile away from a small farmhouse and
the main road, nestled between trees on every side.
He puts the car in park and relaxes into his seat. Without the sound of
the engine roaring, I can hear the rain patter against the roof and an
occasional rumble of thunder roll through the hills.
"Where are we?" I ask. The truth is that I don't care. Every time I' m
with Damian, I feel my problems fade into background noise. It's like
he's so intense and so present that there's no space for anything else.
The same intensity that draws me to him is also what scares me. I just
saw who he really was back there. He would've killed those men. The
thought sends a shiver through me.
"I used to come here before I went to prison. When I felt like getting
away, I'd come up here and just let it all fall away."
"Prison? What for?"
A darkness settles into his features that has nothing to do with the storm
clouds outside. "For trusting the wrong person."

The silence that follows stretches until I realize he's not going to say
anything more on the subject. I clear my throat. "So you just came out
here by yourself? I didn't take you for the silent, thinking type."
"That  shit  you  saw  back  there?  I  don't  enjoy  that.  It's  part  of  the
business, though. Anybody who says it doesn't get to them is full of
shit."
"The restaurant business?" I ask. Why is my heart pounding like crazy?
Why  am  I  so  scared  to  ask  that  question  even  though  I  know  the
answer?
He  thinks  for  a  moment,  long  enough  for  a  bolt  of  lightning  to
illuminate his gorgeous features. "Guys in my line of work don't bring
women into it, Callie. It's safer that way."
"Too late. You just nearly murdered two guys in front of me. I'd say
you already brought me in." I wish I could say the words without a ball
of fear writhing in my chest.
He smirks. "You have a point. Just—look, the less you know the better.
Those were some guys from out of town that are bad news. They work
for a guy who's even worse news. I didn't give them  anything worse
than  they  probably  give  on  a  weekly  basis.  Assholes,  both  of  them.
Don't worry about them."
"You shot one of them," I say. A voice in the back of my head is telling
me  to  drop  it,  telling  me  this  man  beside  me  in  the  car  is  just  as
dangerous as he is beautiful. I should just let it go and take his excuses.
"You saw that, then? I wondered."
"What, do you think I was checking my phone while you were in the
middle of a gun fight in a fucking suburban neighborhood?"
How  can  he  look  so  smug?  So  arrogant?  He  just  shrugs  at  me,  still
giving me that irresistible and infuriating look.
"What  if  I  had  called  the  cops  on  you?"  I  ask.  He  leans  forward,
snapping to face me as his features harden.
"What did you say?"
"I didn' t—" I stammer. God, Callie. Did you really just imply that you
might  call  the  cops  on  a  guy  who  carries  a  gun  in  his  glove
compartment and attacks people for following him?
"Don't ever talk about the cops. Do you understand?"

I nod my head, unable to look away from him.
"You  don't  have  to  be  afraid  of  me,  but  if  you  start  talking  like  that
around some of the guys I know, it wouldn't end well."
"I'm just confused. All of this is so bizarre. I don't even know what I' m
saying or thinking half the time."
He looks thoughtful. "You know what always calmed me down when I
was a kid?"
"What?"
He smirks at me and then steps out of the car and into the rain. "I think
I just need to get you a little wetter to clear your mind." He jogs in front
of the car, heading for my door.
I scramble for the locks, laughing when I realize what he's trying to do.
He  pulls  on  the  handle  and  his  smirk  widens  when  he  realizes  I've
locked  him  out.  The  rain  is  soaking  his  clothes  through  almost
immediately  and  flattening  his  hair  against  his  head.  He  digs  in  his
pocket and holds up something I can't quite see. Lightning flashes and I
catch the glint of something metallic. I try to crawl to the driver seat to
escape him, but he's able to pick the lock in a few seconds, opening the
door and grabbing my leg before I can get away. He yanks me toward
him.
I feel my skirt ride up as he does, and I'm thankful it's so dark in the
storm  because  I  just  wore  white  cotton  panties  and  he  would've  just
gotten  an  eyeful.  He  scoops  me  up  with  a  strong  arm  under  my
midsection,  standing  me  up  gently,  then  shutting  the  door.  He's
completely soaked. He looks amazing, even with his hair plastered to
his head and dripping. The white button-down shirt he wears might as
well be transparent as it clings to the peaks and valleys of his muscled
torso. A tight sense of excitement grows in my chest as I look at him.
The  rain  soaks  through  my  clothes  almost  instantly.  Even  under  the
tree, thick rivulets of water pour down on us. I find a spot where a thick
branch overhead blocks most of the water. He moves in so close that
the water dripping from his nose lands between my breasts, sending a
cold chill down my torso. I bite my lip, unable to look away from him.
"When I was a kid," he says, voice soft but full of gravel. "I used to
walk out in storms like this and just run. I'd find a road or a field and
run

until my legs gave out and all I could do was lay there and look up. I
guess I was daring the storm to take me down. You know? Strike me
down. Besides, it felt good. It's hard to focus on all the shit in your life
when  it's  just  you  and  nature."  I  smile.  "That's  beautiful."  He  leans
closer. "You are too." I laugh. "Don't get cheesy."
"What's  on  your  mind?"  he  asks.  "Is  it  that  asshole  who  came  by
Vince's place?"
I  look  down.  "I  don't  want  to  talk  about  him."  "Then  stop  thinking
about him." "It's not that easy."
He grins, turning to gesture to the open field where the storm still rages.
"Let's go for a run then."
"Are you crazy?" I ask. "I'm pretty sure the best way to get struck by
lightning is running out in the middle of an open field." Then again, so
is standing under a big ass tree, but for some reason I don't want to get
back in the car.
He jingles a set of keys in front of my face. My keys. I snatch for them,
but  he  pulls  them  back.  He  turns,  winds  up,  and  throws  them
impossibly  far  into  the  darkness.  "Damn,"  he  says,  stepping  forward
and putting his arm on the tree beside my head. "I guess you have to
decide  if  you  want  to  risk  the  lightning  or  risk  staying  here  with  me
until the storm passes."
I  swallow  hard,  painfully  aware  that  if  I  just  leaned  forward  a  few
inches my lips would be against his. "You said I didn't have to be afraid
of you."
"I said I wouldn't hurt you. I never said you shouldn't be afraid of
me."
"Why should I be afraid?" "Because I want you, and I get what I want."
His lips crash into mine as lightning sets the night ablaze. The sounds
of the storm dull in my ears and every nerve in my body attunes to him.
I can smell his scent, a woodsy, fresh smell that I can't get enough of.
My hands explore his broad back, nails digging into the

endless peaks and ridges of his muscles. He presses his body against
mine, the force amplified by thunder booming through the night. I wrap
my legs around him, winding my arms behind his neck and letting his
powerful arms lift me from the ground and spin me around.
He carries me to the still running car and lays me down on the hood.
The warmth of the metal and vibration of the engine hum through me.
Damian positions himself between my legs, looking down at me like a
vengeful  god.  Lightning  splits  the  sky  behind  him,  silhouetting  his
powerful frame as he rips his shirt off and unbuckles his belt.
Am I really letting this happen? I've only ever been with Greg, and I
made  him  wait  years  before  he  even  got  to  see  me  naked.  Now  I've
known this guy less than a week and I'm about to let him fuck me in on
top of his  muscle  car in the  middle  of a storm?  Maybe I am. It's  not
something the old Callie would do. It's not something Greg's accessory
would do. Maybe I don't want to be the old Callie anymore. I want to be
someone new, someone who didn't waste half of her life with a piece of
shit who can't keep his dick in his pants.
Damian puts his hands on my thighs and then pauses. "Fuck." he
says.
"What?" I ask.
"I don't have a condom."
Maybe it's the storm or the completely crazy few days I've had or it's
just  how  unbelievably  bad  I  want  him  inside  me,  but  I  know  one
thing—I need this. And I need it now. "I don't care. Just fuck me. Fuck
me and pull out—come on me, mark me."
The look on his face is feral as he pulls my soaked skirt down and lifts
my shirt off. He takes his time, rubbing his hands over my body. The
car's  headlights  cast  two  long  beams  of  light  that  are  cut  by  the
hundreds of streaking lines of rain. Lightning and thunder still rage all
around us, and I feel myself getting completely lost in the moment. My
back arcs when his hands find my breasts. He rubs them through my
wet bra and then undoes it, freeing them and moving his focus to my
panties.
"You're fucking incredible," he growls through gritted teeth.
I lift my head to watch him. The sight of Damian over my naked flesh
sends such a thrill through me that I almost grab his face and press

53
Damian
My cock is about to fucking burst from the need to get inside her, but I
want her taste just as much. I grab her panties and tear them off of her,
shredding the material like wet paper.
"God," she sighs, leaning her head back and pushing herself up toward
me.
She fucking loves it.
I hook my arms around her thighs and pull her closer to the edge of the
car so I can lean down to reach her perfect pussy. The only problem
with fucking in the middle of a rainstorm is that the rain has washed
away most of her taste, but she's still incredible. I take her clit between
my  lips  and  tease  it  with  my  tongue,  sliding  along  her  folds.  Callie
bucks into me, rubbing herself against my mouth hungrily. She wants it
so bad. She'll get it, but she's going to get it as fast or as slow as I want
to give it. Lucky for her, I can't remember the last time I've wanted to
fuck this badly. Hell, I don't know that I ever have.
I use my fingers to work her clit while I circle her entrance with my
tongue, driving the length of it inside her and loving every second of it.
I work every part of her, moving just before it gets too sensitive and
finding a rhythm that keeps her gasping and digging her heels into my
back.
Hard  rain  slams  into  me  as  the  night  cries  out  with  her.  I  roam  my
hungry  hands  across  her  body,  unable  to  satisfy  the  ravenous  need
swelling inside me. I've never wanted it this badly, never felt this good
before.
When I can tell she's about to cum, I stand. She gives me an incredulous
look, but I wave my finger at her.
"You get to cum when I' m ready for you to cum. Do you understand?"
The way she nods her head and locks those big, doe eyes on mine is so
fucking sexy. I lean down and kiss her, making sure she gets a taste of
how delicious her pussy is before the rain washes it off me.

I reach under her hips and flip her over so that her ass faces me. I take a
step back, admiring for as long as I can before my need to be inside her
overcomes everything else. She's so perfect. She has curves in all the
right  places.  I've  never  understood  guys  who  go  after  model  thin
women or pushovers. Give me a woman who's soft in the right places
and  knows  how  to  hold  her  own  in  a  conversation  and  I'm  happy.
Something about Callie has me firing on all cylinders. I don't know if
it's those wide hips or the way she bites that thick lip of hers when she's
turned  on,  or  the  way  she  likes  to  challenge  and  test  me.  Hell,  it's
probably all of that. I've never met a woman like her. I've never fucked
a woman like her.
With both hands on her hips, I pull her toward me, thrusting my cock
into her in one swift motion. Her pussy grips me like a fucking glove.
Jesus Christ. Greg must have a tiny cock, because she's tighter than a
virgin. The heat of her wrapping around my cock as I pump in and out
of her is almost too much. Knowing she is letting me fuck her without a
condom is such a turn on that I'm already having trouble holding my
load. I drive myself inside her and bend down, gripping her face I turn
her toward me so that I can taste her mouth again.
Her warm tongue swirls in my mouth as the rain pours down on us. My
cock drives in her to the root, and her tight pussy throbs around it as I
make her wait, kissing her deeply and holding her hips as she tries to
move against my length. Not yet. I straighten and pull my hand back,
slapping her so hard on the ass that it sounds like a thunderclap. She
whips her head back, moaning into the night.
"Damian!"
I move my cock in her now and she shudders against me, dropping her
head back below her shoulders and arching her back like a cat. I lean
down to her ear and wait until the thunder dies out so I'm sure she hears
me.
"Say yellow if you want me to ease off. Red means stop.
Understand?"
"Yes," she says breathlessly.
I  flip  her  over,  watching  as  her  heavy  tits  pillow  into  almost  perfect
spheres. I lean down, taking her nipple in my mouth as I find her

entrance  again  with  my  cock.  I  wrap  my  fingers  around  her  neck,
squeezing until she has to struggle for breath. Her eyes widen slightly
in panic, and I ease off for a moment, giving her a chance to safeword
me if wants to, but she shakes her head slightly and then nods at me,
biting her lip.
I squeeze a little harder, starting to work myself into her and finding a
rhythm. She moans, the vibrations passing through her long neck and
into my fingers.
"You  like  getting  fucked  by  your  boss?"  I  ask  through  gritted  teeth,
spraying rainwater from my soaked lips. "Yes," she gasps.
"Call me boss. Say how bad you want your boss to fuck you." "Fuck
me,  boss.  Please,  Damian.  Fuck  me!"  I  nearly  lose  it.  My  hands
tightening again around her neck. Her moans are muffled by the lack of
air and the storm, but her body says it all. Her ass lifts off the car as she
practically begs me to go deeper and harder. Her tits shake with every
thrust of my body.
Her pussy clenches around me as she cums, hard. I let go of her neck
and watch as the flood of air makes her orgasm turn into something like
she's never felt. Her eyes go wide and she silently mouths something I
can't make out, clinging to me like the survivor of a shipwreck as the
waves of her orgasm rock her to the core. Her small hand searches for
my cock and strokes it fiercely as she moans into my chest. My cock
pulses, spraying hot cum over her stomach.
As  if  on  cue,  the  rain  starts  to  die  down.  I  lean  against  the  car,  still
naked and hard. I fold my arms and grin at her. "You had better go grab
those keys."
She gives me a wry smile and tries to pick up her clothes. I beat her to
it, picking them up and holding them close to my chest in a tight ball.
"I'd  rather  watch  you  go  searching  for  them  naked."  She  tries  once
more to grab for the clothes.
"I'll throw them up in the tree if you don't get to looking for those
keys."
Finally, Callie smirks at me and tiptoes into the wet grass, perfect ass
shaking with each step. I love every second of it, watching as she

57
Callie
I take a sip of the expensive wine, feeling guilty. Julia doesn't seem to
have  any  of  my  reservations,  and  she's  enjoying  herself  thoroughly,
drinking freely and asking the waiter to bring extra bread. The place is
called Seasons '84. I know it  must be expensive, because there aren't
even  prices  listed  on  the  menu.  I'm  no  stranger  to  fancy  restaurants.
Greg always thought he could buy his way out of trouble. Not returning
my calls? How about some jewelery? Forgetting we were supposed to
meet  for  a  date?  Let'  s  go  somewhere  really  expensive  tomorrow.  It
never made any difference. If anything, it just pissed me off even more,
but he didn' t pay enough attention to notice.
"So you and Damian must be getting pretty serious for him to treat you
to a place like this."
I frown, swirling the wine in my glass. "Not exactly. He's been trying to
get me to go on a real date with him and I' ve been stalling. I guess he
thought  this  would  be  charming.  If  I  won't  go  somewhere  nice  with
him, he'll send me with you."
Julia's face falls a little.
I sigh. "I'm sorry, Julia. I didn't mean it like that. I'm really glad you and
I are getting the chance to do this together. It just rubs me the wrong
way that he thinks he can buy me."
She smiles. "No. It's fine. I completely understand. But hey, I've always
said if a guy is going to try to buy you, make sure he knows it won't be
cheap."
I smirk. "I'm really not interested in all that. Hell, I don't even know
what I want."
"What's not to want?" she asks as she spreads some butter on her bread.
"Speaking of wanting, all we ever do is talk about me. What about you?
What do you want?"
Her cheeks redden a little. She's so frank and straightforward that I' m
surprised to see her get embarrassed over anything.

"All I really want now is to just make it to the next paycheck."
Something in her tone says she's holding back, and even though I'm not
sure she wants me to ask, I decide to push it. "That's all you want now.
What did you want before?"
She  smiles  sadly,  looking  down  at  her  empty  glass.  "I  was  going  to
school to be a psychologist, but I ran out of money to pay for my last
semester  of  undergrad.  I  told  myself  the  bartender  thing  was  just
temporary until I got back on my feet, but that was two years ago. Now
they are telling me more than half the credits I already earned are going
to expire next year. And...well, I don't really want to talk about it. It's
pointless  and  I'm  done  feeling  sorry  for  myself.  Sometimes  you  just
have to move on."
"Hey, don't say that. You still have a year. You can totally pull that
off."
"Yeah, totally," she says, shoulders slumping, her tone  dejected. She
sighs and then perks up. "So you said Damian is trying to get you to go
on a real date. That means you guys had an unreal date."
She gives me a smirk so scandalous I can't help but laugh. Like usual
when the topic is Damian, my mood quickly sours when my thoughts
pass from his perfect body to the dangerous life he lives. "We, well," I
say, pausing to find the right words. "Spent some time together. I just
don't know if I can keep seeing him." I don't know how to say what I' m
thinking.  What  does  she  know?  Maybe  she  has  guessed,  but  when  I
think about confiding in her and explaining what I saw with the two
men and the guns...it feels like a bad idea. The memory of how Damian
reacted at the mention of cops keeps flashing in my mind.
Julia  smiles  knowingly.  "It's  the  criminal  thing.  You  think  he's  a
mobster or something."
I laugh nervously. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. Everybody talks about it. They say he's some kind
of  loose  cannon  in  the  criminal  underground.  I  don't  know,  and
personally, I wouldn't really care. I think good guys are overrated."
"I'm not so sure. Maybe there's something to be said for not having to
worry if your boyfriend is going to get shot."
She shrugs. "I'm just saying that I wouldn't let a guy like him slip

away. He's not going to wait forever. Do you really want to be forty and
looking  back  on  this,  wondering  what  it  would  have  been  like  to  be
with
him?"
As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point. Maybe I should just take
a leap of faith, even if it's a reckless one, and give him a chance.
All the lanes in the bowling alley are lit with black lights, making the
pins glow neon green. The walls are covered in fluorescent murals of
zombies  and  mutated  animals.  The  music  is  loud  and  pulsing,  and
almost every lane is packed with groups of laughing teens and young
adults. I'm almost surprised when I remember that Damian is standing
beside me.
I glance guiltily at him again, admiring the way he manages to make
jeans and a t-shirt look nicer than most guys can  make a suit and tie
look. His hair is casually pushed away from his face, but a few stray
strands dangle over his forehead in a way that is effortlessly sexy. The
muscles of his legs press against the jeans, begging to be touched and
making it impossible not to think back to how his cock felt inside me.
His completely, unprotected cock.
Remembering that I let him inside me without protection still  makes
me  feel  like  a  complete  idiot.  I  don't  know  what  I  was  thinking.  My
period is due in about a week, and I' m already having nightmares about
the decisions I'll have to make if it doesn't come. How did my boring,
but predictable life turn into such a mess so quickly?
Damian's possessive hand on my shoulder distracts me from everything
else.  He  leads  me  the  front  where  we  are  supposed  to  pick  up  our
bowling shoes. The guy behind the counter's eyes bulge when he sees
Damian. "Mr. Citrione," he says. "She's a size eight," says Damian.
The guy nods and rushes to the back without asking Damian's size. He
returns with two pairs of bowling shoes. "You're all set, sir."
Damian leads me toward an open alley. "You don't have to pay
here?" I ask.
"He owes me a couple favors."
Something about that gives me an uneasy chill. How did I let Julia talk
me into this? Yes, he's unbelievably gorgeous. Yes, he's charming.

But he's trouble in every sense of the word. I don't know what to expect
when I'm with him. One minute we driving and the next he's punching
through  somebody's  window  and  shooting  a  guy  in  the  hand.  He
actually  shot  somebody  right  in  front  of  me  and  here  I  am  going
bowling with him? I really must be losing it. I already have so much
instability in my life. I just don't know if I can handle any more. Greg
has still been trying to call every day, even at odd hours of the morning.
I'm  pretty  sure  I  saw  him  sitting  in  a  parked  car  outside  Aubriella's
house the other day, too.
Damian plugs our names into the bowling computer, which seems like
it hasn't been upgraded in twenty years. He goes and picks out a bright
pink ball for me and a black ball for himself.
"Are you trying to get an advantage by giving me such a light
ball?" I ask.
He raises his eyebrows. "You want to pick your own? Be my guest."
I go set the pink ball down, moving past a group of young kids to find a
heavier red ball. I test the weight, and it is a little heavier than I'm used
to, but the stubborn part of me wants to prove I can handle it. I show
him the ball and try to give my best, what do you think of that' look.
He laughs. "Ladies first."
I take a deep breath, suddenly nervous that I' m going to gutterball it.
I've always been a decent bowler, but it would be just my luck to make
a fool of myself in front of him. I roll the ball down and it looks like it's
going straight for the gutter at first, but it starts to curve and eventually
hooks into the pins, knocking all but one down.
"Yes!" I yell, jumping a few times and shaking my fists.
Damian covers his mouth, trying not to laugh at me.
My face reddens and I try to walk back with as much dignity as I can
muster, waiting for my ball to come back in the return rack. My next
shot is nowhere near the pin, which makes Damian get a cocky smirk
on his face.
He  lifts  his  ball,  walking  toward  the  pins.  I  can't  help  noticing  how
good his broad, muscular back and tight ass look. His powerful hands
and  forearms  are  corded  and  cut  with  so  much  muscle  that  I  have
trouble

taking my eyes away from them. I'm suddenly sure he's going to bowl
strike after strike. He winds up and takes his shot, but the ball instantly
thumps into the gutter. "Shit!" he yells.
Now it's my turn to laugh. My laughter cuts short when someone taps
my shoulder. My heart nearly stops with fright, and when I turn to see
Greg, my stomach clenches. He looks like shit. His hair is a mess and
there's a stain on his shirt.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
He scowls. "I could ask you the same thing. I didn't realize you were
such a slut."
Damian is  beside  me, his presence comforting and frightening at the
same time. More than anything, I'm worried he's going to do something
stupid, like hurt Greg, even though part of me wants him to.
"Fuck off," says Damian.
Greg  steps  forward,  jabbing  a  finger  into  Damian's  chest.  "She's  my
fiancée, pal. I don't know who you—"
Damian's  hand  closes  around  Greg's.  The  muscles  in  Damian's  arm
stand out powerfully, veins growing more pronounced as the two men
lock eyes. Greg's look of confidence quickly dissolves to panic.
"Let me go."
Damian glances at me. To my surprise, he lets Greg go, even if he does
look reluctant about it.
Greg holds his hand to his chest, cradling it like it's broken. "You think
you're  tough,  right?  Well,  I  had  my  people  look  into  your  criminal
record. There is so much dirt on you that I could get you put away with
as little as a word."
Damian  takes  a  step  closer  until  it's  clear  how  much  he  towers  over
Greg. "Let me make one thing clear. The only thing keeping me from
smashing  your  bleached  teeth  on  this  computer  is  Callie.  Why  don't
you fuck off to your trust fund and never come back."
Greg grits his teeth. "She is mine. "
I step forward and slap him hard across the face. The stunned look of
disbelief he gives me is more satisfying than I could have imagined. I
almost laugh, but the rage in my chest is enough to keep me from

63
Damian
I take a look at the group of guys gathered around the restaurant. My
guys.  It  feels  good  to  see  shit  starting  to  really  come  together.  I  pat
Brooks on the back and lean in close so only he can hear. "Anything I
need to know about?"
He gives me an uncertain look. "We had better talk." I nod, clapping
him once more on the shoulder and moving to make sure the doors are
locked. It's after-hours, but it never hurts to be careful. God knows I
learned that lesson the hard way.
"You all know not to spend the money, right?" There are grumbles and
nods around the room. Five guys, including Benny. Guys I hope I can
trust.
"What's  the fucking point of ripping off all that shit if we can't have
some fun with the money?" asks Ramirez. He's as stupid as they come,
but the guy is a maniac with a gun or without one. Nobody fucks with
him, and it never hurts to have some muscle in your crew, even if you
don't plan for things to get violent.
"Have some patience," I say. "For one, if you start buying shit you don't
normally buy, it'll risk tipping off the feds. You'll have to trust me on
the rest, but just know that if anyone finds out we did this job, even if
it's just a rumor, it will royally fuck my plan."
"You want us to trust you, but you won't trust us?" asks Franco. He's a
clever  kid.  Young,  ambitious,  and  the  kind  of  guy  I  wouldn't  mind
having at my right hand when all this comes to a head. He's also the
kind of guy I need to be careful of.
"Yeah. You got a problem with that? You can walk away and I'll keep
your share of the split."
Franco just grins, as if he knew I'd say something like that. "Everybody
else good?" I ask. They all nod and start to stand. "We'll be in touch." I
grab Brooks before they all leave and nod for him to follow me to the
back. From the corner of my eye, I see Benny watching us head to

the kitchen before he steps outside.
"So what's going on?" I ask Brooks, leaning on the stainless steel table
the cooks use to roll out dough.
He's a big guy with dark purple lips that remind me of a fish. Still, he
goes way back with my Pops, and he's loyal. "It's Benny," he says. "I
had to meet with family in Jersey the day after we pulled the scam. My
uncle took me to his favorite place and I saw Benny sitting at a table for
two with a guy who looked a whole hell of a lot like Cristiano Ricci."
Ice cold anger seeps into my veins. "You're sure?"
"No. It was dark as fuck in there and the two guys got up a few minutes
after we were seated. I never got a great look at them, but I'm pretty
sure it was Benny, and I'm pretty sure the other guy was Cristiano. I
wasn't even going to say anything about it until today. Benny has been
glaring at me like he wants to cut my fucking throat."
I nod. "You did good telling me, Brooks. Go on and get out of here. I'll
handle this."
Callie shows up for the morning shift a few hours later. I haven't slept
in at least a day, but seeing her gives me a shot of much-needed energy.
She  has  her  hair  done  in  some  kind  of  complicated  braid  and  looks
ridiculously hot. "I have some good news," I say.
"Oh?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow and crossing her arms. Cooks are
banging pans around in the back and servers are setting the tables, but
no one is paying us any attention in front of the bar.
"I'm promoting you to the head of marketing."
She shakes her head, expression falling. "I don't want you to feel like
you have to promote me just because we're...I don't even know."
"That's not why," I say, irritated that she is throwing my kindness back
in  my  face.  "I  looked  up  your  work  history.  You  were  some  a  real
hotshot in the marketing world. I don't want to waste your talent behind
the bar."
Something  in  her  expression  shifts.  "If  you  promise  this  isn't  some
scheme to get in my pants again, I'll consider it."
I grin. "I can't promise that. Waking up in the morning is part of my
scheme to get in your pants again."

She finally smiles, biting her lip. "Okay, but let's call it a probationary
period. I can walk away at any time. Okay?"
"If you want to think you can walk away from me, fine. Deal."
"When do I start?"
"Now," I say, leading her to the back office, where she sits in my
chair.
"How does it feel?" I ask, leaning against the door and grinning.
"It  feels  good,  actually.  Really  good.  I  should  probably  be  afraid  to
accept  any  favors  from  you,  but  I  really  appreciate  this  one.  I've
actually  been  itching  to  get  back  into  doing  something  more
challenging. It will help take my mind off things."
"You've been hearing from him?"
"Greg?"
"Yeah. Has he been bothering you still?"
"Some, I guess. It's nothing I can't handle though. Just some texts and
stuff like that."
"Why don't you block his number?"
"I  did,  but  he  must  have  some  kind  of  connection  with  the  phone
companies,  too.  It  only  lasted  a  few  hours  and  then  the  texts  started
coming back."
I frown. Normally, I would think she's just being paranoid, but I have a
guy who keeps an ear to the ground from inside the FBI and he said
there's been heat after my name lately, that one of the higher-ups started
showing an interest in me all of the sudden. Coincidentally, I got that
call the day after I squeezed little Greg's hand too hard and pissed him
off.  I  also  just  happened  to  get  tailed  by  the  Ricci's  the  day  after  I
pushed Greg's face into the door. I guess he really does have powerful
friends. Either way, fuck him. I'm not going to let some rich asshole
intimidate me.
"Anyway,"  she  says.  "If  you  want  me  to  start  today,  I  need  to  know
what my budget is. Advertising is all about money, and without—"
I cut her off. "Hey. I've got money. You just tell me what you need and
I' ll make it happen. Okay?"
She bites her lip. "Five thousand. To start."
I laugh. "Jesus Christ. You don't fuck around. I mean, yeah. If it's

going to take five grand to get this place bringing in more money, then
I' ll get you five grand."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. "Give me a minute," I say.
I leave Callie in the office where I can already hear her furiously typing
at the keyboard. I step into the walk-in freezer so she doesn't overhear.
"This is Damian."
"Damian Citrione?"
I clench my fists. I can already tell from the voice that it's a cop or a fed.
Still, I know better than to say anything, so I just wait.
"Right," says the voice. It drips with condescension. "Your type always
seems  to  think  the  law  can't  touch  you.  Well,  what  would  happen  if
someone tipped off the Anastasios or the Sanatores? What if they knew
you were trying to get them to tear each other to pieces? Hell, what if a
dead Ricci showed up and your prints were on the murder weapon?"
I squeeze the phone so hard that the glass screen cracks. This fucking...
"What's your name?" I ask. My voice is a hoarse whisper.
"Agent Conway. We'll be getting to know one another very soon. Don't
worry about that, Mr. Citrione."
"I don't know who you think you're fucking with, but I'm not the kind
of guy you want to make an enemy of."
"Maybe you should just start worrying about what's going to happen
when three of the most powerful crime families in the Northeast try to
find a way to hurt you. Where do you think they'll start?" I hear papers
ruffling over the phone. "Miss. Beccaccio, is it?"
I hang up the phone and slam my fist against the freezer door, denting
the  thick  metal  and  sending  a  jolting  pain  through  my  arm.  Fuck.
There's no way the feds caught wind of our operation on their own. No
way in hell. A sinking feeling in my gut tells me Greg was involved. It
couldn't have been Benny. If he was meeting with the Cristiano Ricci
like Brooks thought, that could explain why they are tailing me. Even if
he  had  a  reason  to,  he  wouldn't  dare  go  to  the  feds  though.  He'd  be
crucified  before  they  could  even  start  the  witness  protection
paperwork.
I  step  out  of  the  freezer  and  hear  the  faint  sound  of  Callie  humming
from inside my office. Cold dread spreads through me. I know what I
need to do. Agent Conway was right about one thing, if the families

come after me, they will start with her. I can't put her through that, not
after everything she's already been through. It hurts even more because
I' ve never been so driven to keep someone safe as I am with Callie. It
tells  me  that  she  really  is  more  to  me  than  just  a  casual  fuck.  She
worked her way deeper in me than that, and now I have to throw away
the only real connection I've ever had with a woman. It's the only way
to keep her safe.
I  open  the  door  and  she  looks  up  at  me,  smiling.  "I  made  a  Twitter
account for the restaurant. Do you want to see our first official tweet?"
I  take  a  deep  breath.  "I  made  a  mistake  getting  involved.  This  won't
work. I can get you a few month's pay, anything you need, but you have
to go."
Her  face  freezes,  somewhere  between  shock  and  disbelief.  "I  don'
t—what do you mean?"
"I mean it's over. We're done. You need to leave. You should go back
home, just  get out of town. I'll  make sure you have  money until you
find another job."
She closes the laptop slowly, holding her hand on it and staring at the
wall. Callie purses her lips, stands, and rushes from the room without
another word. I watch her go, hoping I' m doing the right thing, hoping
this is the best way to keep her safe.

Callie
I stare at the ceiling, feeling completely numb. I lost track of how long
I've been here on Aubriella's couch. I was going to just grab the few
things I have and leave, but Julia saw the way I left and risked her job to
leave the restaurant and come over to talk to me. My head is in her lap
and she's running her fingers through my hair. I don't think about my
parents  much  anymore,  but  her  fingers  on  my  scalp  bring  me  back,
reminding  me  of  how  my  mom  used  to  play  with  my  hair  while  we
watched TV.
"My  mom  used  to  run  her  fingers  through  my  hair  like  this,"  I  say,
closing my eyes. "Before everything went to shit." "What happened?"
asks Julia.
I laugh humorlessly. "What didn't? I was ungrateful, she was spiteful.
We clashed. A lot."
"What about your dad?"
"He was like her lapdog. Once she kicked me out, he disappeared. They
both did. I had to grow up real fast. It's how I ended up settling for a guy
like  Greg.  I  was  seventeen,  homeless,  and  about  to  graduate  high
school  with  no  money  to  pay  for  college  or  a  place  to  live.  I  was
sleeping  on  friends'  couches  and  skipping  meals  to  save  money.  It
seemed like Greg had everything, money, connections, good looks...I
actually thought I was lucky when he wanted to date me and solve all
my problems."
"Why did they kick you out?"
"My  mom  took  out  as  much  money  in  loans  as  she  could  under  my
name with no intention of paying them back. I even tried helping her
pay them off but she just kept taking out more debt in my name as soon
as  I  freed  up  the  credit.  When  I  went  to  the  police  about  it,  she
disowned me, said I was ruining her life."
"You have to be kidding," says Julia. "She did that to her own
daughter?"
"I  wish  I  was  kidding.  I  never  would  have  ended  up  with  a  guy  like
Greg if they hadn't kicked me out. Greg seemed like the answer to all
my prayers. For a while I relied on him to pay for college, then he made

sure  I  got  a  really  good  job  with  his  father's  company,  and  then  the
house and bank accounts were in his name. I had everything, but I knew
it'd all go away if I left him." I sigh. "And then I caught him cheating."
"Men are assholes."
"So was the woman who thought it was okay to fuck him on our kitchen
table."
Julia laughs. "Good point." She grabs a pillow and slips out from under
my head, sliding the pillow in to take her place. "I think you could use
another Cosmic Brownie."
"Twist my arm, why don't you," I say, smiling.
She comes back with the brownie and a glass of water. I thank her and
sit up, taking a long gulp of water.
There's  a  look  on  Julia's  face  when  she  sits  down.  She's  holding
something  wrapped  in  a  paper  towel.  My  stomach  clenches  when  I
realize what it is. I've been doing everything I can not to think about it,
but seeing it in her hand is like a slap in the face from reality. I can't just
throw  it  away.  I  can't  hide  from  it.  Somehow  I  know  when  she  says
what she's about to say, it's going to become real.
"Callie...I'm sorry  for snooping, but I saw this  when I  went to throw
away the brownie box." She holds up the pregnancy test. "This is yours,
right? It's positive."
Fresh  tears  roll  down  my  cheeks.  I  nod  my  head,  looking  down  and
twisting my fingers together. "I don't know if it's his." I say.
"Damian's?" she asks.
"Yes,"  I  say,  sniffing  and  wiping  away  more  tears.  "I  never  wanted
children with Greg, but I caught him using a safety pin to poke holes in
a condom once. I just...I don't know." I cover my face with my hands.
Julia sits beside me, hugging me tightly. "Hey. We'll figure this out. Do
either of them know?"
I shake my head. "I was going to tell Damian, before..."
Someone knocks at the door.
Julia hides the pregnancy test under a pillow and moves to answer it. I
follow close behind, watching as she swings the door  open to reveal
two men in black leather jackets. "Oh," says the first. He has a thick
italian accent. My eyes trace his outline, noticing the bulge at his hip. A

gun.
"Excuse us," says the other man. He has the same accent. They both
have dark hair and thick eyebrows. Brothers, maybe. "We must have
the wrong house."
Both men turn to leave, but one looks over his shoulder in a way that
gives me chills. I don't know what it means, but I have a feeling they
knew  exactly  who  would  answer  the  door.  I  just  can't  figure  what
message they were trying to send. Were they Damian's people? Is he
trying to make sure I leave? Or did he push me away because he's in
some kind of danger?
Julia closes the door and turns to me, giving me a puzzled look.
I hug myself tightly, wishing I could still go to Damian. I've known him
for a little less than a month and he's already upended my life. When it
seemed like he wanted me unconditionally, it felt like I had all the time
in the world to decide what I felt about him and how I wanted things to
be between us. Now that he's gone, all I can think of is how badly I wish
I still had him. The way he ended things made no sense. One minute he
was  himself,  and  the  next  he  was  completely  different,  cold  and
uncaring. I don't know who was on the other end of that phone, but I
know they are the reason he threw me away.
"Thanks  for  agreeing  to  meet  with  me,"  says  Greg.  He's  wearing  a
black polo with light pink khaki shorts and boat shoes. His blonde hair
is slicked to the side and his face is clean shaven. I used to think he was
attractive, now all I can see is his insecurity. He blinds everyone around
him  with  money  and  hopes  they  don't  see  through  to  the  weakness
beneath.
We' re in a small, family owned coffee shop. I chose somewhere public
and busy on the off chance that Greg would try something stupid, like
kidnapping me. There was also the distant creeping fear I felt after the
two Italian men showed up at the house. Greg is drinking some foamy
drink that took him several minutes to explain to the barista. I have a
coffee with cream and sugar.
"I want to know what you did to him," I say coldly.
"To who? That brute you were fucking?"

My fingernails dig into my knees beneath the table. With an effort, I
control myself. "To Damian."
The shadow of a self-satisfied smile flickers across Greg's face, but he
suppresses it, doing his best attempt at an innocent face. "I called a few
people and got some information about him. I just wanted to learn more
about this guy you were risking your future to be with. How much did
he tell you about what he does?"
"He told me everything," I say flatly. It's a complete lie, but lying to
Greg doesn't feel wrong at all. It feels good, even.
Greg  sniffs.  "Right.  So  he  told  you  about  the  drugs  he  was  selling?
Heroine, I think it was. You would know though, right?"
I shift in my seat. "He told me everything." My voice is a little quieter
this time. He could be lying. He probably is lying.
Greg senses my unease and his smile widens. "What were the charges
again?  Distributing  narcotics  to  minors?  Human  trafficking?  My
memory is fuzzy, maybe you can remind me of the details?"
I slam my fist on the table, making Greg jump and several people turn
their heads toward us. "Don't fuck with  me," I say. "You cheated on
me. You manipulated me for years. You didn't want me when you had
me,  and  now  you're  just  mad  because  you're  so  fucking  entitled  that
you can't stand the idea of something that belonged to you being taken
away. So drop the protective act. Quit pretending you care at all about
what's best for me." And dear God, please don't let this baby be yours.
He pulls his head back, lip twitching. He points his finger at me and
opens  his  mouth  to  speak  and  then  clenches  his  hand  into  a  fist  and
grimaces.  "I  do  care  about  what's  best  for  you.  I'm  best  for  you.
That...thug certainly isn't. I know that much."
I push my chair back and stand. "That thug apparently agrees, because
he fired me and told me he never wants to see me again. So you'll have
to find some other way to try to make my life miserable now. Just leave
him alone."

Damian
I push Ramirez up against the wall behind the restaurant. He's got a few
inches and a few pounds on me, but everybody knows not to fuck with
me, and he looks as scared as he should be.
"What part of don't buy anything excessive did you not understand?"
"I was going to buy a new car anyway, it's only a few hundred a month
more than the one I was going to get."
"You bought a fucking eighty thousand dollar car. You think the feds
knew  you  were  planning  on  buying  one  anyway?  You're  a  fucking
garbage man. Don't you think throwing that kind of money around is
going to set off some red flags for them?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
I grip his shirt tight, pulling my other hand back and trying as hard as I
can not to punch him until he's unrecognizable. I relax my fist, the only
thing keeping me from violence is the thought of Callie's face. "You
should know because I told you. In plain fucking English. I didn't even
use any big words so there's no reason it shouldn't have sunk into your
thick skull."
He scowls. "So what am I supposed to do?"
"Get rid of it."
"You know how much money I'll lose if I sell it now?" I jab a finger at
him. "You're going to lose a lot more than money if you don't."
I  watch  Ramirez  leave  a  minute  later,  feeling  empty  inside.  Before  I
met  Callie,  there  was  nothing  I  wanted  more  than  to  head  my  own
familia. More than that, I wanted revenge against the fuckers who got
me locked up. I don't know how many times I pictured it: looking at the
Sanatore rats tied up in chairs, bruised and bloody, sliding a gun inside
their  mouths  one  by  one  and  pulling  the  trigger.  If  it  wasn't  for  the
Sanatores,  I  never  would  have  gone  to  prison,  never  would  have
become so distant with my family. They royally fucked up my life and
they need to pay for that.
Now it all seems so distant. I still want to kill those pieces of shit,

but it doesn't seem as important anymore. I only had Callie for a little
while, if I even had her at all, and now she's gone. Losing her has made
everything else seem less. I don't know if I realized it at the time, but
being with her made me start to picture a future where I could be happy,
even if I never get the power and revenge I've been after.
If I've learned one thing, it's that good things don't last. Not for people
like  me,  at  least.  Maybe  I  don't  deserve  them.  God  knows  I've  done
terrible  things.  Bloody  things.  Maybe  this  is  my  punishment.  I  get  a
taste of what life could be like for someone  else, and then it's ripped
away.
My phone rings. I sit down on a crate behind the restaurant, sighing.
Unknown number.
I pick up but don't say anything.
"Cristiano Ricci sends his regards," says the voice. It's a calm voice, no
accent. Not a voice I recognize. "Is that right?" I ask.
"He  has  a  proposition  for  you.  Come  to  1486  Leaf  Street  in  thirty
minutes and come alone."
"How about I shove a stick up my ass and put an apple in my mouth too
and save you assholes the trouble?"
"You won't be harmed."
I laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure. If he wants to meet me, he can find me at The
Spot. If he doesn't know where it is, he has thirty minutes to find out
where it is and get here."
I  hang  up  the  phone,  letting  out  a  long  breath  through  my  nose.  It's
reckless  to  even  agree  to  meet  him  on  my  own  turf.  The  Riccis  are
about as trustworthy as feral dogs. At the same time, having a feral dog
on my side when my back is against the wall  might not be a terrible
thing. It might even get the feds off my back some if the Riccis get into
the fray. There will be so much blood in the streets that I'll seem like a
small fish. Maybe then I could try to patch things up with Callie. It's a
long shot. It's reckless. But I don't really have anything left to lose.
I' m about to give up waiting for Cristiano when I see a black sedan pull
up to the restaurant. The place is relatively busy, which gives me a

little confidence that the Riccis won't come in and try to kill me. Not
right now at least. It all depends on how much they know. If they think
I'm just some small-time player who is in the wrong place at the wrong
time, they might try to put me on their board and use me. If they realize
I'  m  the  one  who  is  actually  moving  the  pieces,  things  might  get
complicated.
A man in a white suit and sunglasses steps out of the car. He's thin, in
his forties with black hair that's slicked back and wet with product. He
pops  the  wrinkles  out  of  his  jacket  and  then  strides  toward  the
restaurant. I can see the vague outline of other people waiting in the car
behind the heavily tinted windows.
Before he even reaches the restaurant, I see a black SUV slowly come
to a stop across the street. Two guys in baseball caps turn their heads
toward the restaurant. Feds. They are so fucking obvious it hurts, but I
guess they don't care. We can't touch them, and they know it. I just wish
I knew if they were watching me or Cristiano.
He finds my table and sits down. If anyone in the restaurant knew how
much  potential  violence  was  brewing,  they  would  be  trampling  one
another to get to the exits. They have no idea.
"Damian,"  says  Cristiano.  "I've  heard  so  much  about  you."  He  has  a
subtle  Italian  accent  and  perfectly  white  teeth,  except  for  a  slightly
yellowing canine that I can't seem to look away from.
"Good things, I hope."
He  spreads  his  hands.  "That  depends  whose  side  you're  on."  "And
whose side are you on?"
Cristiano leans back, twisting something on the watch he wears. The
gears tick and wind as his manicured fingers swirl it again and again.
"That depends. Who killed Carlito? Maybe you don't know this, but his
sister is married to my little brother. She was highly distressed when
she heard the news."
I nod. My mind races, running through the possible ways I could play
this. On one hand, Cristiano may have already decided I killed Carlito.
In that case, I'm fucked either way and he's just hoping to figure out
who I was working against. On the other hand, he might actually think
I know something. If he takes my word for it, I have the

opportunity to sick the Ricci dogs on the Sanatores or the Anastasios.
"What makes you think I know who killed him?" I ask. "The feds seem
to think you know."
I raise an eyebrow. "Why would they tell you. Unless you're ratting to
them."
Carlito's  calm  evaporates  in  an  instant.  He  leans  forward,  eyebrows
drawn and lips curled. "I've killed men for less."
"Yet here I am, still breathing," I say. "I'm not interested in threats. If
you want to fucking go, we'll go. Otherwise, why don't you just skip the
tough guy shit."
Carlito  takes  a  deep  breath,  lips  still  twitching.  "We  have  some
connections. Money in the right hands." He gives me an impatient look,
clearly telling me more than he planned.
"I may know something about who killed him, but why would I tell
you?"
"What's your price?"
"Blood," I say, clenching my fists under the table. "Anastasio blood." If
he takes the bait, It will get the Anastasios out of the picture and leave
the  Sanatores  for  me.  Either  way,  it  will  get  the  Ricci's  off  my  ass,
which would be a welcome relief.
I pull up outside Vince's house. Callie's car is in the driveway. Good. I
was worried she might just leave town as soon as I cut ties with her. I
still can't help feeling like I did the wrong thing. Agent Conway was
right though, even if he was an asshole. Being with me would make her
a target. If they think I've thrown her aside, they won't bother trying to
use her against me.
Then I see the black sedan parked a few houses down. The engine is
running and there are two men sitting in the car. Are they watching her?
Shit. I get out of the car, tucking my gun in my waistband and walking
toward the car. Before I get there, the car backs up into a driveway and
the driver guns it, not slowing down until they are out of sight.
I look toward Vince's house, gritting my teeth. She's going to want to
kill me, but I need to make sure she's still safe. I have to.

Callie
I pack the last of what little I own in my suitcase and take one final look
in the mirror. I look terrible. There are bags under my eyes from crying
and  lack  of  sleep.  One  month  and  I've  been  cheated  on  and  thrown
away by a criminal who probably got me pregnant. The sooner I can
put this behind me, the better. I'm not wearing makeup, and my clothes
are  anything  but  fresh.  Considering  what  I've  been  through,  I  give
myself a pass. The part that shocks me is how much more it hurt to lose
Damian than it did to lose Greg.
I don't think I ever consciously knew it, but catching Greg cheating on
me didn't really surprise me. It just pissed me off. It made me feel like
an idiot. Like one of those women I always got mad at in movies who
were so blind to what was right in front of them. I zip up the suitcase
and  lug  it  down  the  winding  staircase.  Would  it  have  killed  them  to
install an elevator? The staircase looks beautiful, but after walking up
and down it on a regular basis, I find myself just wishing it went in a
straight line and saved me the steps.
I know I' m probably forgetting something, but I need to just leave. I
don' t even know where I' m going to go. I can try calling some other
old friends from high school, maybe. I guess I'll be begging for couches
to crash on until I can find another advertising job to get me back on my
feet. I'm not going to let Damian pay me off to try to make everything
okay. I can make my own way, I just can't stay here. Aubriella won't be
out of town forever, and knowing I'm still so close to Damian hurts too
much.
I' ll have to call Aubriella and offer to pay to have someone else come
watch  her  house  until  they  get  back.  I  just  hope  she  doesn't  ask
questions. I don't want her to know how much of a mess I am.
I should be thankful. I knew being with him was a bad idea. I mean,
what kind of person knowingly gets involved with a guy in the mafia? I
would always have to look over my shoulder and wonder if someone
was after us. I'd know the lips I was kissing were the lips of a killer. I
lean against the wall as an unexpected wave of emotion makes my legs
weak. God. He's probably the father. Greg never got me

pregnant in however many years he was probably trying to poke holes
in condoms. What are the chances that it would suddenly work?
If Damian is the father.. .I can't even go there right now. Instead, I see
images  of  myself  in  a  shitty  apartment,  trying  to  soothe  a  screaming
baby while I struggle to do work with my free hand. A single mom. But
I' ll take it over going to Greg for help.
There's  a  knock  at  the  door.  I  start,  standing  straight  and  wiping  the
tears from my eyes. Thankfully I'm not wearing mascara, so I clean up
most of the damage before opening the door. My breath catches when I
see  him.  He's  wearing  a  dark  suit  that  fits  him  perfectly.  His  hair  is
pushed  to  the  side  carelessly,  but  still  manages  to  look  elegant  and
classy. His strong jaw is flexing as his dark eyes take me in hungrily.
Even though I know he's through with me, I can't stop from wanting to
go to him, to wrap my arms around him and beg him to keep me.
"Callie," he says.
I take a deep breath. Don't be weak. "What do you want?" I ask. His
face falls a little. "Has anyone else been by?" "You don't get to ask me
those questions anymore. You threw me away."
He  steps  forward,  putting  his  strong  hands  on  my  shoulders.  I  feel  a
thrill of excitement rush through me, making me warm and cold at the
same time. "Answer my fucking question."
I glare at him. Something inside me feels like it's on fire, like I could hit
him or scream. "No."
He's inches from me, hands still on my shoulders. I hear him take in a
slow  breath  through  his  nose.  "I  need  to  know,"  he  says  through
clenched teeth.
"Too fucking bad," I say, stepping back and trying to close the door on
him.
He  slaps  a  hand  to  the  door,  holding  it  open  effortlessly.  I  struggle
against it, glaring at him. All the anger and disappointment is coming to
the surface and I can't stop it. I just want to stop being thrown away and
mistreated.  I  want  a  man  to  want  me,  to  crave  me,  to  think  I'm  so
valuable that they wouldn't do anything to risk losing me. Looking at
the man who is probably the father of my unborn child and knowing
he'll

never feel that way about me lights an unquenchable rage inside me.
He  steps  inside,  slamming  the  door  behind  him.  His  massive  form
blocks the doorway, wide shoulders and powerful hands clenched. He's
the incarnation of rage and power. I take a step back. "I'  m trying to
protect you," he growls.
"You've done a really great job of that," I say, backing into the couch
and losing my balance. I fall on my ass, scooting back away from him
as he comes closer.
"I didn't want it to be this way," he says, still walking slowly toward
me.
"You got what you wanted. You fucked me and left. I shouldn't have
been surprised."
"I wanted more," he says quietly.
I reach the end of the couch, having no more room to back away from
him. He looms over me. Something strange passes over his face, and
my  eyes  wander  down  his  body,  realizing  his  cock  is  hard,  straining
against his slacks. I know I should feel terrified, appalled that he would
force himself into the house and corner  me like this, but  my body is
responding to him. My core clenches, spreading a blossoming warmth
between my legs. Why am I so fucked up? Why is this turning me on? "I
wanted you to be mine," he says.
"Fuck you," I say. "You don't get to come back here and do this. You
already tossed me aside. It's not fair to do this. You can't just take me
when it suits you."
He glares. "What makes you think you can talk to me like that? I should
teach you a fucking lesson."
My heart starts pounding even harder in my chest. Why do I want him
to teach me a lesson? Why does imagining his hand slapping my bare
ass make me feel giddy with excitement? A confused ball of emotion
wells in my chest when I realize what I'm about to say. "Fuck. You." I
say.
He lunges forward, pinning me to the couch. His voice is barely above
a whisper in my ear. "Do you remember the safe word?"
This is my chance. I can end it. I could. I should. But I don't want to.
My body doesn't want to. I need this too much. "Yes," I whisper.

He  grabs  my  sweatpants  and  yanks  them  off.  I  try  to  get  away  from
him, kicking my feet as he manhandles me, but his hands are like steel
vises, inescapable and impossibly powerful. Even as I curse at him and
yell, I feel more turned on than I've ever felt. Even though I know one
word  can  stop  it  all,  the  fear  of  his  power  amplifies  everything  else.
Feeling how powerless I am against him is strangely liberating.
He flips me over, trying to get my shirt off. I manage to scratch his face,
leaving four red lines on his cheek. He growls, shredding my thin white
shirt effortlessly until I'm left in my bra and panties. He takes his jacket
off and tosses it carelessly on the ground. He fumbles at his belt with
his free hand and pushes me down by the chest with his other hand.
"I' m going to teach you a fucking lesson," he says.
I squirm, trying to free myself, but unable to. He climbs on the couch
beside me and positions his head between my legs, grinning up at me
like a devil. I make a show of resisting, kicking my legs and twisting
my  hips,  but  seeing  his  full  lips  between  my  legs  has  me  practically
soaked with anticipation. I want to feel him again, to feel his tongue
against me and inside me.
He puts his hands down hard on my hips, pinning me to the couch and
licking me through my panties.
"You taste so fucking good."
I  moan,  writhing  against  him  and  shaking  with  need.  He  grabs  the
waistband  of  my  panties  and  yanks,  snapping  it  like  a  rubber  band.
Having my clothes literally torn off is so incredibly hot. The warmth of
his mouth on my bare mound is almost more than I can handle. He laps
at me like he's relishing every second of it, and I can't bring myself to
even  pretend  to  resist  anymore.  My  hands  dig  in  his  hair,  squeezing
hard and pushing him harder into me, deeper.
Being with him like this makes everything feel okay. It's not perfect,
and it's not right, but it's better than being alone and abandoned. With
his beautiful head between my legs lighting my nerves on fire, I feel
like I can forget for the first time in days.
He kisses the insides of my thighs, running his tongue along the crease
between  my  leg  and  my  pussy.  I  gasp,  throwing  my  head  back  and
squeezing my eyes shut.

"Fuck me," I beg.
He stands, pulling his unbuckled belt free and sliding his pants down.
He's  only  wearing  the  blood-red  button  down  shirt  with  the  buttons
undone. His perfectly carved body is tantalizingly close to being bare.
"Take off my underwear and suck my cock," he says.
I bite my lip. Why is this all turning me on so much? I've never had sex
like this. Not even close. I've never even fantasized about this kind of
sex, but God, I have a feeling that's going to change.
I get on my knees in front of him and reach to pull his boxers down. He
grabs my wrists, looking down at me and shaking his head. "Take them
off with your mouth."
I  blush,  nodding  and  moving  to  use  my  teeth  to  pull  his  underwear
down. A chill passes through me to have my mouth so close to his cock.
His scent fills my nose, raw and absolutely irresistible. I breathe it in
deeply through my nose, fighting the urge to slide my hand between my
legs and give my clit the friction it's begging for.
His cock springs free, resting against my cheek. I move my mouth to
the  base  of  his  length,  kissing  him  and  sliding  my  tongue  along  his
length, kissing him and cupping his warmth in my hands as I work my
way to the tip. He's so long that I have to scoot back a little to reach. I
swirl  my  tongue  around  him,  using  my  lips  to  keep  my  teeth  from
scraping him. He's so wide I can barely fit him in my mouth.
I find a rhythm, working my hands across him and swirling my tongue
along the rim of his head. He grabs a fistfull of my hair, pushing my
head  down  on  him  so  far  that  I  gag.  He  works  in  and  out  of  me,
groaning with satisfaction and throwing his head back. He bends his
neck to watch me, and I move my eyes up his gorgeous body to meet
his gaze. His eyes dart to the side, locking on something behind me.
Without warning, he pulls himself out of my mouth and walks away. I
turn, distracted at first by his perfect ass. He picks something up from
the couch and holds it in front of his eyes, staring intently.
Oh shit. It's the pregnancy test.
"What's this?" he asks.
He turns. I barely even notice his naked body. My heart is

pounding  and  I  feel  like  I'm  gasping  for  breath.  "It's..."  "You're
pregnant," he says. "Is it mine?"
I  shake  my  head,  suddenly  self-conscious  of  my  nakedness.  I  cover
myself with my hands. "I don't know. It could be. I always made Greg
use protection, but I caught him trying to damage the condoms before."
I swallow hard. "I don't want it to be his," I say quietly.
He gives me a hopeful look, tossing the test to the floor and moving to
kneel beside me. He takes my head in his hands, looking intently in my
eyes. "If this baby is mine. then so are you."
My stomach turns over. God. I want that. I really do. Even if being with
him is dangerous, I'll take it. I can live with that. I want to be with him.
I want him to be the father.
"If it's Greg's," I say, "He's going to do everything he can to make sure
he gets custody."
"Fuck him," says Damian.
The simplicity of how he sees the world is refreshing. He doesn't care if
Greg has the money and connections to do almost anything. He doesn't
dwell on the past or what could happen. He just acts, moving forward
with a relentless confidence that can't be dampened. Maybe that's what
draws me to him so much. He's so many things I'm not, and he's strong
in ways  I'm  not. Part of  me wants to tame him, to take the  wild  and
violence out of him.
"His father is friends with the district attorney," I say. "He could—"
Damian silences me by kissing me so hard that it knocks me back. He
falls on top of me, catching my head with his hand and straddling me.
He's ripping his shirt off with his free hand and then my bra. Within
moments,  we're both completely naked. His cock presses  against  my
entrance. He rocks his hips, spreading my wetness and sliding inside
me  easily.  My  walls  stretch  to  fit  him,  but  it's  a  pleasant  pain,  a
comfortable fullness.
He leans down and kisses me softly for the first time, his lips like satin
against  mine  and  his  tongue  a  warm  caress.  His  hips  move  like  a
well-oiled  machine,  smoothly  pistoning  his  cock  into  me.  I  feel  my
body mounting toward a climax rapidly. Emotion and sensation swirl
together,

forming a perfect torrent of ecstatic release that washes away pain and
uncertainty. I dig my fingers into his back, wrapping my legs around
him, trying to get him to fill me even more deeply.
He flexes, squeezing his hands against my hips as his cock pulses. A
rush of warmth fills me, triggering my own climax. I gasp like I've been
plunged in cold water. My body shudders. An explosion of pleasure
wipes my worries and pain away in a blissful burst of white light. For a
few quivering moments, everything feels like it will be okay, like being
with him is right and there's no need to ever question that.
When the aftershocks of my orgasm fade and he lays beside me on the
floor, thin tendrils of doubt creep through my body. I know if the baby
isn't his, he'll leave. It has to be his, or this will all end. Even if it is, will
he really stay? And what kind of father would he be?
He leans over to kiss me again, but I stop him with a finger to his chin.
His eyes search mine.
"What will you do if the baby is Greg's?" I ask.
"Maybe I'll just kill Greg."
I scowl. "That's not funny."
He smirks, but the humor quickly fades from his face. "All I know is
that I need to make sure you're safe. That both of you are safe."
I narrow my eyes at him, standing to start putting my clothes on again
"Why wouldn't we be?"
Damian watches me admiringly. "You know what kind of man I am,
Callie."
I do. Too well. "So what are you going to do, lock me in a cage until I
give birth?"
He strokes his chin. "That's not a bad idea."
I pull my sweatpants up over my naked flesh, because someone thinks
the only way to take panties off is shredding them like an animal.
"Don't even think about it."
"You're going to come stay with me, at least. It's too dangerous here."
He stands and starts putting his own clothes back on.
It' s hard to focus while I watch his naked body move. Every muscle is
perfect, strong and defined with no fat softening his edges. He catches
me looking and gives me a look that says he will happily fuck

me  again  if  I  want  it.  I  blush  deeply,  pulling  my  half-shredded  shirt
over my head without bothering to put a bra on.
"I need to call someone to watch the house for Aubriella before I
go."
"I'll have my guys handle that."
"And what if I don't want to go with you? How can I trust you after
what you did?"
"You  weren't  complaining  when  my  head  was  between  your  legs."  I
purse my lips. "Just because..!, well..." I wave my hand in frustration.
"There's a difference between being what I need physically and what I
need emotionally."
He steps close enough to kiss me, freezing me with his dark eyes. "You
need me. End of story."
I shudder, despite how irritated I am with him. He thinks he can just
lock those bedroom eyes on me and solve everything. The frustrating
part is how I can't think straight when he's looking at me.
"Okay,"  I  say,  licking  my  lips.  My  heart  is  pounding  from  being  so
close to him. It doesn't seem to matter that I've already slept with him
twice now, I feel like I' m a little girl again, having a borderline panic
attack just from being near a cute guy. "I'll go with you. For now. But
you have to give me my job back."
He  quirks  an  eyebrow  and  a  grin  pulls  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth.
"You're making demands now?"
"Yes," I say, hoping he doesn't see the way I'm fiddling with my hands.
"Fine.  It's  yours."  He  leans  in  and  kisses  me  softly,  sending  chills
through me with one brush of his fingertip along my jawline. His hand
falls to my stomach. He holds it there, looking in my eyes. "I think we'll
name him Victor."
I can't help from smiling. "Or Victoria?"
Damian lives in a Colonial style house a few miles north of Aubriella's
house. I raise my eyebrows when we pull up. "You live here?" I ask.
"What did you expect?"

I shake my head. I really don't know what I expected. Did I think he' d
live in some kind of brick  building underground with pictures of old
Italian  men  and  the  Italian  countryside?  "Nevermind,"  I  say,  feeling
silly.
He  carries  my  only  bag  of  belongings  up  the  few  steps  of  the  wide
whitewashed  porch  framed  by  elegant  columns.  The  interior  is
shockingly  well-maintained. The floor is  polished wood that gleams.
The crown molding along the walls is perfectly white and free of dirt. It
has a dated, but elegant and classic feeling. I'm immediately warmed
and comforted by the atmosphere. It's the kind of place you could curl
up  and  read  a  good  book  with  a  warm  blanket  while  a  fire  crackles
somewhere  in  the  distance.  There's  a  view  of  rolling  green  and
well-manicured lawns through every window.
"How do you afford all of this?" I ask. "The restaurant can't possibly." I
trail off at the look on his face.
I guess it wasn't the most polite question I could have asked, but the
look  of  darkness  on  his  face  went  beyond  impropriety.  It's  clearly  a
topic I' m not supposed to talk about. He leads me to the bedroom with
my suitcase, setting it inside the large closet.
"Who said I'm sleeping in your room?"
He looks genuinely confused for a second. "I want you and my baby as
close as I can get you. I'll know you're safe that way."
I smile a little. Hearing him talk about the baby like it's already here is
oddly comforting. Still, it makes me feel strange. I never thought I'd be
a parent. Not in a million years. All I ever knew was that I didn't want
kids.  I  didn't  think  about  why.  Now  I  can  see  that  I  didn't  want  kids
because  I  thought  I'd  always  be  with  Greg.  How  was  I  so  blind?  It
wasn't kids I didn't want, it was Greg I didn't want. I was terrified of
giving  him  a  permanent  tether  to  me,  and  yet  I  said  yes  when  he
proposed because I couldn't think of a good enough reason to say no.
Thinking  about  all  of  the  wasted  time  makes  me  feel  a  little  sick,  or
maybe it's the beginnings of morning sickness. I haven't even had time
to  look  online  and  see  what  to  expect.  Greg  always  kept  me  from
getting  too  close  to  many  other  women,  or  men  for  that  matter.  I've
never  even  had  a  friend  who  has  had  a  baby.  The  extent  of  my
knowledge comes

from movies and TV shows.
I  quietly  unpack  my  few  belongings,  finding  empty  space  in  the
well-organized  closet  across  from  Damian's  things.  "Is  that  all  you
have?" he asks. "I left in a little bit of a hurry."
Damian kneels and works the lock on a small safe in the corner of the
closet. He opens it and reaches inside, rooting around for a second then
pulling out a roll of money held together by a rubber band. He tosses it
to me and I catch it, surprised by how heavy it is. I nearly drop it in
shock when I see that they are all one hundred dollar bills. "I can't take
this," I say.
He shrugs. "You're going to have to, because I'm not taking it
back."
I  shake  my  head,  reaching  to  hand  it  to  him.  He  takes  my  hand  and
pushes it to my chest, closing his strong hands around mine. "I want
you to have it. Consider it an advance for the work you're going to do
for the restaurant."
" I . "  My eyes well with tears. Greg never just gave me anything. He
bought  me  plenty  of  nice  things,  but  he  never  just  gave.  There  was
always  some  catch,  something  he  expected  out  of  the  exchange,
whether  it  was  going  with  him  to  an  event,  behaving  in  front  of  his
parents, or forgiving him when he was an asshole. Damian must want
something, too, and I just can't see what it is...yet.
"I'll make sure you have a car you can use. We can go out tomorrow."
"What's wrong with my car?" I ask.
"It's marked. They probably have trackers on it by now. They'll know
exactly where you are. Besides, that asshole gave it to you. Fuck him."
I feel  my anxiety  level rise a little.  Is he just  being paranoid, or is it
really that dangerous to be connected to him?
"Come on," he says. "I want to show you where the safe room is."
"Safe room?"
He shows me a door that looks oddly out of place in a spare bedroom
connected to his by a shared bathroom. The door is heavy metal

and looks like something you would see in a bank vault. There's a
touchscreen outside the door. Damian taps through a few options on a
touchscreen display, holds his finger to the pad, and then takes my
hand. He presses my finger to the pad and waits until a green light scans
it.
"You need in, just put your fingertip here. Okay?"
I grin a little. "You don't think this is a little paranoid?"
"Maybe," he says. "But I have a lot of enemies. In my line of work, if
they can't beat you at the game, they play dirty. I needed a place to slip
to and escape if it came to that."
I wonder for the hundredth time what I' m getting myself into.

Damian
Even though my house is about as safe as it gets, I feel uneasy leaving
Callie  at  home.  The  plan  is  quickly  turning  into  something
unpredictable and new, though, and I can't just disappear and hope it
resolves on its own. I'm headed to a bar outside Boulder Hill to meet
Benny when my phone rings.
"What is it?" I ask, not even looking at who called because Brooks said
he'd call this morning.
"This is Agent Conway."
My hand tightens on the steering wheel. "I hope you're calling to tell
me you gave up."
"On the contrary, I just thought you should know about a folder that
landed on my desk this morning." I hear papers ruffling over the phone.
"Jordan  Ramirez?  Waste  management  consultant,  it  seems.  Just
purchased an eighty thousand dollar car last week. I just can't get my
head around where the money came from. I mean, there was also a case
on my desk about a string of semi-trucks carrying industrial materials
that were robbed. So imagine my confusion when I saw that a certain
Benny  Frankato  was  apparently  moving  large  quantities  of  goods
through some known fencers."
My heart pounds in my chest. I wish this cocksucker was in front of me
so I could just reach out and snap his neck, but he's not, and he's got my
fucking number. He found out about the scam because Benny was too
lazy or too stupid to go out of town with the goods like I told him to and
because Ramirez blew the cash like I told him not to.
"Interesting theory, Agent," I say. "I still don't see what any of this has
to do with me. "
"Of course. You'll have to pardon me. I'm just an old man thinking out
loud  here.  We'll  find  out  who  the  mastermind  is  when  he  decides  to
spend the money. I don't know why I'm even bothering hunting down
all
the details."
I clench my teeth. I don't know if he's bluffing or if he really will spot
the cash moving somehow. Bluff or not, if his goal was to piss me off
and make me think twice about spending the money like I planned,

he succeeded. It feels like everything's falling apart around me, but if I
think fast, I know I can still make this mess turn out in my favor. Even
if Cristiano takes my bait and goes after the Anastasios, I'm still in a
shittier position than when I started. I'll have to take on the Sanatores at
full strength, and they are an old familia with deep roots in Italy. No
one ever knows exactly how  much  muscle a familia has, but I'm not
going to be able to force them out of town if I try to match them blow
for blow. I' ll have to come at them another way.
"I' m a busy man, Agent Conway. Next time you want to call to chat,
why don't you try your mother instead?"
Conway laughs in a dry, humorless way. "We'll see who is calling their
mother when this is all over. Oh, I almost forgot. Did you need any help
getting Mrs. Beccaccio moved into your place?"
I  grit  my  teeth  together,  really  wishing  this  fucker  was  somewhere  I
could see. I'd empty an entire clip into his smug face if I could. "Have a
good day, Agent," I say, hanging up the phone.
I park outside the distribution center where Ramirez works and wait for
him  to  come  outside.  It's  about  thirty  minutes  before  he  shows  up,
tossing  the  keys  to  the  fucking  car  he  still  hasn't  gotten  rid  of  and
catching them. He looks happy as a pig in shit, and it's all I can do not to
put a bullet in him right here and now.
I blink my lights when he passes in front of my car. A couple of the
guys  he's  with  look  toward  my  car,  but  only  Ramirez  catches  the
significance.  He  looks  both  ways,  almost  as  if  he's  thinking  about
running, and then he mouths something, probably a curse, and gets in
the car.
"Damian. I didn't expect to see you here."
"And I didn't expect you to be dumb enough to keep the car. Did I not
make myself clear?"
He  sniffs,  scratching  his  nose  and  leaning  back.  "I'm  looking  for
someone to pay me what it's worth. I might as well use it until then."
I  grab  his  shirt,  pushing  him  back  until  his  head  hits  the  passenger
window. "You get rid of the car today or I' m going to fucking bury you
in it. Do you understand?"

He swallows. "Come on, Damian. You've known my uncle since you
were a little kid. You don't have to say shit like that to me."
"I'm already catching heat because you didn't get rid of the car when I
told you to because you wanted to save a few bucks. A few bucks, by
the way, you wouldn't have had to save if I didn't set you up with the
scam job."
"So if they already know about it, what difference does it make if I
keep it?"
My hands tighten around his shirt. I imagine smashing his head against
something hard until it breaks. But I don't. I have too much to lose now.
It's not just about revenge or making it big anymore, it's about being
there for Callie.
"The difference," I say through gritted teeth, "is that I told you to get rid
of the fucking car. So you're going to get rid of it."
He nods his head slowly. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll get rid of it.
Today."
I let him go. "Good. Now get out of my sight."
Ramirez practically falls over himself in his hurry to get out of the car.
I still don't know how everything went to shit so fast. I had so long in
prison to think this through. I thought I had gone over every possibility,
but  I  never  thought  I'd  let  a  woman  come  between  me  and  revenge.
Never. I can hardly blame myself, though. Before prison, the only thing
women were to me was a warm place to put my cock for a few nights
until  I  got  bored.  It's  almost  funny.  The  first  time  a  woman  isn't
practically  begging  me  to  stick  around,  I  can't  bring  myself  to  walk
away.
I know the smart thing to do. All I'd have to do is go back to my place,
kick Callie out, and get this fucking rich ex-fiance of hers out of my
hair. But I know I' m never going to do that. She means way too much
to me. Oddly enough, so does the baby growing in her belly, even if it's
not mine. Just thinking about the baby makes protective feelings surge
through  me.  I  have  a  red  hot  desire  to  kill  every  cocksucker  that  is
trying to put the squeeze on Callie and I. I'm surprised to realize how
much I want the baby to be mine. It's not just about hating Greg. In a
way, I can see myself turning things around if I had a kid to take care
of.

I couldn't keep living this lifestyle if I had a kid of my own looking up
to me.
Hell, maybe I could even train up somebody I trust and pass things over
to them. I'd make sure they kept me paid and happy, and then I'd keep
my nose out of their business. Maybe Franco, or Benny, if he can prove
he isn't going behind my back to the Riccis, at least.  Jesus. Listen to
me. A few weeks with Callie and I'm already thinking about hanging
up  the  only  thing  I've  ever  known?  The  frightening  part  is  knowing
how much I really would do for her. She already means so much to me.
I can only imagine the things I would do for her if the baby is mine.
God help the world, because anything that tries to come between us is
going to burn.
Living with Callie has been incredible. I made sure she bought a lot of
new cotton panties, because that shit has always been way sexier to me
than all the lace. I love the way her ass feels beneath the thin fabric, and
the  way  she  soaks  straight  through  it  when  I  touch  her  in  the  right
places. She suggested I buy extra if I was going to keep tearing them off
her every time I wanted to fuck her, and I think we're already going to
have to go back out and buy more soon. For the first time in a long time,
things almost feel good.
I can't even tell that she's pregnant yet, but I still have a compulsion to
put my hands on her belly and feel for movement several times a day. It
has the unintended side effect of leading to sex more often than not. It
seems like every time we touch, an overwhelming compulsion to fuck
comes over both of us. I've already had her in almost every room of the
house and in almost every position. But we've been doing more than
just  sleeping  together.  She  has  been  making  me  breakfast  in  the
morning and waiting up for me when I come home late. I' ve had her
working the advertising side from home while I try to make sure things
are  safe  on  the  outside  for  her.  We've  watched  every  season  of
Breaking Bad together in what must have only been three or four days,
and  I  find  myself  loving  the  way  she  asks  me  to  clarify  every  little
detail of the show, like I have all the answers.
It feels normal. And that's something I never thought a guy like me

could feel. Of course, as soon as I leave the house, I'm swimming in
rumors,  new  info  about  where  the  feds  are  watching  us,  which
Anastasios  were  killed  by  the  Riccis,  and  the  growing  list  of  people
who want me and Callie dead. It gets worse every day, and now I can't
help  thinking  more  about  how  I'  m  going  to  keep  her  safe  than  I  do
about getting the power I need to bring the Sanatores to their knees for
what they did. Frankly, I don't want revenge anymore if it's going to
cost me
Callie.
She  walks  out  of  the  bedroom  and  stretches  with  her  arms  over  her
head.  Her  hard  nipples  press  through  the  thin  white  t-shirt  she's
wearing, and her shirt lifts so I can see a hint of her stomach and the
mound of her sex beneath the cotton panties she wears. I set my coffee
down and go to her, wrapping my arms around her waist and sliding my
hands beneath the elastic waistband of her panties. I help myself to two
generous  fistfuls of  her  ass,  groaning  with  satisfaction. She  bites  her
lip.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I say, tucking a hair behind her ear and
pressing myself against her.
"You're not so bad yourself," she laughs. Her hands slide beneath my
shirt and roam my back.
I see a car pulling up the driveway through the window. "Shit," I
say.
"What?" she asks, turning to look. "Go get dressed."
She sees the car and hurries to the bedroom.
It' s Greg, and the only reason I can think he would bother to show up is
to make another threat or gloat about some new evidence he has over
me.  I  open  the  door,  crossing  the  lawn  toward  his  car  in  a  few  long
strides. Greg and a man in a suit with a briefcase step out of the car. The
look on Greg's face says I'm not going to like what I hear next.
"Just the man I was hoping to see," says Greg. He snaps his fingers and
waves the man I assume to be a lawyer forward. "Show him."
The  lawyer  reaches  in  his  briefcase  and  pulls  out  a  single  piece  of
paper. He hands it to me and steps back like I might hit him. Maybe I
will. I squint at the paper and see enough. It's obviously some pencil
pusher bullshit that he thinks is going to mean something to me. I press

the  paper  into  Greg's  chest  so  hard  that  he  stumbles  backwards,
slamming against his car.
"Did  you  see  that?"  he  asks  the  lawyer.  "That  was  assault.  He  just
assaulted  me.  Make  sure  you  document  that."  Greg  straightens  his
clothes and pushes his hair out of his face.
"Yeah, make sure you get this too." I slam my palm into the windshield
of Greg's car, sending a spiderweb of cracks through the safety glass.
"That's for wasting my time."
I turn to walk away just as Callie rushes out of the front door. She threw
on a blue dress, the same one I fucked her in last week. Maybe I should
point that out to Greg.
"What's going on?" she asks.
Greg  calls  over  my  shoulder.  "This  caveman  broke  my  windshield.
And he didn't bother to read the court orders saying that baby is going
to belong to me when it's born."
Her  face  turns  so  dark  with  rage  that  I  almost  take  a  step  back.  She
looks  ready  to  kill  something.  "Who  the  fuck  said  anything  about  a
baby?" she asks.
"Come on. Did you really think I wouldn't find out? My father has so
many connections in the Northeast that I could get away with murder if
I wanted to." He pauses to give me a look that I assume is supposed to
be threatening.
Callie crosses her arms. "It's not yours."
"You should hope it is. My family will be sure that any child of mine is
cared for. The child will never want for money or affection. It will be a
life  most  couldn't  even  dream  of,  and  it  will  certainly  be  a  safer  life
than if he is the father. He's a killer, Callie. He has killed before and
he'll kill again. He uses people and throws them away when he's done.
Do you really want to trust him to raise a child?"
Something inside me twists. Greg would look better with a few bullet
holes in his forehead, but he's right about one thing. Callie and her baby
would  be  better  off  without  me  in  their  lives.  As  long  as  they  are
connected to me, there is the chance that one of my enemies will target
them to get to  me. Can I really  claim  to care about them if I let that
happen?

"Come on, Damian. Let's just go back inside."
I signal for her to wait. My insides are still churning. I don't know what
I'm going to do, but his words have seeped inside me and won't let go.
Do you really want to trust him to raise a child? Either way, I do know
one thing, every second this fucker spends on my property is a second
too long.
"You're trespassing," I say. "I'm going to walk to my house, pick up a
gun, and walk back here. If I can still see either of you when I do, I' m
going to shoot you. Do you understand?"
Greg  gives  his  lawyer  a  nervous  glance,  but  the  lawyer  is  already
hurrying  to  the  passenger  side  of  his  car.  I  turn  to  walk  toward  the
house  so  they  won't  see  me  smirking.  I  wouldn't  have  actually  shot
them because I know it would have scared Callie. It was still worth it to
watch  them  scramble.  The  car  engine  starts  and  the  engine  roars  as
Greg backs out of the driveway before I reach the house.
Callie gives me a look when we're inside.
"What? I wasn't really going to shoot them."
"You know, it's not normal to threaten to kill people all the time."
I  bite  my  lip,  moving  close  to  her.  "You  like  fucking  me  so  much
because I'm normal?'
"Fair point," she says, dodging my kiss and making me meet her eyes.
"We need to talk about this, Damian. We can't just keep...I don't know
what we're doing."
"About what? Greg? The baby?"
"All of it," she says sighing and flopping down on the couch.
I sit beside her, pulling one of her legs onto  my lap and rubbing her
calf. "What do you want me to say?" I ask. "Do you want me to say I'll
change?  Do  you  want  to  hear  that  I'll  raise  the  baby  even  if  it's  not
mine?"
Tears well in her eyes at my tone and she pulls her leg away, crossing
her legs and hugging herself. "I don't...I don't expect you to raise the
baby if it's not  yours. And I realize  that the  things  you do aren't just
something you can walk away from. I've seen movies."
"I'm  trying,  Callie.  That's  all  I  can  really  do.  You  mean  the  fucking
world to me. Do you know that? If you even knew the half of what I've

already done to be with you, I wouldn't even have to tell you that."
She nods her head. I can see that she wants to ask what I've done, but
she knows better. I've just let a plan to become the most powerful Don
in the Northeast go to shit because her ex-fiance wants to wave his dick
in my face. Even thinking about it makes me want to hit something. At
first,  the  only  real  danger  was  events  not  falling  into  place  cleanly
enough for me to step in and grab control. Now, thanks to Greg and his
dog,  Agent  Conway,  my  name  is  in  the  mix.  If  the  Riccis  stop
pressuring  the  Anastasios  and  the  Anastasios  stop  pressuring  the
Sanatores, I can almost guarantee they are going to come after me. If
they  want  to  come  for  me,  fuck  them,  but  I  can't  be  there  to  protect
Callie every second of the day, and that' s what scares me. What if they
try to go after her?
I have to change the game somehow. I don't know what I'll do yet, but if
I can throw another wrench into the mix and push this whole shitstorm
to another level, I might be able to get some of the heat off Callie and I.
Maybe.
"So what are we going to do?" she asks. "Can I start leaving the house
and coming to the restaurant soon? You've had me cooped up here like
a  prisoner  for  over  a  week  now."  She  looks  down,  smiling  a  little
mischievously. "Don't get me wrong, being your prisoner hasn't been
that bad, but I can' t live like this forever. I' m going stir crazy." "It's
dangerous." "You can keep me safe."
I move to put my arm around her. She rests her head on my chest and I
breathe in the scent of her, feeling protectiveness surge through me. I
know  I  can't  keep  her  here  forever,  but  the  thought  of  anything
happening to her and the baby is too much to bear. I don't know that I
could  let  her  out  of  my  sight  outside  the  house.  I'll  have  to  figure
something out though, for her.
I kiss the top of her head. "We'll go out tomorrow. Just let me take a
few  precautions  and  get  some  guys  on  hand.  You  know  how  the
president  has  secret  service?  That'll  look  like  kid  stuff  compared  to
what I' m going to set up for you."
I can use the guys Benny has been  picking up in preparation for our
move against the Sanatores. Paying them all is costing me out the ass,

Callie
Julia can't seem to keep her eyes on her plate. She takes a bite, glances
to her left, then her right, and then over my shoulder.
"Relax," I say, even if I feel anything but relaxed.
"So they are all here to just watch you? Don't you think that's a little
creepy?"
"Creepy? No. Scary? Yes."
There  are  four  guys  that  I  can  see.  They  all  wear  casual  clothes,  but
stand out somehow. Maybe it's the deliberate way they are doing casual
things, like the one who is trying to look  interested in his phone, but
hasn't  touched  the  screen  for  at  least  five  minutes,  or  the  one  whose
hand  must  be  tired  from  stirring  his  coffee  for  so  long.  Damian  said
they are guys he trusts and that they will protect me. Seeing the men
and knowing why they are here only makes me feel more vulnerable. I
just wish Damian was here, but he said he needed to take care of some
business in Long Island.
Julia takes a deep sip from her wine. "So, how is the advertising going
for the restaurant?"
"Good. Really good. There were a few things I wanted to do inside the
restaurant, but once I get that done, I don't think Damian is  going to
know what to do with all the customers he's going to have."
"As long as he doesn't hire too many people and start messing with my
hours."
"I think everyone is going to be getting more hours. I've been running
Facebook  ads,  Twitter  campaigns,  an  Instagram  account,  and  I  even
created  a  dedicated  Facebook  group  that  has  over  a  thousand  local
members. I had this idea to turn it into a kind of game so that..." I notice
the way Julia is still scanning the room, looking bored already.
She  realizes  I  stopped  talking  a  few  seconds  later  and  covers  her
forehead.  "I'm  sorry,  Callie.  This  is  just  so  weird.  I  can't  relax,  you
know?"  Her  eyes  follow  one  of  Damian's  guys  who  keeps  pacing
outside the restaurant.
I sigh. "I know. I'm just trying to convince myself that I can live like
this. Or that it's only temporary. Well, the real reason I called you

here was to give you this," I say, reaching in my purse and pulling out
the  money  Damian  gave  me.  It  was  ten  thousand  dollars  when  I
counted it out, and I could barely fit it into an envelope.
Julia frowns at the envelope. "What is this? Why is it so heavy?"
I lower my voice. "It's hopefully enough money for you to go back to
school,  at  least  for  a  semester.  I  don't  know  how  much  grad  school
costs, but it should be a start."
She shakes her head, pushing the envelope back towards me. "I can't. I
don't know how much this is, but I know it's too much."
"You can go throw it in that trash can if you don't want it, but I'm not
taking it back."
Julia gives me a long look and finally stands, smiling and giving me a
tight hug. "I don't deserve to be your friend," she says into my neck.
"Yes, you do. You've been here for me through so much already, and I
can always count on you to be honest when I need it."
She  pulls  back,  frowning.  "I  hate  to  say  it,  but  if  you  want  honesty,
this,"  she  says,  waving  a  finger  at  the  guys  protecting  me,  "is  not
normal. You need to walk away from him while you still can."
I wait in the doctor's office, feeling nervous as hell. For the first time
today, my nervousness isn't because of the armed men scattered around
the room, trying to look inconspicuous. I'm having a doctor confirm my
pregnancy, and I' m terrified of what he'll say. The strangest part is, I'm
scared of either outcome. If there really is a baby, it could be Greg's or
it could be Damian's. It had been weeks since the last time Greg slept
with  me  and  when  Damian  fucked  me.  But  either  possibility  is
frightening, even though I know I want it to be Damian's with every
fiber of my being, stupid or not.
I'm also scared that he'll tell me there's no baby. I should be crossing
my fingers for that news. For some reason I'm not. Maybe it's my hope
that  a  baby  will  be  the  missing  piece  to  make  things  work  between
Damian  and  I.  Until  now,  what  we  had  together  defied  definition.  I
wasn't  his  girlfriend.  There  has  never  been  enough  trust  and  open
communication to call it that. But there was too much emotional

connection to call it casual sex. And Jesus, there's nothing casual about
the  way  he  fucks  me.  Whoever  thought  "sleeping  together"  was
synonymous with fucking never had a man like Damian between their
legs.  When  our  clothes  come  off  and  it's  just  us,  it  feels  right,  like
nothing  could  ever  come  between  us.  As  soon  as  the  chemicals  stop
flowing and I have time to really think things through, I realize how
crazy this all is, how crazy I must be to even consider spending my life
with this man.
Is that what I'm considering? Would I really marry a man like him? I
fidget  in  the  uncomfortable  chair,  watching  a  very  pregnant  woman
waddle out and stand in front of the nurse's desk. My mind wants one
thing and my body wants another. I know I just feel good when I'm with
him. It feels right and perfect, but it's not. I know that on a deep, logical
level.  How  can  it  be  perfect  when  he's  a  killer?  How  can  I  think  it's
right when being with him puts me and my unborn child at risk?
Maybe I don't deserve a perfect guy though. Maybe I don't want one.
After all, wasn't that what all my friends always said about Greg? He's
absolutely perfect! And who wouldn't have thought so? When we first
met,  he  was  charming,  polite,  and  he  swept  me  off  my  feet  with
extravagant dates and presents. Before the sheen of newness had worn
off, he had already started becoming something else. He would make
comments about my friends, my clothes, what I ate, how I spoke. He
was  always  trying  to  turn  me  into  something  that  fit  his  picture  of
perfect. Even after all our time together, I'm still not sure he ever saw
me  for  who  I  was  or  tried  to  appreciate  it.  The  only  reason  he's  still
chasing after me is probably that I didn't have the dignity to turn into
what he wanted or expected before I walked away. "Miss Beccaccio?"
asks the nurse.
I stand, noticing Damian's men moving to follow me. I shake my head
at them. What do they think is going to happen? All five of them are
going to cram into the examination room and watch me undress? Hell
no.
One of the guys moves close to me. He has dark skin and a scruffy face.
"Damian is going to have our fucking balls if we let you out of our
sight."

"And  what  do  you  think  he'd  do  if  I  told  him  you  were  in  the  room
while the doctor spreads my legs?"
The  man  pales,  swallowing  and  motioning  for  the  guys  to  stay  put.
"Just yell if you need us."
I roll my eyes. "I think I'll be okay."
The nurse takes me to an examination table and takes my vitals. To my
surprise, the doctor doesn't even make me wait. He steps into the room
only a minute or two after the nurse let me in. He gives me a curt nod,
turning his back to me and fiddling with some glass containers while
the nurse finishes taking my blood pressure.
She  licks  her  lips,  and  I  realize  her  upper  lip  is  sweating,  which
surprises me because it's practically freezing in here.
"Is everything okay?" I ask.
The nurse gives a forced smile. "Your blood pressure looks fine, honey.
Don't worry."
I think about yelling for Damian's  men to  come, but  I know I'm  just
being  paranoid.  The  nurse  raises  her  eyebrows  as  she  looks  at  the
reading of my blood pressure.
The doctor turns around, clasping his hands behind his back. He looks
like a grandfather, and the smile he gives me is warm. It puts me at ease
somewhat. "First pregnancy?" he asks.
"Yes. I hope so," I say.
"If  your  body  is  telling  you  that  you're  pregnant,  I'm  sure  you  are.
Could you hand me that pen, please? I just need a signature."
I  turn  to  grab  the  pen  beside  the  exam  table  and  the  nurse  rushes
forward,  pinning  my  arms  to  my  side  and  cupping  a  hand  over  my
mouth. I scream as the doctor pulls a syringe from behind his back.
Everything happens in slow motion, like we're underwater and this is a
nightmare.  My  muscles  feel  unresponsive,  like  jelly.  The  cruel
expressions on their faces seem monstrous. The doctor jabs the syringe
into my neck and pumps a clear fluid into me. I strain against them, but
immediately  feel  my  vision  going  black  and  my  muscles  losing
strength. My scream turns to a sigh, and everything goes black.
The sheets feel like clouds around me and I think I could lay in this

bed and never move for as long as I live. Everything feels numb and
soft and comfortable. Damian sits in a chair beside the bed. We're in his
house. Our house. It's a good thought and it makes me smile.
He stands, taking in a sharp breath. "Callie."
"Hey baby," I say in a poor impersonation of Elvis Presley.
He moves a lock of hair from my forehead, cupping my cheek.
"How do you feel?"
"Why do you look so mad? Mr. Grumpy pants," I say, chuckling and
reaching to pinch his cheeks.
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, but the icy anger doesn't leave
his eyes. "I need to know what you remember?"
What I remember? Why is he being so serious? What's he talking.
A syringe. The doctor. The sweat on the nurse' s upper lip.
It comes back in a rush, knocking the lingering effects of the sedative
from  me  in  an  instant.  I  close  my  eyes,  covering  my  face.  "They
drugged  me.  I  don't  know  why.  I  just  remember  being  stuck  with  a
needle and then I was here."
He nods, sitting on the bed and pulling me into a tight hug. "My guys
said you told them to wait outside the doctor's office?"
I blush. "Yeah. Bad idea?"
He  shrugs.  "Don't  worry  about  it  now.  You  were  right,  I  would've
ended anyone who got to see your pussy. That's just for me."
"Why would they drug me? I don't understand. You don't think they did
something to the baby, do you?"
Damian  frowns.  "They  wouldn't  dare  touch  that  fucking  baby."  His
hand moves protectively to my stomach and he kisses me beneath the
ear. "They wouldn't dare."
Tears well in my eyes. I reach to wipe them but Damian takes my hand
and gently wipes my eyes with his knuckle. "Hey," he says. "I'm here
for you, okay? I'm going to find out what happened and I'm going to
make it right. I promise."
I  hug  him.  It  feels  good  knowing  that  he  is  watching  over  me.  He's
more force of will than man, all purpose and no hesitation. Having him
beside  me  gives  me  the  strength  I  need  to  keep  myself  sane  in  the
middle

of all of this. Not for the first time, I wonder where I would be without
him.  Probably in way less danger and not looking over my shoulder
every  minute.  The  thought  makes  me  smirk.  The  strange  thing  is  I'd
rather be in the position I'm in now than where I was, watching my life
slip away inch by inch with Greg, letting him take who I am and try to
mold it into who he wanted.
The  waitress  hands  me  a  menu  and  then  gives  one  to  Damian.  She's
absolutely  gorgeous,  and  she's  practically  begging  Damian  to  notice
her with the way she leans in front of him and thrusts her boobs in his
face, but he doesn't even so much as flick his eyes toward her. I smile a
little. Greg would have been making eyes at her all night.
I realize this is actually the first time I've been out to eat with Damian.
He  has  paid  for  Julia  and  I  to  go  out  several  times  between  when  I
wouldn't let him take me out and when he couldn't be there. I guess he
got tired of me complaining about being cooped up, so he packed me in
a car and said we could eat anywhere I wanted. The look of surprise on
his  face  when  I  said  I'd  rather  go  to  a  cheap  barbecue  place  was
priceless.
He looks over the menu, working his lips in concentration. "You sure
this is the place you want to eat at? You deserve the best."
"I've had enough fancy restaurants to last a lifetime," I say. I don't want
to  keep  bringing  up  Greg  when  I'm  around  him.  I  can't  keep  myself
from comparing everything with Damian to how it was with Greg, but
it's  only  because  the  contrast  makes  me  realize  how  horrible  it  was
before. If I talk about it too much though, I worry Damian will start to
think I'm fixated on Greg somehow. Thankfully, that couldn't be any
farther from the truth.
"Good. I actually prefer this kind of place, too. I should know by now
you're not like other women. I give you a few thousand dollars to go
shopping and you get under a hundred dollars worth of clothes from a
bargain bin. I give you a pick of any restaurant in town or even in New
York and you pick this place. You can't be bought, can you?"
"God  knows  Greg  tried,"  I  say,  nearly  wincing  when  I  realize  I'm
already talking about Greg again.

Damian eyes me over his menu and then continues scanning.
"What the hell is a chitlin?"
I suppress a smile. "They're really good. You should order us some."
"Okay. Do you want any other appetizers?" "Corn nuggets?" I suggest.
The waitress comes back a minute later with our drinks and tries again
to get Damian's attention, but fails. She takes our appetizer order and
huffs off, making sure to shake her ass when she walks away.
"Were you originally from the South?" asks Damian.
"Florida," I say. "I moved up here when..." I pause, not wanting to talk
about Greg or the past we have together.
Damian is tactful enough to ignore my uncomfortable pause. "Doesn't
get much more South than that."
"Geographically,  no,"  I  say.  "Culturally,  it's  mostly  a  watered  down
version  of  the  South  most  people  think  of.  You  have  the  outdoorsy
types,  suburban  moms,  and  farmers  rubbing  shoulders  just  about
everywhere you look."
"What were you?"
An orphan, basically. "A little bit of everything, I guess."
He narrows his eyes at me. "Part of my work is knowing when people
are lying to me."
I shift in my seat. "I'm not lying." I say slowly.
"You're holding something back. You can trust me, Callie."
"It's not some big secret. It's just embarrassing. I never had anything
growing up. Even when I got a big advertising job, I couldn't ever get
over the guilt of spending money. I remember what it was like and... it
doesn't feel right."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
I shake my head, feeling like an idiot as tears prick at my eyes. "It's not
a big deal." It was. "I survived, didn't I?" Sort of.
He frowns. "I don't like that you think you need to hold back around
me. You can tell me anything."
"Yeah, because I'm the only one with trust issues at this table."
He slams a fist on the table, making the silverware jump and my

glass  nearly  topple  over.  The  rage  in  his  face  is  gone  in  an  instant.
Several  people  turn  to  look  at  us,  but  he  doesn't  notice.  "It's  not  the
same.  Not  at  all.  I'm  keeping  you  in  the  dark  to  keep  you  safe,  not
because  I'm  worried  what  you'll  think.  You  know  who  I  am  and
what—"
"Chitlins and corn nuggets," says the waitress, oblivious to the tense
moment she's interrupting. "Do you want ranch with those?"
"No—"
"Yes," I say, interrupting Damian.
He gives me a disgusted look. "Ranch?"
"You haven't eaten a corn nugget if you haven't had one with ranch."
He  shrugs  and  grabs  a  chitlin,  popping  it  in  his  mouth.  I  watch,
covering  my  mouth  to  keep  from  bursting  out  laughing  as  his  face
slowly turns from disinterest to disgust. He gags, grabbing a napkin and
spitting
the chitlin into it. "What the fuck is that?"
I can't stop from laughing anymore. "I think the anatomically correct
term is pig poop shoots'."
The  anger  in  his  eyes  only  makes  me  laugh  harder.  "Pig  intestines,
battered and fried."
"Oh yeah? You think you're funny pulling one over on me like
that?" he asks.
"The look on your face was pretty good," I say.
He  shakes  his  head,  drinking  several  long  gulps  of  water  and  then
taking  the  lemon  and  squeezing  it  directly  into  his  mouth.  "Jesus
Christ. People really eat that?"
Before I can answer, my eyes are drawn to the door where Greg enters
with his lawyer in tow. Damian follows  my  eyes. His hand clenches
into  a  fist  so  tight  his  knuckles  turn  white.  "This  fucker  is  like  a
cockroach. Just when you think he's gone..."
Greg grabs a chair from a couple's table without asking and pulls it up
to ours, sitting down backwards in it. I'm struck by how false his shows
of  confidence  seem.  They  are  exactly  that,  shows.  Unlike  Damian,
Greg has to posture and prance to try to convince everyone around him
that he's confident and important. Damian has a natural inevitability to

the way he moves that requires no explanation or grand gestures. He's a
force to be reckoned with and anyone who gets in his way will come
against  his  power.  It's  written  in  his  every  feature  and  movement  as
firmly as if it was in stone.
Greg snaps his fingers and reaches a hand over his shoulder. His lawyer
slips a piece of paper in his hand and Greg slaps it on our table. "Who
wants to read it first?" he asks.
I scoop it up and scan it, heart and stomach sinking at the same time. It's
a  paternity  test.  "I  never  took  a  paternity  test,"  I  say  quickly.  Even
though  my  mind  goes  back  to  the  bruise  on  my  stomach,  the  one  I
thought  was  probably  just  from  struggling  against  the  doctors.  They
really did test me.
"Says right here you did, sweetie. The same day you went to see if you
were really pregnant."
Damian snatches the paper from his hands. "Why the fuck would they
give this to you? This is personal medical information."
Greg reaches over to point to a spot near the  middle of the paper. "I
forgot you can't read. It says here that I'm the father, so I guess that's
why they gave me my fiancee's personal medical information?"
Damian's eyes meet mine across the table. Hot tears prick at my eyes as
I reach for the papers to see for myself. "You had the doctor drug me,
didn't you."
"You don't have to answer that," says the lawyer from behind
Greg.
"All that matters is we know the baby is mine. It's ours. You can leave
this loser behind and give the baby a life it deserves. Not whatever shit
show he is going to give you."
"I don't care if it's yours," I say, voice thick with emotion. I really don't.
I  want  to  do  this  with  Damian,  even  if  it's  Greg's  baby.  I  just  can't
imagine  Damian  wanting  to  stick  around  and  raise  some  other  guy's
kid. "I'm never going to raise this baby with you. You're not even going
to come close to it."
Damian  is  oddly  silent  across  from  me  at  the  table.  I  can't  read  his
expression, but the lack of emotion on his face frightens me more than
if he were openly showing anger.

"That's where you're wrong," says Greg. "I have a number of ways to
make sure  I have  access to the child. If he so  much  as tries to  come
within  an  inch  of  my  child,  I'll  see  that  a  court  rules  him  unfit  as  a
parent. He'll never be legally allowed in the child's life or yours. In fact,
if you press me on it, I can make sure they tear the baby from your arms
in  the  hospital  bed.  So  maybe  you  should  consider  playing  nice  and
remember who you're dealing with."
"You couldn't," I say, even though deep down I know he could and he
would. I've seen too many times just how much Greg can make happen
with his father's money and connections. He just dumped a steaming
pile of crap on  my life and  my plans, and I don't know if Damian is
going to stick around to help me clean it up, or if he's going to do what
most sensible people would and walk away.

Damian
"He  didn't  look  this  heavy  when  he  was  alive,"  says  Benny.  Sweat
beads  on  Benny's  bulldog  face  as  he  helps  me  drag  Ramirez's  body
toward the dumpster at the dock. It's dark out and our only company are
the seagulls. "But you know what they say, dying adds twenty pounds."
"They don't say that," I grunt, heaving as we toss Ramirez in with the
trash.
"Who do you think it was?" asks Benny.
I  found  Ramirez's  car  parked  in  front  of  The  Spot  this  morning.  His
body  was  propped  up  in  front  of  the  steering  wheel.  The  murder
weapon  was  on  the  seat  beside  him.  My  knife.  I  checked  my  glove
compartment and saw that it had been stolen. I'm sure my prints would
be on that knife, and only my prints. It was a message, but whether it
was from Greg, Conway, the Anastasios, or the Sanatores, I have no
idea. I just know someone is trying to tell me they can get to me when
they want to.
"Maybe you can tell me. I heard you were meeting with Cristiano."
Benny's face tightens. "I thought you might hear about that, but it's not
what you're thinking. Not at all."
"Maybe  you  can  enlighten  me,"  I  say  slowly.  I  feel  coiled,  ready  to
burst  into  action  at  the  first  wrong  word  out  of  his  mouth.  I  want  to
clean up my act for Callie, but if one of my own was setting me up with
the Riccis, I can't let that slide, not even for Callie.
"I met this girl when I was down in Jersey for one of our fence jobs.
She's a good Italian girl, way out of my league, and for some reason,
she likes me. Things have been getting pretty serious. Well, it turns out
Cristiano Ricci is her distant cousin or some shit. She said I had to get
permission  from  him  if  I  wanted  to  be  with  her.  That's  all  it  was.
Cristiano didn't even know I ran with you."
I nod my head. I want to believe it, so I decide to, unless someone gives
me a reason not to. It sure as hell beats the possibility of my best friend
backstabbing me. I clap him on the shoulder. "Good. That's good. You
can tell me this shit though, you know. I don't want to be hearing about
it from the guys before I hear about it from you next time, okay?"
"Yeah. It won't happen again."

There's an uncomfortable pause. Benny looks toward the car Ramirez
bought. "What are you going to do with it?" "Drive it into the bay," I
say. "Fuck. That's a nice car. You sure?" "When am I ever not sure?"
Benny  raises  his  palms.  "All  right,  all  right.  We'll  trash  the  car.  Just
seems like a shame. Anyway, how are things with that girl of yours?"
I dust off my hands. "Shitty," I say. "She's pregnant and it's not mine."
Benny whistles. "Big deal. Have her get a fucking abortion and put one
of your own soldiers in there."
"I don't believe in that," I say. "You know that." "Yeah yeah. Damian
Citrione who I've seen go at guys with a hammer for owing him a few
bucks has a conscience when it comes to killing babies."
"You have a problem with that?"
"No problem here," says Benny. "What are  you going to do though?
You going to raise some guy's kid?"
I turn on Ramirez's car, put it in neutral. The car slowly rolls toward the
bay as I watch, crossing my arms. "I don't know. I don't know if I could
love another guy's kid. I feel like I'd see him every time I looked at it,
like she'd always be thinking about him. You know?"
The car reaches the end of the port and tips over, splashing down a few
seconds later.
"Yeah.  I'd  want  to  punch  the  kid  in the  face."  "That's  why  you're  an
asshole," I say. "No argument there."
"So how's it going with the crew? Last time we talked you said you had
about ten guys lined up?"
"Yeah. It's tough. The only guys I can find who have ever even shot a
gun at a person are already working for other familias. Then the ones
who  aren't  are  hesitant  about  joining  on  when  you  won't  let  me  tell
them what they'll be doing."
"And how many do you think are going to work for me if they

know  we're  planning  to  make  a  move  on  one  of  the  most  powerful
crime families in the Northeast?"
"I'm just saying it's slow going. If you have any ideas I'm all
ears."
"Nothing  here.  Callie's  ex  has  some  tightass  prick  from  the  Feds
watching my every move. Name's Conway. When we started this shit I
wanted  to  get  the  Sanatores  and  the  Anastasios  to  duke  it  out  long
enough for me to make a move on the Sanatores. Now I wish I could do
the same shit with her ex-fiancé, Conway, and all these other fuckers
who are after my blood."
"Why can't you?" asks Benny.
I squint at him in surprise, "You might actually have a point, Benny." I
still don't know if I can trust him, but these days, I don't know if I can
trust anyone except Callie. And things have been tense with her, to say
the least. I know what she wants me to say. She wants to hear that I'm
going to stay and help raise the baby like it's my own, but I don't know.
It feels wrong. She hasn't asked me to take a stance on it one way or
another, but I can  see it in her  eyes,  just like I can tell  that she's not
going to wait around forever to hear my answer.
"So how are you going to play it?" asks Benny.
I run my tongue over my teeth. "I need to do some digging first. But
nobody with that kind of money is squeaky clean. Maybe if I can find
some way to get Conway sniffing after Greg instead of me, it would be
a start. After that, I could try to think of some way to..." the idea comes
to me but I don't want to risk telling Benny. "I don't know," I say. "I'll
figure the rest out later."
"How long are we going to keep pretending this isn't an issue?" asks
Callie.
I was hoping to get a few things and go out to start looking into Greg,
but  Callie  was  waiting  up on  the  couch  when  I  came  home.  She  has
been feverishly working on the advertising for the restaurant ever since
we found out about the baby. I'm not sure if it's just an outlet for her
frustration or something else, but I know if she keeps it up, I'm going to
have to start taking the business more seriously. It has always just

been a convenient way to explain some of the influxes of cash I get. It's
also nice to have a place to set up meets that I have control over. With
all the money coming in after Callie started running my ads though, it's
looking more and more like a prospering restaurant that is bringing in
enough money to catch my notice.
I grab my jacket and use it to cover my hand as I pull the pistol from
between the couch cushions. I don't expect to need it, but these days I
don't leave home without at least a few pieces. "What do you want me
to say?" I ask, surprising myself with the irritation that is obvious in my
voice.
Her head pulls back slightly as if my tone stung her, but she recovers
quickly. "I want to know, Damian. I feel so alone right now, like you' re
shutting me out. I just want to know what to expect. Do you want me to
take this stranger's baby and get the hell out of your life? Do you want
me to stay? I need to know, I'm going crazy over here."
"You're not leaving," I say.
"That is only half an answer."
"It's all the answer I'm ready to give. Right now, I just want to keep you
safe. I'm doing everything I can to make sure nobody hurts you and that
nobody will ever think of hurting you again. I can't be thinking about
babies and everything else. I just need to handle this."
"So just stay put because you say so?"
"Yes," I snap, spinning to face her. "You do what I fucking say so I can
keep you safe."
"Why should I care about being safe if I'm just a doormat to you?"
I drop my things and advance on her. "Watch how you talk to me."
"Oh?  Did  I  forget  to  call  you  sir?  Or  do  you  prefer  master?  Was  I
supposed to suck your—"
I  push  her  down  on  the  couch  and  climb  on  top  of  her.  My  knee  is
between  her  legs  and  the  rage  boiling  inside  me  starts  to  feel
indistinguishable from lust. I want to teach her a lesson, but more than
anything, I just want to have her. I want to fuck her like everything is
normal between us, like there's not another man's baby in her belly, like
she's mine and always will be.
Before I know what I' m doing, my mouth is on hers. She kisses me

back for a few seconds, her tongue warm against mine. Then her small
hands are pushing me off of her. I pull back just in time to see her hand
blurring  toward  my  face.  My  cheek  stings.  She  slapped  me,  and  she
looks like she's thinking about doing it again. Anger burns in my chest,
making me want to show her that she belongs to me and that I still have
power over her body.
"You think you can just fuck me and make me forget?" she asks. The
tone in her voice betrays how aroused she is, and I can see the hardened
tips of her nipples clearly.
"You only need to say one word to stop me, but you won't say it. You
want my cock between your legs."
"Fuck  you,"  she  says.  "You  can't  solve  everything  with  sex."  "We'll
see," I growl.
She tries to slap me again but I grab her wrist. Her lips turn into a thin
line as she struggles against me. She tries to punch me with her other
hand, but I catch it, too. Lowering myself to kiss her neck. "Just one
word, and it all stops. You know the word."
"Get  off  me,"  she  whispers,  but  the  conviction  in  her  tone  is  gone.
"Those aren't the magic words." I use my shoulder to pin her arm down
and move my hand between her legs, spreading her thighs easily and
shoving my hand down the yoga pants she wears. My finger slides over
her  engorged  clit.  "You're  so  fucking  wet.  I  don't  think  your  pussy
wants me to get off of you. I think it wants me to get you off."
I find her mouth, kissing her hard as my finger circles her clit and slides
inside her entrance. She bites my lip hard enough that I taste blood, but
then soothes it with soft passes of her tongue. Fuck. She's incredible.
Even as she presses her hips into my hand and the soft vibrations of her
moans pass through her lips into mine, I can't help thinking about the
baby. Why does it really matter? Whether it's my baby or his, it's also
Callie's. Isn't that enough?
The question reignites my anger. I don't know the answer, and I'm not
used to not knowing. The uncertainty makes me want to act. I pull her
pants and panties down roughly and free my cock, positioning myself
over her. She reaches down and grabs me, stroking my length hungrily.
I  watch  as  her  full  tits  bounce  with  the  motion  and  arch  my  back,
groaning

in satisfaction. She's incredible.
"You want it so fucking bad, don't you?" I ask.
She  bites  her  lip,  nodding  her  head.  I  slide  into  her  even  as  she  still
strokes me. She doesn't take her hand away, and the combination of her
heat and the tight grip of her hand is amazing. I lean over her as she
reaches  down,  still  rubbing  the  base  of  my  cock  with  her  hand  and
grazing my balls. Her need to be touching me is such a turn on that I
already feel the tingling threat of an orgasm building. I pull out briefly
and she uses her hand to stroke me and rub the head of my cock against
her slick clit.
"Jesus Christ," I groan.
"You like that?" she asks.
"Fuck yeah, baby."
She increases her pace, rocking her hips against me and letting my cock
dip into her briefly before pulling it back out to rub against her clit. Her
other  hand  finds  my  balls  and  cups  them,  stroking  the  sensitive  skin
behind them and making my eyes clench with pleasure.
"I' m going to cum if you keep that up," I say.
She bucks her hips into me, overwhelming me with sensation. I feel the
building tension threatening to release just as she takes her hand away
and  plunges  my  cock  in  her  pussy  to  the  hilt.  My  eyebrows  pull
together and I push myself as deeply into her as I can.
"Fuck!" I shout. My balls tighten and my cock pulses, spraying hot cum
inside  her.  She  clenches  against  me,  her  pussy  milking  my  cock  for
every last drop of cum.
When the last of our orgasms have faded, I roll off her and sit beside
her on the couch. I pull my pants up, not caring if my cock is still wet
from her. She pulls her panties and pants back up over her pussy that is
still dripping with my cum. It's so fucking hot that I could almost go at
her again. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom and I lean back on
the couch, more confused than before.
She sits on the couch beside me and pulls her knees up, hugging them
to her chest. "So," she says. "At least we know the sex is good."
I laugh. "Damn right."
"But..."

She's not going to let it go. I know she won't, and hell, I don't blame her.
I scratch the back of my head and lean my head back in frustration. "I
don't know. Maybe he's right. Maybe the baby will be better off without
me in its life. Greg was right about one thing. I'm dangerous, and you
and the baby would be safer if you weren't connected to me."
She shakes her head. "I don't care about that. I mean, I care, but we'll
work through it."
"It's not that simple, Callie. I have enemies. Powerful enemies. I can do
my best to protect you, but with them out there I would never know if
you were safe. I would always be wondering if they were going to find
you on your way to work or while you were at the grocery store. I can't
be everywhere."
"Can't we just leave? Start over somewhere?"
"I have unfinished business here."
She gives me a searching look. "Let me in. Can't you just tell me what's
going  on  so  I  can  help?  I'm  tired  of  being  in  the  dark."  "It's  too
dangerous."
"You said it yourself. I'm in danger, too. I have a right to know
why."
I sniff, searching my mind for some way out of this but I can't see it.
"The less you know, the—"
"Don't regurgitate that mobster bullshit to me again. I have a right to
know and you know it."
I briefly try to remember why I like women who are strong-willed so
much.  Sometimes  it  just  feels  like  a pain  in  my  ass.  I  still  can't  help
from grinning at her spunk. "All right. You want to know? I'll tell you.
There are five Citrione brothers. If you ask my Pops, there are three.
Vince is the only one who even admits that my younger brother and I
exist, but that's the way our world works. Everybody has your back till
you  get  pinched,  and  then  they  don't  want  anything  to  do  with  you.
They  think  you'll  turn  them  in  for  a  deal.  My  younger  brother  got
locked up the year before I did on some bullshit charges. Pops never
visited him once.
"When I was 19, I had a falling out with my family. Pops was

promoting my brothers up the food chain while he kept giving me grunt
work.  He  thought  I  was  too  reckless  to  be  trusted  with  more
responsibility. I guess he was right, because I went to a rival family, the
Sanatores,  and  started  working  some  jobs  on  the  side  with  them.  It
started  small  with  basic  stuff:  shakedowns,  intimidation,  collection.
They saw my potential and quickly started giving me more and more
responsibility.  Eventually,  I  was  running  a  betting  racket  that  was
bringing in more money than you could imagine.
"Just when I thought things were going my way, I got pulled in by the
cops. I got seven years for racketeering in federal prison. It took me a
few  months  of  digging  from  inside,  but  I  eventually  figured  out  the
Sanatores had a grudge against my Pops and the whole thing from the
start to finish was just a way for them to get at him."
She frowns. "I'm sorry, Damian. I didn't know..."
I shrug. "It's part of the business. I should have seen it coming, but I
was too pissed at my Pops. I took a stupid risk and I trusted the wrong
people. Lesson learned. But I spent every day in prison planning out a
way to get back at them and make them pay. That's part of our business,
too. If you're going to fuck someone over, you had better expect them
to  come  back  at  you.  I  can't  just  leave  without  making  them  pay  for
what
they did."
"So this is just about revenge?"
"Sure.  Revenge,  retribution,  justice,  whatever  you  want  to  call  it."
"They are the ones who want to hurt us?"
"Them, the Anastasios, the Riccis, the feds. That night you saw me at
the gas station, I was going to rob a big cash drop that was being sent to
some  of  the  top  Sanatore  bosses.  It  was  supposed  to  be  a  clean  job.
Benny and I would come in, flash our heat, grab the briefcase, and then
leave  a  trail  that  would  make  it  look  like  the  Anastasios  were
responsible. But things got bloodier than planned. Still, the plan was
going  fine.  The  Sanatores  took  the  bait  and  started  making  moves
against the Anastasios.
"But when the killing started, they made the mistake of killing someone
with connection to the Riccis, which brought them into the mix. And
then Greg pulled strings to get some fed named Conway sniffing

around me and feeding information to the families."
Callie looks thoughtful. "Wow... You weren't kidding when you said
we were in danger."
"I wish I had been."
"So what are you going to do?"
Telling all of this to a woman feels so wrong. I know I'm putting her in
danger, but I also know she's not going to let me off the hook unless I
keep her in the loop. "I'm not sure how yet, but I want to find a way to
redirect everyone's attention. I need a big enough target that everyone
forgets about me. Once they forget about me, I'll be able to make my
move against the Sanatores."
"What about Greg?" asks Callie.
"What about him? He's an asshole."
"I mean, why don't you find a way to get the families going after him.
Aren't they always trying to find ways to get more money?"
I laugh. "That's not how this works. We don't really just rob people."
"Why not? Wouldn't they make an exception if there was enough
money to be made?"
I scratch my chin. "I mean... it's not like he keeps his money in a safe or
some shit, right? It's gotta be all tied up in investments and real estate."
She leans forward, eyes lit with the idea. "No. I mean, some of it is tied
up, yes, but he always bragged to me. He has this safe he keeps in his
closet. It's custom made and apparently impregnable, but he didn't trust
banks. He would always tell me how he had millions just sitting in the
safe for a rainy day. I guess it made him feel rich knowing he just had
that much money on hand."
My mind churns. It's a stretch, a big stretch, but it could work. The
families don't normally get involved in this kind of thing, but if I could
somehow make it sweet enough, maybe they would. "What about the
rest of his money? Is it clean?"
"I don't know. His father was always involved in so much and it was
never clear where exactly Greg stood in the middle of it. I know Greg
made it seem like he was passing money to officials to get favors

from time to time, but that's all I really know."
"Any chance you know the code to that safe of his?"
Callie laughs. "He never trusted me with that kind of thing. I think he
thought if I actually got my hands on his money I would've just
disappeared in the middle of the night. In his mind, it was the leash he
had on me."
"He didn't know you at all, did he?" I ask. I can't believe he was with
her for years and not see how little she really cares about money. He
really had no idea what he had in her.
She makes a sour face. "That's an understatement."
"We're going to get him back. I don't know how yet, but when we do
get to him, it's going to be hard and fast. He won't know what hit him."

Callie
Damian finally let me go back over to check on Vince and Aubriella's
house. I've felt guilty letting Damian's "guys" watch it, whatever that
means. I figured it would be best if I ran by to make sure everything
was  still  going  smoothly.  Damian  assured  me  that  he'd  shoulder  the
blame with his brother if something went wrong with the house, but I
get  the  impression  things  between  the  two  of  them  are  icy  at  best.
Damian hasn't said as much, but it's in his body language when he talks
about Vince, they still hold  grudges. From what he told me, Damian
resents the way Vince sided with their Pops, and Vince resents the way
Damian went outside the family.
Either way, I made a promise to Aubriella and I don't want to betray her
kindness by slacking on that duty. I just can't imagine some meathead
mobsters taking the job very seriously. When I enter through the front
door, I find two  men in their forties with their feet kicked up on the
coffee  table  eating  pizza  and  watching  TV.  They  quickly  put  down
their food and stand when they see me.
"Miss  Beccaccio,  the  boss  didn't  say  you  were  coming,"  says  one.
"Where's your security detail?"
"They  are  surrounding  the  house,  probably  looking  extremely
conspicuous  while  they  try  to  be  stealthy.  I  made  sure  none  of  them
called ahead so I could see how Damian's 'trusted guys' were actually
treating the house."
"We've been watering the plants every day, miss."
I put my hands on my hips. "And you've also been putting your greasy
fingers on the couch."
The guy closest to me quickly grabs a napkin and tries to rub the stain
out.
Thirty minutes later, I've gone through the entire house and made a list
of items that need immediate attention. They've been using the shower
and used Aubriella's soap, there is hair in the sink, one of them tracked
dirt into the kitchen, there are fingerprints all over the microwave...it's
like  a  bunch  of  cavemen  were  unleashed  on  this  beautiful  house.  I
would stay to fix everything myself, but Damian only

agreed to let me come out here if it was a short visit. He said this is the
place  everyone  knows  to  look  for  me,  and  they  will  definitely  be
watching. If I stay too long, it gives them time to think of a way to get
to me. It's still bizarre to think people I've never met are out to get me.
It's like something from a movie, and if it wasn't for the guys with guns
who  have  been  following  me  around,  I  don't  think  I'd  believe  it  was
real.
Once I' m sure the two men know exactly how I expect the house to
look next time I see it, I head back to the car. I'm being driven around in
a  black  SUV  like  some  kind  of  VIP.  If  not  for  the  circumstances,  I
would get a kick out of it.
I  mentally  steel  myself  for  what  I'm  about  to  do.  Damian  gave  me
permission to go check on Aubriella's house, but he didn't exactly say I
could go anywhere else. I know he's just trying to protect me, but I also
don' t plan to sit idly and let him try to do everything on his own. I have
some ideas on how I can help, but I need to talk to Greg's accountant
first.
"You want to go where?" asks the driver. He shakes his head. "Damian
said—"
"Damian said you are supposed to keep me safe. How safe do you think
I'll be if I get out of this car and walk there myself?"
The men exchange wary looks. The driver sighs and starts the engine.
"Where did you say his office was?"
The accountant is one Greg used to drag me to see with him. I have no
idea what the man knows, but I want to help somehow, even if I don't
end up finding anything useful, the least I can do is try. Damian is a
good guy, but he tries so hard to protect me from danger that he tends to
overlook the fact that I'm capable and can help him. I can't complain
though. I know he took a huge risk and an even bigger leap of faith in
telling  me  everything  he  did.  Even  from  watching  movies,  I  know
mafia guys don't just talk about their business so openly. For him to tell
me so much, he must really care about me. Even if he doesn't plan to
stick around to help with the baby.
The  idea  comes  to  me  like  a  bubble,  rising  through  my  mind  and
bursting at the surface, releasing all the dark thoughts and doubts that

come with it. He doesn't want the baby. By extension, he doesn't want
me.  He  kept  talking  about  what  Greg  said,  that  he  wasn't  fit  to  be  a
father,  but  I've  seen  the  good  man  beneath  the  darkness  and  the
violence in him. He has it in him to try to be different and to try to do
what's  right.  He  has  the  willpower  to  change,  and  I  think  I've  seen
enough of that to know that he would change for me and the baby. I just
wish he would do it for a baby that wasn't his own. I know it's unfair to
ask of him though. I don't even blame him.
What man would want to raise another man's child? It must seem like
the ultimate betrayal, to know that the woman you care for has a tiny
human growing inside, and someone other than Damian helped me to
create it. How he could get past that, I don't know. And maybe he never
will.  I  just  wish  he  knew  how  much  I  want  the  baby  to  be  his,  how
much  the  thought  of  Greg's  deceptive  attempts  to  get  me  pregnant
disgust me. I know I will be able to love the baby either way, I just hope
beyond all hope that I can share that love with Damian.
I  sign  in  at  the  front  desk  of  the  accountant's  office  and  take  a  seat,
waiting for my name to be called. I fidget with my fingers, trying to
imagine how Damian must see me. To him I must really seem like a
mess. I let him have sex with me in the middle of a thunderstorm when
I barely knew him. I let him inside me without a condom. Then I tried
to  push  him  away  because  I  waited  until  after  I  had  unprotected  sex
with him to seriously consider what I was getting myself into. And then
I let him walk back into my life, fuck me, and act like everything was
normal again. Now here I am again, on the fence between being with
him and not being with him, and all I can do is wish that he wanted me
as much as I want him. It's embarrassing how badly I want him. I want
his scent, his touch, his face, and everything about him to be part of my
life. I can even look past the violence and the crime because I know he
won't live that life forever. If he lets the baby and I in his heart, he'll
realize he has to change to protect us.
"Callie Beccaccio?" calls Jason. He's a relatively young guy, but Greg
always  liked  to  tell  people  his  accountant  was  top  of  his  class  at
Harvard and a young go-getter.
I smile, standing to follow. I let George, one of the guys sent by

Damian to keep an eye on me, follow me to Jason's office. I learned my
lesson the hard way. Nowhere is safe from the people who want to hurt
us. I'm not going to even risk going into an accountant's office alone.
"Who's this?" asks Jason. "My uncle," I say. "Uncle George."
George  gives  a  stiff  smile  that  is  utterly  unconvincing.  Jason  pauses
just long enough before smiling back that I know he sees through the
lie,  but  he  does  a  good  job  of  acting  natural  as  he  reaches  to  shake
George's  hand  and  then  to  kiss  me  on  the  cheek.  "Please,  sit,"  says
Jason.
I take a seat across from his desk, feeling my heart pound. How do I
even ask what I want to ask?
"What  can  I  do  for  you?  Normally,  Greg  always  comes  along."  "He
couldn't make it today. Look, Jason, I'm going to be really honest here,"
I  say,  abandoning my  previous  plan  of  trying  to  pretend  things  were
still  okay  with  Greg  and  that  I  just  wanted  some  basic  information.
"Things are getting rocky between Greg and I. Very rocky. I need to
know that if we. separate, that, well. I need to know that he has enough
money to take care of me." Even pretending to be this kind of person
makes me feel sick, but I think it might be my best chance of finding
out what kind of dirty business Greg is involved in.
"Greg has a sizable estate. I think you would be fine," says Jason, a
little coldly.
"He cheated on me," I say, realizing I need to win Jason's sympathy if
this is going to have any hope of working.
Jason's lips twitch. I can't read his face, but he nods slowly. "I see." He
turns  to  his  computer  and  taps  a  few  keys  and  then  clicks  his  way
through a few menus. I can see spreadsheets from the angle I have on
his monitor, but not detail.
"If  I  were  looking  to  protect  my  share  of  Greg's  finances,  I  would
consider  pulling  it  out  of  a  few  business  ventures  he's  involved  in."
"Such as?" I ask, heart still pounding.
"A large portion of his money is currently invested in real estate. But if
authorities  were  to  investigate  some  of  the  numbers  and  properties,
well." Jason looks at me apologetically and spreads his hands. "To be

honest, without going into too much detail, the vast majority of your
fiancé—ex-fiancé's  finances  are  not  secure.  A  man  with  less
connections would already have been thrown in jail and had his assets
frozen."
I nod. "I understand," I say. I don't know enough, but I get that Jason
can't tell me more. He's already putting his neck on the line, and I don't
want to push him to do more. "Thank you so much. If anyone asks, I
never spoke to you."
He smiles. "Thank you. Have a good evening, Callie. I hope this helps.
My dad cheated on my mom when I was ten," he says. He pauses, as if
not knowing what else to say.
I give him a sad smile and reach to grab his hands. "Thank you."
It doesn't take long to find out where Greg's real estate is located. He
has  dozens  of  properties  from  downtown  New  York  to  scattered
properties within northern New York and Connecticut. I have Damian's
people  drive  me  to  the  nearest  house  he  owns.  It's  a  three  bedroom
home in a gated community. I read somewhere that you can get into
90% of gated communities with the same passcode and have the driver
try the code one-two-three-four. To my surprise, it actually works.
I get out in front of a Spanish style home with stucco walls and orange
clay shingles. The yard is overgrown and the house looks completely
empty.  I  walk  up  the  front  yard  and  look  inside.  It  looks  trashed.
There's no furniture and obviously no one living there. A quick check
on my phone shows that the house is being rented and has been by the
same tenants for seven years. It doesn't make any sense though. There
is obviously no one paying to rent this place for years just to leave it
trashed like this. But what could Greg stand to gain from keeping an
empty property and claiming to rent it out?
We  spend  the  next  two  hours  driving  to  look  at  two  more  of  his
properties. They are both the same as the first. Different locations and
sizes,  but  they  are  empty  and  unoccupied  even  though  everything
online says they are being rented. I don't know if it means anything. It
probably doesn't, but it's something.
"You shouldn't have risked it," says Damian.

We' re back at his place and he was waiting in the kitchen for me when
I came home, looking every bit the worried wife. I almost would have
laughed if I didn't know how dangerous he is. Besides, when I give him
too much of a reason to be mad at me, it seems to turn him on. He is like
a sex fiend when I disobey him, and I know if I ever want to get him
going, I just have to start putting my foot down and being stubborn. The
truth is I love every second of it. I love baiting him into it and I love the
intensity of his focus. I especially love having him inside me. Still, for
every bit that I love about being with him, I'm even sadder to know that
it's all temporary. It may not be today, tomorrow, or even a week from
now, but this baby in my belly is going to make him leave me sooner or
later. And knowing it breaks my heart.
"Well I did risk it, and I found something useful. So maybe you can
stop being Mr. Overprotective for long enough to hear me out?"
I  see  his  hands  tightening  into  fists  and  I  feel  the  thrill  and  fear  of
knowing that he's probably already thinking about fucking me until I
apologize  for  mouthing  off  to him.  Part  of  me  wants  him  to,  but  the
other part knows that I can only distract myself with sex and his touch
for so long. If we don't solve the bigger problem, it will only ever be
temporary. Everything between us will end.
"Fine. What did you find?"
After  I've  explained  what  I  saw,  Damian  sits  down  on  the  couch,
eyebrows drawn in thought. "You're sure they were empty?" he asks.
"Positive. Do you  have any idea what it  means?" "I have some idea,
yeah, but I don't know. I need to pass this along to a guy I know and
have  him  check  some  things  out.  This  is  good  though.  Real  good."
Damian looks up to glare and jab a finger at me. "So how about you
stay put this time while I go handle that?"
I  cross  my  arms.  "You  said  it  yourself.  I  practically  have  the  secret
service  watching  over  me.  You  should  let  me  keep  trying  to  help.  I
already proved that I can be useful, didn't I?"
His jaw flexes. "Yes. But you've done enough now. I can take it from
here.  I  don't  want  to  be  worrying  about  you  while  I'm  out."  Damian
stands, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.
"Wait," I say, rushing to him and standing on my tiptoes to kiss

him softly on the mouth.
The heat in his eyes threatens to break me. How can he look at me like
that  when  he  knows  he's  going  to  leave  me  and  this  baby?  Has  he
forgotten? Or maybe he's starting to change his mind? I want to tell him
that I love him. The words burn on the tip of my tongue, but I know
with a shattering certainty that he won't say them back, even if he feels
it. I can't take that disappointment, so I swallow them  like hot coals,
letting  the  emotion  sit  and  simmer  in  my  stomach.  "Be  careful,"  I
whisper.

Damian
I'm on the way to meet with Franklin Guerre, one of the best private
investigators  I  know.  Pops  used  to  use  him  if  he  needed  dirt  on
someone, and I used him a few times when I was getting everything set
up. He asked to meet at a small cafe outside City Hall. I only realized I
was starving when the smell of pancakes and bacon hit my nose. I have
a heaping plate of pancakes and syrup in front of me. Franklin sips on
his coffee, eyes darting around the cafe.
He looks like a walking cliché with the fedora he wears and the brown
overcoat. "I already did a little digging," says Franklin. "For someone
with  so  much  money,  he's  sloppy.  Real  sloppy.  The  father,  Anthony
Cartwright,  is  careful,  but  Greg  is  the  weak  link.  Some  of  their
operations are linked and I have a feeling if I look a little closer I'll be
able to use Greg to find some dirt on Anthony."
I swallow a mouthful of pancakes. "I don't give a shit about his father. I
just want Greg to get fucked."
Franklin gives me a patient look. "Think about it, Damian. No matter
how badly you hurt Greg, his father is going to bail him out of the mess.
The only way you get him out of your hair once and for all is pulling
him up by the root. You need to ruin Anthony, too."
I run a hand through my hair. Fuck. He's right. Waging war with Greg
on top of the crime families already felt like I was biting off more than
I could chew, but going after his father, too? There's no way I can do
both  on  my  own.  I  need  to  find  some  way  to  pit  them  against  each
other, I just don't know how yet. "Did you look into the properties yet?"
I ask.
"A little. By itself, it might not be much, but it's concrete evidence. We'
re going to have a whole heaping pile of substantial evidence, so the
properties could come into play as our Ace. As far as I can tell, it's a tax
avoidance  scheme  that  is  saving  him  millions.  I  haven't  confirmed  it
yet,  but  I  think  he's  using  his  father's  connections  in  the  registrar's
office  to  create  false  persons.  Fake  socials,  fake  credit  scores,
everything. So when the county comes after them for back taxes on the
properties, it's not Greg's problem. And he gets to double dip because
he writes off the

properties  as  business  expenses,  even  though  they  are  just  sitting
unoccupied. It could get him a few years in federal prison by itself, but
that' s not going to be enough."
I nod. "I don't want the fucker coming back at us in a few years. I want
him buried."
Franklin leans forward, lowering his voice. "Not to suggest anything,
but just out of curiosity, why isn't he already buried?"
I sniff, suddenly losing my appetite. It's a question I've asked myself
already, but I have avoided answering it. "There's a girl," I say.
"Callie Beccaccio," says Franklin.
"Right,  I  should  have  known  you  would've  already  looked  into  it.
Anyway,  I  can't  just  handle  this  the  way  I  used  to.  She  would  never
forgive me."
Franklin raises an eyebrow. "That's the only reason?"
"Yes," I say coldly, even though I know it's not true. The truth is she
makes me want to change. Whenever I think about doing things my old
way, I see her face when I had the gun to the Ricci thug's head. I know
it would have broken her. It's one thing for her to know I've killed, it's
another to see it, to feel it. Killing is something I never got used to. I
tolerated  it,  but  I'd  be  lying  if  I  said  it  didn't  stick  with  me.  Every
fucking person I've ever killed is like a chunk of myself that is gone. I
can feel the holes, the gaps, like voids where emotion refuses to stick
and  bleeds  right  through.  Being  with  Callie  has  started  to  fill  those
holes, and I worry that killing again is going to open them back up, or
worse, scare her away and leave them open for good.
My phone buzzes. I check the caller. Unknown, but I memorized the
number from Callie's phone. Greg Cartwright.
"Shit," I say. "I need to take this. Keep looking, Franklin."
He nods, remaining in the booth as I head to my car with the phone.
"How did you get my number?" I ask. I watch from the driver seat as
Franklin slowly stands and leaves the cafe.
"Haven't you learned by now that nothing is beyond my reach?"
"Tell me why I shouldn't hang up."
"Because you want to know how badly I screwed you."

"Trust me, I've heard about your bad screwing already."
There's a pause where he's obviously trying to think of something to
say and failing. "I have the security camera footage from the gas station
when you and your friend, Benny Capobianco, shot and killed five men
in cold blood."
My blood goes cold and my hand tightens on the steering wheel. We
trashed  the  cameras  and  followed  the  wires  back  to  a  computer  and
trashed that too. Most gas stations run their security footage on a closed
circuit system, but if it was backed up externally somewhere, he might
actually have the footage. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you, your filthy mobster cronies, and every last trace
of you to be out of Callie's life by tomorrow night. If you're not, I' ll
submit the footage to my close friend, the district attorney."
I hang up the phone and punch the console of my car. "Fuck!" I need to
think, but all I can focus on is the image of my hands around Greg's
neck, squeezing until he pops like the zit he is. I have less than 48 hours
to find something concrete enough to scare Greg into handing over the
evidence  he  has  on  me.  My  phone  rings  again  and  I  see  Cristiano
Ricci's name on the display. As if things could get any worse.
"What is it?" I snap into the phone.
"You  thought  you  could  play  me  off  like  some  kind  of  idiot?  You
thought you could feed me bullshit information and get my family and I
to do your dirty work? Well, I know the truth now. And you're about to
learn why nobody crosses the Riccis."
He hangs up the phone.
I turn the car on and stomp on the gas. Callie. If he has done anything to
hurt her, he's going to wish he was dead. No. He's going to wish he was
never born. I try to call the guys I have watching Callie on my way over
but get no answer. I try Callie's phone but get nothing.

Callie
I sip some of the tea I found in Damian's pantry. It's pretty good, but I
decide  to  add  a  little  honey  to  it.  I  walk  slowly  around  the  house,
thinking about what I can do to help. Most of all, I wish I had a chance
to  try  a  few  codes  on  Greg's  safe.  I  never  even  thought  about  trying
when I was with him. I guess it goes to show how emotionally beaten
down and broken I was. I didn't even realize I was a prisoner. I didn't
realize he was a worthless prick.
Greg  always  thought  he  had  me  hostage  because  of  the  money.  He
thought if he cut me off, I would come crawling back to him if I ever
got the idea to leave. It was never the money. I stayed with him because
for  as  long  as  I  could  remember,  the  people  I  cared  about  had  been
casting me off like unwanted trash. Even if it was toxic, Greg wanted
me to stay around. I think I had convinced myself he was as good as I
deserved.  Then  I  met  Damian,  and  while  he's  far  from  perfect,  he's
exciting and strong and kinder than he realizes. But he's going to leave
soon, I know he is.
Some people would probably blame the baby. They would resent it or
want  to  get  an  abortion  to  fix  things.  I  can't  make  myself  do  that.
Whether it's Greg's or Damian's, I already feel something so strong and
unbreakable  between  the  baby  and  I  that  I  couldn't  even  imagine
wanting to be rid of it. It's my own person, someone I can have a chance
to raise the right way, not like what my parents did. I'll be able to love
him  or  her  and  care  for  them.  Even  if  everything  else  I've  known
changes, I'll have that, and I can find comfort in the knowledge.
A  dark  shape  moves  in  front  of  the  window.  I  figure  it's  one  of
Damian's guys, even though they don't normally move anywhere in a
hurry,  whoever  that  was  looked  to  be  running.  I  grip  my  tea  a  little
tighter, trying not to let myself get worked up. I'm just being paranoid.
Then I hear a loud bang on the other side of the house. I jump, moving
to look out the window towards the car where one of Damian's guys
normally  waits.  His  head  is  leaning  back  and  one  of  the  windows  is
broken. I drop my tea, barely noticing as the cup shatters. I run as fast
as I can toward the spare bedroom where the safe room is. There's a
loud

crash nearby and I hear heavy footsteps and harsh voices.
I press my finger to the pad on the door. Locks on the other side of the
door click and grind painfully slow while the door still remains shut.
The footsteps get closer.
"She's in here!" someone shouts.
The door finally opens and I grab it, pulling as hard as I can to move the
heavy metal.
"Stop right there, sweetheart."
I freeze, wanting to cry when I see how close I was to safety. I'm
tempted to try it anyway, to rush inside and pull the door as fast as I
can, but the man is only a few feet behind me. He would be able to gun
me down in an instant if he wanted to. I think of the baby in my belly
and grit my teeth, putting my hands up. The man moves toward me and
in a blur of motion, he whips the back of his pistol across my temple.
Everything goes black.

Damian
The first thing I see when I tear up the driveway toward my house is the
broken window on Donnie's car. There's a bullet hole in the side of his
head  and  blood  sprayed  everywhere.  Rico  and  Lars  are  down  on  the
side  of  the  house.  Three  bullets  in  Rico's  chest  and  one  in  Lars'
forehead. If my guys looked like they had gone down fighting, it would
be a bad sign, but it would've meant Callie had some kind of warning.
Seeing them caught unaware like this makes my skin go cold.
"Callie! " I yell, moving through the house with my gun drawn.
"Callie! "
There's  no  answer.  The  only  thing  keeping  me  from  going  fucking
berserk right then and there is knowing she could be in the safe room. I
rush through the house toward it, stepping over the broken glass from
where they must have forced their way in. The safe room door is open,
but the room  is  empty. That  means she was here.  Only  my finger or
hers could have opened it. The opened safe door tells me everything. It
tells me too much. She didn't sneak off or evade them, she tried to make
it to the safe room and was caught before she could.
I  punch  the  drywall  beside  me.  Plaster  sprays  everywhere  as  my  fist
creates a crater in the wall.
Cristiano Ricci is a fucking dead man. I had hoped to be done killing,
but I'll make an exception for him. That's one hole in my conscience I'll
gladly bear.
The phone rings too many times. I think no one is going to answer, and
then I finally hear a click. "Damian," says Cristiano. "I was wondering
when you would call."
"You have one chance. Give Callie back to me unharmed now, and I'll
only kill you. If I have to come find her, I'm going to tear your whole
fucking operation to the ground."
He laughs. "Unharmed? Too late for that. I guess I'll have to take my
chances."
I squeeze the gearshift until I think it's going to snap,  urging the car
faster even though I don't know where I'm going. I have no idea

where Cristiano would have her.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"Pain. I want you to feel the same pain I felt when my niece's husband
was murdered."
"What about a trade? Me for Callie. Just tell me where to go and you
can fucking have me. Just let her go."
Cristiano tsks. "I don't think so. You would love that. You get to play
hero and come to her rescue? No. I don't think so. I want you to live a
long,  long  life.  I  want  you  to  have  plenty  of  time  to  remember  what
happens when you cross Cristiano Ricci."
"I  don't  know  how,  but  I'll  find  you.  I  can  promise  you  that.  This  is
going to end one way. You, me, and a bullet. You had your chance," I
say,  hanging  up.  I'm  so  mad  my  hands  are  shaking.  I  want  to  break
something, kill something. My Callie. I want to be there for her. And
the baby. The thought hits me like a truck, coming from nowhere, but
coming so clearly that I know it's true. I know it from the depths of my
being. I want to help her raise the child. I want to raise it like it's my
own,  even  if  it's  Greg's.  It's  Callie's,  and  that's  enough  for  me.  God.
Why didn't I see it sooner?
An idea strikes me. I don't know if it will work, but it might, and that's
better than what I'm currently working with. First, I call Franklin and
ask him to pause what he's doing and put all his resources into finding
out where the Riccis have hideouts. Next, I call Greg.
"Damian?" he asks.
"Yeah. I did what you said and walked away from Callie," I say, lying
through  my  teeth.  "but  when  I  left  her  alone,  a  crime  family  run  by
Cristiano Ricci kidnapped her. They are holding her and plan to hurt or
kill her. So if you really care about her and that baby, you may want to
use those unlimited resources of yours to do something about it."
There's a long pause and then he hangs up the phone.
I sigh. It's a shot in the dark, but it could do something. If I have to risk
Greg finding her first and getting to save the day, I don't give a shit. I
just  want  Callie  to  come  out  of  this  unharmed.  I'll  kiss  the  fucking
Sanatore's feet if I have to. Anything to get her out alive and safe.

Callie
I' m yanked out of the back of the car and tossed to the hard concrete. I
manage to brace my fall, but my palms get chewed up from the hard
landing.  I  wince,  refusing  to  cry  out  or  whimper.  I  don't  want  these
assholes to see they are getting to me. I want to be strong.
We're on a dock somewhere. I didn't realize it was already so late, but
the sun is setting across the bay, giving the motionless ships in the bay
long,  ominous  shadows.  There  are  seven  men,  all  wearing  suits  and
carrying guns. One of them wears a white suit and has his hair slicked
back. He's handsome, but in a feline sort of way, like a dancer. From
the way the others treat him, it's clear that he's in charge.
"What do you want from me?" I ask.
The  man in the white suit approaches  me, stroking  my chin with his
fingertip.  I  flinch  away,  glaring  at  him.  "I'  m  Cristiano  Ricci.  Your
boyfriend made the mistake of pissing me off. He's going to pay with
your blood."
The tone in his voice begs no argument. What he says is a cold truth
and there's no debating it. These men are going to kill me. I'm struck by
a sudden overwhelming helplessness like I've never felt. I think it must
be how people feel when they are falling from deadly heights. There
must be a moment of realization, where panic and calm find a balance.
The ground rushes up with the inevitability of a sunrise, and the only
thing left to do is make peace. The violent promise in Cristiano's eyes is
as good as a guarantee.
My thoughts ping pong between Damian and the baby. I can stand the
thought  of  dying,  but  I  can't  stand  the  thought  of  losing  them.  Of
leaving them. I won't. I don't know how yet, but I'm going to fight this.
Even if it's as futile as fighting against gravity, I'm going to fight.
"Want me to do it, boss?" asks a tall man with broad shoulders and a
full gut.
"No," says Cristiano. "A bullet is too easy." He looks around the dock
thoughtfully and his eyes land on a large hook dangling from a chain.
It's connected to some kind of crane, presumably for lifting large crates
from ships. He snaps his fingers and points towards it. His men

apparently  figure  out  what  he  wants  and  one  runs  up  to  the  crane  to
operate the controls and lower the hook to ground level.
Cristiano reaches for me and I flinch back. His face contorts in anger
and his hand snaps out like lightning, cupping me by the back of the
neck. His other fist slams into my jaw, making my vision flash black
and my legs go weak. Two of the men take me by the arms and drag me
toward  the  hook.  Before  I  regain  my  strength,  I  feel  myself  being
flipped  upside  down.  Cold  metal  presses  against  my  lower  back,
hooking under my jeans. A hand fumbles against my skin and I feel the
hook punch through my jeans below the waistband. The men release
me and I'm hanging by my jeans. I feel them slipping already, but thank
God they are tight. Cristiano takes some ropes from one of his men and
binds my hands behind my back and my legs together. Then he loops
all the rope around the hook so that I'm stuck to it, even if my jeans give
out.
I wanted to fight back, but there's nothing I can do. Seven  men with
guns surround me. The crane arm swings and I watch as concrete gives
way to cold, black water. There's a grinding of gears as the crane begins
lowering  me  slowly,  but  unrelentingly  toward  the  water.  They  are
going to drown me. It all seems to happen so fast that my mind can't
keep up. I' m about to die. My head is going to plunge beneath the water
and I'll try to hold my breath. Eventually, I'll gasp for air and only find
water. It will fill my lungs and I'll drown. I'm going to die.
Damian. I love you. I'm sorry I never said it. Even if you wouldn't have
said it back. I wish I had told you how much I love you. How much you
mean to me, and how you 're the only person who has ever made me
feel like me. I wish I could have raised this baby with you.
Police sirens wail in the distance. Cristiano curses, ordering his men to
spread out.
"Shouldn't  we  just  leave?"  says  one  of  his  men.  "There's  only  one
fucking way on this dock. We're trapped. Just wait up top for my signal
and light them up when I say. I don't give a shit how many pigs they
bring, this bitch is dying and we're walking away, even if we are up to
our ankles in blood when we do." His men nod, climbing the stairs.
My hair is dangling in the water and the gentle waves made by the

Damian
I follow the cop cars as closely as I dare. Franklin was able to find out
that Cristiano had his hands in a few shipping operations, so I knew to
wait near the docks, but I didn't know which one. Apparently Greg's
people did, because I saw three cop cars come screaming toward the
C&G docks. I see Cristiano waiting at the end of the docks in a white
suit with his hands behind his back. The three cop cars park in front of
him and six officers get out, taking  cover behind their car doors and
pointing pistols at him.
I park my car and get out, sneaking toward them. I called for Benny to
bring help, but he was out of state working on fencing the last of the
goods we ripped off. I shouldn't need any muscle, because I don't think
even the Riccis aren't crazy enough to kill cops. Mafia connections can
make  a  lot  of  crimes  disappear,  but  killing  cops  isn't  one  of  them.
"Freeze!" shouts one of the cops.
Cristiano  smiles  calmly,  hands  still  behind  his  back.  "I'm  frozen."
"Show us your hands! "
"Which one is it, freeze, or show you my hands?" His eyes move to a
nearby roof and he gives the slightest nod." For three seconds, nothing
happens.
Gunshots  ring  out,  deafening  in  the  clear  night.  The  muzzle  flashes
light the darkened dock like lightning.
Cristiano rolls behind a crate. Four of the cops drop instantly, dust and
blood bursting from their uniforms as bullets tear through them from
both sides. One of the shooters is only a few feet from the boxes I was
moving behind. I quickly rush behind him  and take him by the neck,
squeezing hard and then bashing his skull with the butt of my pistol. He
immediately slumps against me.
Even  in  the  middle  of  the  chaos,  all  I  can  think  of  is  Callie.  I  keep
searching  for  her.  Bullets  spray  sparks  near  my  head,  skidding  off
metal shipping containers. I notice a hook dangling over the water and
see  that  it's  shaking.  A  stray  bullet  wouldn't  make  it  shake  like  that.
Callie. I rush past an opening, risking bullets to get closer.
Gunshots crack and burn through the night, making my ears ring.

Cristiano fires from behind the crate, peppering the cop cars with bullet
holes. His men keep unloading, but the two surviving cops shoot back,
dropping two of Cristiano's men. I find the other shooter near me and
pull a knife from my pocket, jabbing it in his heart in one swift motion.
He  drops,  gun  clattering  to  the  ground.  I'm  getting  an  angle  on
Cristiano  as  I  move  closer,  but  I  still  hear  at  least  two  or  three  of
Cristiano's guys on the roof firing.
One  of  the  cops  takes  a  bullet  in  the  neck.  Falling  and  grabbing  the
wound, legs spasming. The last cop drops one more of Cristiano's guys
before  a  bullet  catches  him  in  the  head.  He  falls  and  the  silence  that
follows is deafening.
Cristiano stands casually, not realizing I'm still here. "Let's get the fuck
out  of  here,"  he  shouts  to  the  men  on  the  roof.  The  two  men  start
coming down a flight of stairs. I jump out from cover and squeeze off
the fastest three shots of my life. One takes Cristiano in the chest and
the  other  two  take  his  men  in  the  faces.  Both  men  die  instantly,  but
Cristiano spins, clutching his wound and spraying bullets at the space I
was just in.
"Damian!"  He  yells,  sounding  crazed  in  his  excitement.  "I
underestimated you! "
I don't have time for this shit. Callie is on that hook. I know it. I try not
to let my mind run through possible scenarios. Just get there. Just save
her.  I  ignore  Cristiano,  rushing  past  him  and  running  into  the  open,
firing blindly behind me to keep him at bay. Bullets zip through the air,
passing  near  my  head.  I  leap  off  the  dock  and  toward  the  hook.  The
dark water envelops me, cold enough to suck the air from my lungs. I
surface and see her.
"Damian!" she gasps. She's hanging upside down, face red enough that
I  can  even  see  it  in  the  near  darkness.  The  water  is  right  at  her
eyebrows.
I tread water, reaching for my knife and kicking off my shoes. "Hold on
baby, I'm going to get you out of this." I start hacking at the ropes tying
her to the hook, but it's slow work.
Metal grinds overhead and Callie starts to dip below the water. I look
up. Fuck. Cristiano must have got to the controls. He's going to fucking
drown her.

"Damia—" her words are cut off as her head plunges beneath the water.
No. I' m going to save her. I furiously hack at the ropes, grinding my
teeth as I dig through the seemingly endless layers of rope. Something
gives, and I free her upper body. Her legs go beneath the water. I suck
in a deep breath, diving and finding her mouth. I press mine  to hers,
moving  her  hand  to  plug  her  nose.  I  breath  a  lungful  of  air  into  her
mouth  and go back to her legs, carefully cutting at the rope,  making
sure I don't cut her. The hook keeps getting lower, and I feel pressure
build  in  my  ears.  My  body  screams  for  air,  but  I  only  surface  to  get
another lungful so I can swim back and breathe it into Callie's mouth.
We' re a few feet below the surface and everything is black, silent and
oddly calm. The water is remorseless, utterly unaware that two people
are struggling for life within it. I finally make it through the ropes on
her legs, just as I think I can't make it any longer without air. I grab her
to pull her free but something is still stuck. I feel around blindly until I
realize the hook is through her jeans too. I yank it free and grab her by
the waist, kicking to get us to the surface.
I  feel  my  consciousness  slipping  and  my  legs  weakening,  but  Callie
kicks her legs too, giving us the last push we need to reach the surface.
Water breaks over our heads and the cold night air greets us. We suck
in deep, ragged breaths. My strength trickles back, and I start trying to
get us under the dock incase Cristiano decides to find out if the hook
took care of us or not.
We  struggle  to  swim  in  our  water-laden  clothes,  moving  toward  the
safety  beneath  the  dock  painfully  slow.  I  see  Cristiano  lean  over  the
dock,  clutching  the  wound  in  his  chest.  He  holds  a  gun  in  the  other
hand.
"You're harder to get rid of than a cockroach, Citrione!" He fires down
at us, bullets splashing in the water dangerously close to us.
I  dig  my  own  gun  out  and  aim  up  right  at  his  face  and  squeeze  the
trigger. It clicks. Fuck. Water jammed it. His gun clicks when he fires
the last bullet in his clip just as we're passing beneath him. He swears,
struggling to reload with shaking hands.
We find a staircase leading back to the surface of the dock when we
swim out of his line of sight. I sit Callie on it, making sure she's okay

before signaling for her to wait. I drop my useless gun and pull out the
knife. She shakes her head at me.
"I have to stop him now or he's going to try this again." I'm about to
move  up  the  stairs  and  then  I  pause.  "I'll  help  you  raise  Greg's  baby
under one condition."
She gives me an incredulous look. "You're grinning at a time like
this? Wait. What? What condition?"
"You have to agree to marry me."
For a second, her face is unreadable. Then her lips quiver and her eyes
fill with tears. She leans forward, hugging her wet body against mine
and sobbing into my shoulder. "Yes. Yes. Yes! God, yes."
She's freezing, and I wish I had time to hold her tight and warm her. I
hate knowing that my baby is so cold, but I can't risk Cristiano finding
us down here like sitting ducks.
I  pull  away,  smiling.  "Don't  worry.  I'll  be  careful  up  there.  He's  not
going to expect me to come at him."
She takes a deep breath, the happiness in her face melting away. "If you
let anything happen to you, I'll never forgive you."
"Deal," I say, smirking. I move up the ladder quietly. The cold water
drying on my skin is making my hands numb, but the burning hatred I
have  for  this  Ricci  fucker  who  tried  to  hurt  my  Callie  is  enough  to
warm them. I hear more sirens in the distance. Damn. That was fast. I
can't think about that right now though. I need  to end Cristiano. The
cops might just arrest him, and that means he would have a chance to
get loose again. I have to kill him.
I see him kneeling over the edge of the dock, one hand pointing a gun
down toward the water and the other holding the bloody wound in his
chest.  I  use  the  large  shipping  containers  to  sneak  as  close  as  I  can
without him seeing, all while the police sirens grow louder and louder
in the distance.
I clutch my knife and press my back to a container that is only a few
feet  from  him.  I  kneel,  grabbing  a  loose  chunk  of  concrete  near  my
foot. I toss it over the container and into the water. The splash draws his
attention, so when I emerge from behind the box, his back is to me. I
walk toward him with deadly purpose, knife at the ready. I'm about to

drive the point home when the sirens reach a crescendo and the sound
of several car doors opening reaches my ears. "Freeze! " yells one of
the cops.
Cristiano turns toward the sound, noticing me and pointing his gun at
my chest. We're arm's length apart, both poised to kill. "Don't fucking
move a muscle!" shouts the cop. I meet Cristiano's eyes, fascinated by
the way the red and blue light of the sirens catches his features,
enhancing the crazed mania in his face. "I'm going to kill that bitch of
yours when I get out. Maybe I'll wait until the baby is born so I can—"
His eyes widen as the knife punches through his suit, undershirt, skin,
and heart. At the same time, his finger twitches on the trigger. Blinding
light flashes between us and it feels like a hammer hits me in the center
of the chest. I fall backwards, head bouncing off the concrete. The last
thing I see through dimming eyes is Cristiano collapsing to the ground
with glazed eyes.
Sorry, Callie. I couldn't risk letting him live.

Callie
I hear a gunshot and rush to the upper level of the dock. My legs move
sluggishly from the cold, but my fear for Damian pushes me forward. I
had heard sirens, but as far as the police are concerned, both Damian
and Cristiano probably look like bad guys. They both are bad
guys.
I see at least ten police cars and countless officers swarming the scene.
Red and blue light washes over the entire port, but my eyes can't seem
to move from the two motionless bodies by the water's edge. I realize
there's  already  an  ambulance  here.  They  must  have  had  a  call  that
officers  were  down.  Three  paramedics  are  kneeling  by  Damian  and
Cristiano's bodies.
A paramedic wearing blue gloves check's Cristiano's pulse and shakes
her head, moving to check Damian's.
My  heart  pounds  so  hard  that  I  can  feel  it  throbbing  in  my  throat.  I
realize I've fallen to my knees, hands covering my mouth. I'm too numb
to even cry. I just feel a gaping emptiness, like a hole opened up in the
very core of my being and everything good or happy I've ever felt is
being sucked out of it, leaving an empty shell behind. Be okay. Please.
I need you, Damian. I want to be your wife, to make you happy, to share
my life with you and watch this baby grow with you. Please, I needed
you to help fix me, and I wanted to try to help you find happiness, too.
The paramedic looks up sharply, shouting something I can't hear over
the sirens. The other two paramedics rush to the ambulance and pull a
stretcher  out.  They  slide  a  back  board  beneath  Damian  and  lift  him,
putting  him  on  the  stretcher  and  folding  the  wheels  to  slam  the
ambulance doors behind him.
He's  alive.  The  thought  swirls  around  my  mind  like  blinding  white
light, making everything it touches feel good and right again. For now.
I can't think about "what if", he's alive. They are going to drive away
with him. Without me. I stand, legs feeling uneasy and ready to give
beneath me.
"Hey!"  I  shout.  My  voice  is  hoarse  and  weak.  "Hey!"  I'm  hobbling
toward the officers now. A few heads turn towards me. The officers are

gesturing  and  rushing  to  grab  blankets  from  trunks.  "Miss,  are  you
okay?"
I  try  to  push  past  the  men  and  women  covering  me  with  blankets,
pointing toward the ambulance. "Damian. Please. Let me go with him,"
I
beg.
"She's hypothermic. Get her in an ambulance."
"Get more blankets! "
"No, I need to go with him."
Hands are half-pushing, half-carrying me toward another ambulance. I
struggle weakly, mumbling about Damian even though it feels like my
consciousness is slipping in and out of focus. He's okay. He's alive.
They  won't  tell  me  where  he  is.  Damian  is  a  prime  suspect  in  the
murder of the officers who were killed in addition to the criminals, and
I'm  an  eye  witness.  The  only  reason  the  case  hasn't  gone  national
already is because of Greg's influence. He doesn't care about protecting
Damian at all, but he knows I was at the scene and he's using all of his
weight to keep the case from reaching the media. It's only a matter of
time though.
To my annoyance, there's nothing I can do to keep Greg from visiting
me in the hospital. When I ask the nurses and doctors, they just dodge
my question. Greg has no doubt gotten to them in some way already.
He's sitting beside my bed. I feel okay, though I don't put up too much
of a fight because I want to stay until they are absolutely sure the baby
is okay.
Greg reaches for my hand, but I pull mine away.
"Is he okay?"
Greg frowns. "Stop asking about him.  I don't know or care how that
animal is doing."
"Then I have nothing to talk to you about."
"How about your legal options?" he says. "Even a sniff of evidence in
the wrong way and you might find yourself implicated in the murder of
a very significant number of people, and some of those people are cops,
Callie. The justice system is ruthless when it comes to protecting

its own."
I cross my arms. "You know I didn't kill anyone. I was tied up during
the shooting. All the officers there saw me come up dripping wet from
being in the water."
He gives me a condescending smile that makes me want to throw my
metal tray of food at his face. "Come on, Cal. You know it's not about
what I know or what really happened. Haven't you learned by now that
I can buy whatever reality I please? Give me a reason, and I can ruin
your life."
"Don't call me Cal," I say.
He sighs, standing and brushing the wrinkles from his chinos and polo.
"I'll  give  you  some  time  to  think  things  over.  Maybe  you'll  come  to
your senses and realize I'm the only hope you have of not giving birth
to that baby in a prison hospital."
A  few  seconds  after  Greg  leaves,  a  man  in  a  fedora  and  an  overcoat
slips into the room. "Miss. Beccaccio," he says. He has a gruff voice,
but his tone is professional and cordial. "Hello..." I say
"Franklin Guerre. Like the cheese. I work with Damian."
"Is he okay?" I ask.
"He's  doing  well.  The  bullet  missed  all  his  vital  organs  by  a  few
centimeters. He's very lucky. A few weeks in bed and he should be
fine."
I sink back in my bed, closing my eyes and saying a silent prayer of
thanks. The relief that surges through me is visceral, relaxing muscles I
didn't know were tense and causing the exhaustion that I was holding
back to return. I can't remember the last time I prayed, but I feel like I
owe the Big Guy one after this.
"That's not the only reason I'm here," he says, pulling up a chair and
taking a seat. "Damian had me looking into  Greg. He wanted to find
some dirt, something that he could use as leverage to get Greg to back
off once and for all. If he could, he, w e l l . "
"You can tell me," I say. "Damian already filled me in on most of the
plan."
Franklin raises his eyebrows. "Really? Are we talking about the

same Damian Citrione? Tall, big muscles, bad temper?" I smile. "Same
one."
"Since when does he talk business with women?" asks Franklin. Then
he catches himself, holding out a hand in apology. "I'm sorry to sound
so crass. It's just an old business with old ways. I meant no offense."
"None taken," I say. "I didn't give him much of a choice."
Franklin flashes his teeth in a crooked grin. "I see why he likes you so
much. You must be the girl he talked about who tipped him about the
real estate. Good work on that. It got me going in the right direction."
I smile, blushing a little from the praise. "So you found something else
to use against Greg?"
"You could say I found someone to use against Greg, yeah."
As if on cue, a man in a black suit that somehow screams FBI walks in.
He has thinning hair and a lined, severe face.
"Miss Beccaccio. Agent James Conway," says Franklin.
I narrow my eyes. "I've heard of you."
"Good  things,  I'm  sure,"  says  Conway  sarcastically.  "I  was  a  pain  in
Damian's ass, but Greg has practically held a gun to my career for years
now,  making  sure  I  barked  when  he  said  to  bark.  Granted,  your
boyfriend has done bad things and probably deserves everything I was
giving him."
"Can we trust him?" I ask Franklin.
Franklin  gives  Conway  an  appraising  look.  "Yes.  He  almost  has  as
much motivation as you to see Greg out of the picture."
Conway nods. "He planted false evidence on my work computer. It' s in
the permanent logs if anyone thinks to look for it, and all they need is a
word from him to check. It would ruin me in an instant. I'd probably
spend the rest of my life behind bars. I've been dealing with it, but I' m
ready to be done. I want my life back. I have grandchildren that I would
like to watch grow up. So if I can help nail this fucker, I will."
I raise my eyebrows. "Fair enough. Is there any way we can talk about
this with Damian?"
Franklin  shakes  his  head.  "Not  quite  yet.  They  are  going  to  want  to
question him before he can talk to anyone, but we made sure he has the

best lawyer money can buy. We need to do this on our own and make
sure things are already in motion before the trial. If we can make our
move  before  the  public  hears  about  this,  it  will  be  even  better.  Our
chances of getting the legal system to look the other way will dwindle if
we're on every news station. Public officials are particularly cautious
about taking bribes and giving into intimidation when they know they
are being watched."
"So where do we start?"
"WIth the good news," says Franklin. "I was digging around and came
across  this,"  he  reaches  in  his  briefcase  and  pulls  out  a  manilla
envelope, handing it to me.
I  frown  in  confusion,  pulling  a  piece  of  paper  from  inside.  "My
paternity test? I already s a w . "  My eyes widen as they scan the page.
"This says Greg... isn 't the father. But when he—"
"It was a forgery. He didn't have Damian's DNA to test, but the baby
isn't  Greg's.  As  long  as  there  are  no  other  possible  fathers,  that
m e a n s . "
His words slam into me. I feel breathless, beside myself. I burst with
sudden,  immediate  need  to  tell  Damian.  The  baby  is  Damian's.  My
eyes well with happy tears, spilling onto the page. I sniff, smiling and
reading  the  line  over  and  over.  Greg  Cartwright:  No  match.  "Does
Damian know?"
"I thought you should tell him," says Franklin.
It'  s  four  days  before  Franklin  is  able  to  find  a  way  for  me  to  see
Damian. Even then, he had to forge documents to make it look like  I
was a family member. My heart beats a little faster when I see Callie
Citrione  on  the  fake  ID.  If  we  are  able  to  get  Damian  out  of  these
charges and take care of Greg somehow, my real ID will say that soon.
I'll be his wife. When I talk about him I'll say my husband. It feels so
strange,  but  in  a  great,  butterfly-filled  way.  At  the  same  time,  the
lingering fear that everything could be pulled out from under us in an
instant keeps me grounded. We're very far from safe, and even I could
end up getting implicated in the crime at any time, which scares me less
than the thought of Damian being put in jail.

I  know  he  has  done  terrible  things  and  most  people  would  say  he
deserves jail, but I've come to know him, and I think there's a kind and
good man inside him. He's just a person who has had to grow hard and
strong to survive in the world he was born into. I know he can find a
way to reshape himself to live a life that won't put the baby and I in
danger.
I had to call Aubriella and tell her everything that had happened. She
came back from vacation yesterday with Vince, and I didn't want her to
hear it from someone else. She was surprised, to say the least. I guess
she didn't expect her housesitter to get involved with the mafia and a
national crime while she and Vince were off vacationing. But from the
sounds  of  it,  she  had  her  own  share  of  surprises  when  she  first  met
Vince, so she took the news better than I expected.
I haven't had time to visit her again because Franklin and Conway have
had me running from place to place helping them gather evidence. It
feels  good,  to  be  honest.  I  know  it's  probably  killing  Damian  to  be
sitting on his hands, but knowing I'm doing everything in my power to
help  my  man  is  a  good  feeling.  I  was  also  satisfied  to  see  the  way
Franklin and Conway have gradually begun to defer to my judgment
more and more often. Apparently I have a good nose for this kind of
thing, and I've been able to point them in the right direction more than a
few times.
I find Damian propped up in a bed and wired up to countless machines
by tubes and wires. He's sitting in silence, eyes dark and distant. When
I  step  in  the  room,  he  snaps  his  head  toward  me,  features  softening.
"Callie."
I rush forward, hugging him as carefully as I can. "Bullet wound," he
grunts. I gasp, pulling back. "I' m sorry! "
He smirks, reaching out to pull me back in for another hug. "I didn't say
stop.  I  was  just  hoping  for  a  sympathy  fuck."  "You  have  such  a  one
track  mind."  "With  a  body  like  yours,  can  you  blame  me?"  I  stand,
putting  my  hand  on  my  hip.  "You  really  should  be  more  focused  on
getting out of this without ending up in jail." The truth about the baby
burns in my chest, threatening to burst out at any moment, but I

want to wait for the right time.
His face falls a little. "Callie, they are accusing me of over ten murders.
I  don't  know  if  I  can  slip  all  of  that."  "We'll  see  about  that,"  I  say
stubbornly.  He  grins.  "Do  you  know  something  I  don't?"  "Actually,
yes. I know a lot of things you don't," I pause long enough for him to
glare at me playfully. "I don't want to bog you down with the details.
You just need to focus on recovering."
"Fuck that," he says. "I'll be fine. I need to know what's going on,
Callie."
I shake my head. "Just know that we're making a lot of progress and
we're going to get you out of this soon."
He grabs my arm, pulling me closer. I'm surprised by how strong he is,
even when he's recovering from a bullet wound. "Tell me."
The heat in his gaze threatens to break through my resolve. "The baby
is yours," I say.
He doesn't react immediately. After a few moments, his brows
pinch together. "What?"
"Greg  forged  the  paternity  papers.  It  was  always  yours."  I  could  be
imagining it, but I think I see tears at the corner of Damian's eyes. He
blinks and they're gone as quickly as they came though. "You're sure?"
I smile, bending to kiss him. "I'm sure." He pulls me in tightly, hugging
me hard. "Bullet wound," I say, laughing.
"Fuck  the  bullet  wound,"  he  says,  sliding  his  hand  up  my  shirt  and
under  my  bra.  His  calloused  fingers  graze  my  nipple  and  it  hardens
immediately at his touch.
"No," I rasp. "Fuck me."
He yanks the cords from his body until he's completely detached from
the machines, pulling me on the bed. I straddle him, feeling his already
hard cock beneath the hospital sheets. I pull them down and lift the skirt
I wear up to my hips. Damian grabs my panties and pulls, shredding
them with a hunger that makes me quiver. I want him so badly that I
barely even think about the fact that a nurse or doctor could walk

in at any moment. They might even wonder why his "sister" is fucking
him in the hospital bed, but I don't care about that either.
He's already naked except for the thin gown, and I free his length in one
quick motion, sliding my slick pussy over him, grinding myself into
him and letting the full length of his cock rub along my valley. He tries
to sit up to reach for my tits and then winces, falling back to the bed. I
reach behind him and use the controls on the bed to make the bed rise
up so he can reach me without straining.
He gives me a curious look. "Have you done this before?" I laugh. "No,
but we may have to get one of these at your place." He uses his other
hand to circle my already throbbing clit with his thumb. I reach down to
grab his cock and guide it inside me. I'm already so wet that he slides in
without any difficulty. The width of his length stretches my walls in a
way I've come to love. I run my eyes down the hard lines of his abs and
the sharp V of muscle leading to his cock, unable to get enough.
"I love you," I gasp as I feel myself nearing climax. The words slip free
and are gone, like birds accidentally loosed into the night. The finality
of it scares me and I wish I hadn't said it out loud. What if he doesn't say
it back? He asked you to marry him, for Christ's sake. Why wouldn 't
he?
He cups me by the back of the neck and pulls me down to kiss me hard,
thrusting his tongue in my mouth and swirling against me. "I love you,
too," he says, locking eyes with me.
I said and heard the words with Greg before when I thought I knew
what they meant. I had no idea. Hearing them come from his perfect
lips is like an explosion inside me. I almost don't realize my pussy is
clenching against him in orgasm. He loves me.
Damian bites his lip, pressing his head back into the pillow. His warm
cum fills me. I love feeling him cum inside me so much that I know
we're going to end up with more than one baby if we make it out of this.
The thought brings an unwelcome sadness as I slump down, carefully
laying myself on him so that I don't press on the bloody bandage over
his chest. If we make it out.
A nurse walks in, looking down at a chart as she comes all the way

Damian
It' s a full week before I' m well enough to be let out of bed. Because of
the  nature  of  the  charges  against  me,  they  are  holding  me  in  the
Sullivan Correctional facility, where I've been now for ten days. Callie
visits me every time they let her and updates me on their progress. I'm
so fucking proud to see how she's handling everything. The women I'
ve known before would have been crumbling and crying all the time,
waiting at home and hoping everything works out.
Callie  is  spending  every  day  with  Franklin  and  Conway  gathering
evidence and building a case against Greg and his father. It feels like
progress, but it's far from a sure thing. For all we know, bringing Greg's
whole family to the ground wouldn't do shit to get me off the hook, but
if we play our cards right, we might be able to convince Greg and his
father the only way they get out of this without jail is by helping me.
Benny sits on the other side of the visitation window. I'm apparently
dangerous  enough  that  the  only  way  I  can  safely  talk  to  someone  is
through bulletproof glass with a phone.
"I delivered your message to the Sanatores," says Benny.
"What'd they say?"
"They are interested, yeah."
"They  sure  as  fuck  should  be.  There  are  literally  millions  to  be
scammed  out  of  these  Cartwright  pricks.  Did  you  pass  along  my
suggestion?"
Benny smirks. "Yeah. You would just knock open the wall and yank it
out. Figure the combo out later or force your way into the thing. They
seemed to consider it."
I feel a flood of relief. Good. If everything falls into place perfectly, we
may just make it out of this after all. Maybe. It's going to require a lot of
luck and a hell of a lot of finesse, but damn if we don't have a chance.
"Remind me why you want to tip the Sanatores off to this rich guy' s
motherload again?"
"Because there's no way I'm going to be able to go after them the way I
wanted to before. If I make it out of this case without jail time,

they are going to be watching me so close that I won't even be able to
steal a pack of gum. Taking the Sanatores down in a hail of gunfire is
off the table, especially now that I have a baby on the way." "You still
have me. Just tell me what to do." I shake my head. "It was one thing to
ask you to risk your life beside me for revenge, it's another to sit here
and watch you go do it by yourself. No. It's not going to scratch the itch
as much as we wanted, but we've got to at least try to take them down
another way, a way that won't get you killed."
"And how is stealing Greg's safe going to help make that happen?"
"That depends on how we end up playing it, but trust me. If they take
that safe, they're fucked."
After Benny leaves, they lead Vince in to visit. He's wearing a suit with
a blood red undershirt. His skin is tanner than usual from the vacation
and he looks good. He looks happy. I' m glad to see it, even if he and I
never found a way to get along.
"Hey little brother," he says into the phone.
I smirk. "I've got an inch on you," I say. "Watch who you call
little."
"You don't have an inch on me where it counts," he says. I smirk back
at him.
"How are you doing?" he asks, face growing serious. "Is there anything
I can do?"
I shake my head. "I'm okay. I've got something in the works." I swallow
some of the anger and bitterness I've held toward him for all these years
and put my fist to the glass. "Thanks for coming by."
He pounds his fist against the glass. "Take care of yourself, Damian. If
you need anything, just ask. Okay?"
I nod, hanging up the phone and waiting for the next visitor to come in.
Franklin strolls in, still wearing that silly fedora and overcoat. He grabs
the phone and I pick up again.
"We've got something big. I found a legal loophole that could be a
difference maker."
"Oh yeah?" I ask.
"Human trafficking," says Franklin. "Greg's father had a maid

brought over from Sweeden and they ended up having an affair. Well,
the maid brought charges of sexual abuse against him. Said the sex was
never consensual and that she wasn't paid for her work. She was about
to  bring  it  to  trial  when  deportation  paperwork  started  to  be  filed
against her and her family."
"I  thought  human  trafficking  was  big  shit,  like  crates  of  prostitutes
being shipped around?"
"Not always. And this may end up being a wasted charge, but if it gets
brought against him, it means he legally has to open his books to the
feds.  They'll  have  freedom  to  dig  through  every  last  number  and
receipt. They'll find enough to bury him if they do, and all that evidence
is  going  to  lead  them  straight  to  Greg.  It  will  be  a  demolition  of  the
Cartwright empire. All I need is your word to go live with it."
"No. Not yet. We need to bring what we have to Greg and make him
see that he's royally fucked if we push it through. If we pull the trigger
before he helps us, he'll have no reason to do what we want." Besides, I
want to make sure the Sanatores go down with the Cartwrights.
Franklin purses his lips. "You got it."
Conway comes in as Franklin leaves. I have grown to actually like the
old fuck, despite the initial impression he gave me. He has a disdain for
the system that I can absolutely get behind. My kind of guy, really.
"I  need  you  to  pull  whatever  strings  you  can  to  get  monitoring
equipment on Greg. I want to know who he calls, when he calls them,
and what he says."
Agent Conway shrugs. "Shouldn't be a problem."
"Good."
Conway dips his head to me and leaves without another word. Straight
to business and no bullshit. I like that about him.
The one visitor I've been waiting for finally comes into the visitation
room. She's wearing a tunic and leggings, the hint of her perfect curves
just beneath the long shirt driving me wild. I vaguely wonder if I could
vault over the top of the bulletproof glass and have my way with her
before the guards got in here to separate us.
"I hate seeing you in here," she says sadly, putting her small hand

against the glass.
I press mine to it. "Well, don't get used to it. I think this is going to
work."
"I hope so."
"Hey," I say, forcing her to meet my eyes. "I'm going to find a way to
be there for you and the baby, even if I have to break out of this fucking
place."
She grins. "Don't go breaking out yet, Rambo. Let's see if the slightly
less insane plan works first." She presses a hand to her stomach. "We
will wait for you, no matter what happens."

Callie
Aubriella sips a cup of coffee at the table across from me while Vince
holds her protectively by his side. We're in a little cafe a few miles from
the prison. Seeing her with her man gives me aches of longing. A tear
surprises  me,  rolling  down  my  cheek  and  splattering  to  the  table
without warning. I wipe my eye, shaking my head.
"Sorry. I know I haven't been with him long. I must look ridiculous."
Aubriella  gives  me  a  sympathetic  smile,  reaching  across  the  table  to
squeeze  my  hand.  "You  don't  look  ridiculous  at  all."  She  looks  at
Vince, biting her lip. "Not that he needs an ego boost, but I was head
over heels after about a week."
"A week?" he asks. "I was head over heels after about four seconds."
She  gives  him  a  sour  look.  "You  mean  around  the  time  you  were
threatening me?"
"Hey," he says, smirking. "If I didn't like you, I would've skipped the
threats and went straight to the actions."
Aubriella's cheeks flush pink. "I don't seem to recall a very long period
of time passing before the action. Does that mean you didn't like
me?"
Vince  winks  at  me.  "I'm  sorry  about  her.  She  missed  her  calling.
Should have been a lawyer, I think."
I  laugh.  Seeing  them  still  so  happy  together  after  kids  and  so  many
years warms my spirits. "Can I ask a question? An uncomfortable one,
maybe?"
They  exchange  a  look  and  Aubriella  waits  for  Vince  to  nod.  "Go
ahead," he says, voice serious.
"How  do  you  make  it  work,  with  the,  well,  business?"  Aubriella
answers.    "It took time. We both had to make compromises, but in the
end,  I  don't  think  it  was  that  different  than  any  relationship.  There's
always going to be areas of compromise, give and take, you know?"
"And the kids?"

Vince answers this time. "By this time next year I will be retired and on
good terms. Without going into too much detail, I've been taking steps
for years now to be less involved and pass more burden along to my
men. I've also done what I can to make our business more legitimate."
"I didn't think you could ever leave the lifestyle. That's how it works in
the movies, at least," I say, feeling stupid.
"It depends. I'm in a position to leave. Damian is in a different position
from me. When he walked away from the family, he walked away from
its protection too. He has enemies, and he may have some ghosts to put
to rest before he can completely walk away, but I wouldn't be surprised
if he's willing to do it. I know he cares about  you and he has always
been  two  things,  reckless  and  loyal.  There  may  be  some  fireworks
before it's all over, but I think he'll find a way to make a life for you and
the baby."
"Bad news," says Franklin through the phone.
I' m standing in the waiting area to be let in to see Damian. The place is
crowded  and  I  have  to  plug  my  other  ear  with  a  finger  to  hear  him
clearly.
"What is it?" I ask. "Is there a TV nearby?"
"Yes," I say. The news is playing, and a blonde newscaster holding a
stack  of  papers  is  talking  to  the  camera,  but  I  can't  hear  it.  A  few
seconds later the image flashes to a video of Damian being led into a
police car in handcuffs. The graphic at the bottom reads "Biggest Mafia
Murder Of The Century".
"You see it?" he asks.
"What does this mean?" I ask. My heart is pounding and I feel like I
can't get a full breath of air. It all suddenly feels even more real, more
permanent.
"It means even Greg probably can't just throw his weight into the case
to get us off the hook anymore. It's still possible, but it's going to take
more finesse now. I'm working on something, so don't panic. Just keep
your head down and I'll be in touch, okay? Don't do anything

reckless."
He hangs up the phone and I look back at the TV. They are showing
footage of crime tape on the dock and the body bags being carried to
ambulances. It feels like forever before my name is called to go to the
visitation room.
Damian waits on the other side of the glass, phone in hand. I sit down
grabbing the phone and looking hard into his eyes, trying to see if he
knows or not yet. Something in his look tells me he knows. But he
smiles.
"I have a surprise," says Damian.
I give him a puzzled look as a guard motions for me to stand and follow
him to a door at the edge of the room. Damian gets up, walking in the
same direction on the other side of the glass.
I' m led into a hallway and then into a small closet. The guard motions
for me to wait while he goes to let Damian out of the visitation room
and into the closet with me.
Damian claps the guard on the shoulder, grinning. "I owe you one,
Hank."
Hank glances over his shoulder. "Five minutes." The door closes and
we're bathed in absolute darkness. "What's happen—" I try to ask, but
Damian's mouth crashes against mine. His hands roam me, driving up
my shirt and cupping my breasts. He grabs my thigh and pulls my leg
around his hips, pressing his hard cock into me. I gasp, throwing my
head back as he kisses my neck. I can't see anything, but the
deprivation of sight is making all the sensations more vivid.
I reach down and help him pull my pants and panties down half-way.
He doesn't wait for me to get them all the way off, turning me around so
my cheek is pressed to the wall. I hear a ruffle of clothing and then a
split second later he spits. Warm, wet fingers lubricate my entrance. He
presses his cock into me with no hesitation, filling me so completely
that I cry out.
"Fuck. I needed this," he grunts, still pumping himself in me furiously.
"God. Don't stop," I gasp.

His pelvis slaps against my bare ass, my pussy already wet and slick
against him. The ferocity of it has me already edging close to a climax.
I  feel  the  building  sensation  growing  between  my  legs,  turning  into
something  warm  that  sends  tendrils  of  pleasure  through  my  whole
body. I' m gasping so loud that people in the hallway must hear, but I
don' t care.
He kisses my neck, hot breath buffeting my skin. His strong hands grip
me by the hips as he pulls my ass hard against his cock with each thrust,
making sure every last inch of him is inside me. "I'm going to cum," I
moan.  "God,  it's  so  good."  He  grunts,  moving  even  faster  until  my
world is a blur of sensation and ecstasy. I reach back, gripping his bare,
firm ass. Feeling it flex and relax as he moves into me puts me over the
edge.  I  cover  my  mouth  with  my  other  hand,  screaming  against  my
palm.
"Fuck!" he growls, slamming into me and folding his body over mine
as his cock jolts, spraying heat inside me.
A few seconds later there's a knock at the door. He helps me pull my
pants  up  and  pulls  his  own  up  quickly.  I'm  glad  I  wore  dark  jeans,
because I can already feel his cum soaking through my panties and into
my jeans.
The door opens and Hank grins. "Hope you had enough time." He leads
Damian back first to the visitation room and then me. I 'm still weak in
the legs as the last traces of  my orgasm wash over my  body. It feels
surreal, walking into the room of sad spouses and family members like
nothing just happened. I know my hair must be a mess, and if anyone
cared to pay enough attention it would be obvious what just happened,
but I don't care. If everything doesn't fall together perfectly, that may be
the last time I ever get to be with Damian, and I want to remember it,
down to the smallest detail.
I breathe out a long, shuddering breath into the phone and then smile at
Damian. "That was a nice surprise."
He smirks. "I thought you'd like that. I think I may have liked it more,
though. I've had trouble thinking about how to get out of here because
I've just been thinking about getting into you."
"I know how you feel," I say. "I wish we could go back to how

things were."
"Don't worry, Callie. We're going to figure this out."
"How? The whole country is going to be scrutinizing every move in the
case now" I say.
"We can still use Greg. Conway is already planting evidence that will
be "discovered" and make it look like the Sanatores were at the crime
scene too. That should give Greg's connections enough room to make
the case winnable."
"Should," I say wearily.
"Think of it as Plan A. If it doesn't work, we'll just try Plan B." "And
what's Plan B?"
"We can figure that out when we get there. One last thing. They are
moving  me  to  a  higher  security  wing  of  the  prison.  I  won't  have
visitation rights." He sees the look on my face and nods. "That means
you have to be the one to convince Greg to help us."
I take a deep breath. I want to do everything I can to never talk to that
slimeball again, but if it means giving Damian a chance to get free, I'll
do it. "I'll do my best."
"I  know  you  will.  You're  stronger  than  you  give  yourself  credit  for.
Stronger than I gave you credit for. You can do this."
I wait on a bench in a public park. The air is chilly and I hug myself
tightly to warm my hands. Birds chirp and two small girls chase each
other through the playground equipment while their mom plays on her
phone. It' s a completely normal day for everyone else, and they have
no  idea  what  kind  of  mess  I'm  in.  It  feels  so  strange,  like  I'm  an
outsider. Still, I'd rather be fighting tooth and nail to help free Damian
than struggling to think of a reason to get out of bed in the morning.
I  see  Greg  before  he  sees  me.  He  gets  out  of  a  slick  black  car  that
probably costs way more than it looks like it. He's wearing a ridiculous
coat that has to be way too warm for the weather. Oversized buttons run
down the front and the coat opens in a high collar that reaches his ears.
He finds me soon enough and takes the seat next to me on the bench. I
scoot away, giving myself as much space as I can.
"Callie," he says softly. "You know I won't bite."

"No," I say. "You'll cheat, though."
He  rolls  his  eyes.  "Jesus  Christ,  Callie.  Do  you  have  any  idea  how
many women throw themselves at me? You would be amazed at how
many of them I turned down. Only sleeping with a few here and there
practically makes me a saint."
A  few?  So  it  really  wasn't  the  only  time.  I  knew  it  somewhere  deep
down, but hearing it confirmed seals off any last bit of mercy I might
have  shown  him.  He  never  had  a  chance  with  me  again,  but  I  might
have spared him  some  cruelty for the few good  moments there were
between us. Not now.
"I' m not here to talk about the adventures of your tiny dick," I say. His
cheeks grow red and he opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him
off.
"You need to find a way to get the charges against Damian dropped, or
you' re going to lose everything."
He stares at me in stunned silence before bursting out laughing. "You're
threatening me? I still have even more evidence I could bring against
Damian if he wants to piss me off."
"We have enough evidence to move against your father, and when we
do, the feds are going to start following all those trails of dirty money,
and where do you think they're going to lead?"
At first, I think Greg is going to curse at me or maybe even try to hit
me, but he just laughs again. "You think I'm going to put my neck on
the line to save my father? You can have the old bastard. He always
talked  down  to  me  about  how  I  wasn't  responsible  enough  to  handle
more of the family businesses. We'll see who is responsible when the
feds are knocking down his door."
I sigh. "You don't understand. If they look into your father's accounts,
they are going to realize his money is dirty. If they realize his money is
dirty..."
Greg stares blankly at me. "I understand perfectly well. You can have
him. Screw him, and screw your mobster boyfriend. They can both
rot."
I take a deep breath, trying hard not to scream or strangle him. I say
each word slowly, hoping that maybe it will sink in this time. "All the

money you have came from your father. That means all your money is
dirty too. If your father falls, you fall."
Something finally reaches Greg and his lips purse in anger. "And I' m
just  supposed  to  believe  you  have  a  magical  pile  of  evidence
somewhere stashed away?"
"No. See for yourself," I say, handing him a copy of our evidence.
He slowly flips through the folder, eyes squinted in confusion. "I don't
get  what  half  of  this  means.  It's  just  a  bunch  of  numbers  and  legal
jargon. It could mean anything."
"Do you want to risk your future on that?"
He shifts uncomfortably when I snatch the evidence back from
him.
"Even  if  this  is  all  true,  do  you  really  think  I  didn't  prepare  for
something like this? How stupid do you think I am?"
Don't answer that. I have to try very hard not to smile when I realize
what he's about to say. Greg has no idea what the Sanatores were doing
last night. He doesn't know the safe is gone. I just hope he was dumb
enough to keep all his backup money in one place.
"I think you're smart enough to realize you don't have a choice in this,"
I say.
"I have a choice. About fifty million of them, to be exact. Unmarked
bills, in cash. I can take it and go at the drop of a dime. I'll be out of the
country before they even catch my scent."
I make a show of wincing. "You mean there was that much money in
the safe in your closet?"
The color drains from his face.
"Yeah," I say. "I know you wouldn't be stupid enough to keep all your
cash  in  one  place,  which  is  good,  because  I  heard  some  mafia  types
broke in and stole your safe."
"That's  ridiculous.  It's  the  most  well-secured  safe  money  can  buy.  It
would take days to break into it."
I shrug. "I didn't say they broke into it, I just said they took it."
"They...took  it?"  He  asks,  swallowing  hard.  I  can  see  the  thoughts
racing behind his eyes. He has to know he's cornered now.
"No one has called to tell you about it yet?"

"I was busy this morning," he says distractedly, pulling his phone from
his pocket and glancing at the screen. He must see something he doesn't
like  because  his  face  gets  even  paler  before  he  slips  it  back  in  his
pocket.
"I'm  surprised  you  didn't  hear  anything.  Apparently  the  criminals
knocked a hole in your wall and yanked it out with some kind of crane."
"I was weekending in my beach house, you know I am never home on
the..." His eyes narrow. "You did this. I don't know how, but you did
this."
"I wish I did," I say casually. "I could use fifty million dollars." His lips
compress into an angry line. "What do you want?" "You know what I
want.  I  want  Damian  to  be  a  free  man."  "He  killed  a  dozen  people,
Callie,"  says  Greg,  his  voice  full  of  whiny  frustration.  "How  am  I
supposed to do anything about that?"
"No," I say. "I was there. I also know you already pulled some strings
to  have  evidence  withheld,  because  it  should  have  been  clear  as  day
that  there  was  a  shootout  between  Cristiano's  men  and  the  police.
Damian  didn't  kill  any  cops.  In  fact,  he  was  helping  the  cops  except
when he killed Cristiano, and that was in self-defense."
Greg's expression darkens. "I didn't have the evidence withheld. I had it
destroyed. It's too late to go back to that."
"Then say it was the Sanatores. They are the ones who just broke into
your house for the safe. Evidence has already been planted that makes
it look like the Sanatores were at the crime scene and responsible for
the deaths. Say they contacted you when I was kidnapped for ransom
money, and they must have gone after your safe when that plan failed."
Greg frowns in confusion.
"Just call whoever you need to call, and I'll sit right here and tell you
exactly  what  to  say.  If  you  do  that,  we  won't  turn  in  the  evidence
against your father. You'll still get to live your cushy lifestyle and you'll
just be down a safe. If you play this right, they might even get the safe
back for you when they go after the Sanatores."
Greg locks eyes with me for a long while, his face pouty and resigned.
He finally nods, fishing his phone out of his pocket and making the first
call.

Damian
The  courtroom  is  packed  but  I  only  have  eyes  for  one  person  in  the
crowd.  Callie  sits  with  her  hands  squeezing  her  knees.  She  looks
beautiful  in  a  crisp  blue  skirt  and  white  blouse.  Her  full  tits  press
against the material and I can see the bulge of her soft flesh above her
bra line. I lick my lips, wishing I could go to her right now. I've heard
the  old  cliché  that  absence  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder,  but  I  can't
believe how true it is. I was already absolutely crazy about her, but now
my need for Callie is ravenous. If I somehow get to walk away from
this, I don't know if I could keep my hands off her long enough to reach
the car. I don' t know if I could wait to marry her until people could get
plane tickets and make hotel arrangements. I might just drag her to the
nearest altar.
My thoughts are dangerous though. Dangerous because they all depend
on a series of events playing out in an absolutely perfect way. Nothing
can go wrong, or it will all fall apart. The last few weeks have been
more a trial of patience than a trial of justice for me. Day in and day out,
I wait, listening to witnesses and prosecutors talk. The good part was
after Callie met with Greg, the prosecution started to sound much less
hungry  for  my  blood.  At  times,  they  even  seemed  borderline
incompetent,  which  was  hopefully  a  result  of  the  pressure  he  was
putting on them to get me out of this. The fact that one man, even one as
clueless as Greg, can have so many connections continues to surprise
me.
The turning point in my case came when new evidence was discovered'
and  presented,  implicating  some  of  the  top  members  of  the  Sanatore
family in the murders at the dock. Callie told me that Agent Conway
had actually spent most of his career trying to take the Sanatores down,
so when the idea of planting evidence to nail them came up, he was like
a man possessed, carefully making sure evidence was found in just the
right  places  and  at  just  the  right  times  to  erase  any  doubt  that  the
Sanatores were involved.
The next turning point was when two of the police officers who were
first  on  the  scene  said  they  saw  Cristiano  shoot  me  before  I  stabbed
him. In the space of a few days, I started to look a lot less like a mass

murderer, and a lot more like the hero who saved Callie Beccaccio.
If the jury deliberates in time, today will be the final day of my trial. I' ll
find out whether I' m guilty of any of the dozens of charges against me,
and I'll find out if the rest of my life is going to be full of the happiness
I don't deserve. I turn to find Callie in the crowd for the hundredth time,
catching  her  eyes  and  winking.  She  takes  a  deep  breath  and  smiles
back, but I can see how forced and tense it is. She's nervous as hell, and
I just wish I could take her in my arms and kiss her until her worries
melt away.
The  courtroom  hushes  immediately  when  the  jurors  emerge  from
deliberation.  I  watch  helplessly  as  the  lead  juror  stands,  clutching  a
sheet  of  paper  and  looking  down.  His  hands  are  shaking,  and  I
remember he's just a regular guy, probably wishing he didn't have to
miss work for this, wishing he could get back to his life. I don't know if
even Greg could get to the jurors, so the question becomes whether we
put on a good enough show to convince these people I'm innocent.
"We, the jury, find Damian Citrione not guilty of the count o f . "
I listen to the endless list of charges against me and breathe a small sigh
of  relief  each  time  the  verdict  comes  back  not  guilty.  It  takes  nearly
thirty minutes for the jury to read through each charge and their verdict,
but in the end, I' m only charged with trespassing on private property,
which  the  judge  says  is  grounds  to  place  me  on  probation  for  six
months. It feels unreal. In less than an hour, the justice system decided
that I get to keep my life. I turn to look at Callie, whose cheeks are wet
with  tears.  She  smiles  wide  at  me,  this  time  there  is  no  hesitation  or
strain in her face.
Then, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, the judge says I' m
free to go. Press swarm around me and Callie as we  duck past them,
weaving our way through the Brooks.
"Mr. Citrione, how did you know where to find Mrs. Beccaccio on the
night of the murders?"
"Mr. Citrione! Why didn't you say anything about the Sanatore family
when you were initially questioned?"
"Sources say there was corruption on a wide scale in this case. What are
your comments?"

I wave off the questions, pushing past the reporters and bulldozing any
who get too close with my shoulders. We manage to catch an elevator
by  ourselves,  closing  off  the  sound  of  shouted  questions.  I  raise  my
eyebrows and sigh. "They're like fucking vultures."
"Well, it doesn't matter what they say. You're free. And you're with us
now."
I  move  into  her,  my  hand  finding  the  gentle  swell  of  her  belly.  "My
little man," I say quietly.
"Little man, is it?" she asks with a smile. She's so close that I can feel
the heat of her breath on my neck. "I was thinking it would be a little
girl. Victoria Citrione."
"If it's a girl, that'll just give me an excuse to keep getting you pregnant
until we get a boy."
She laughs, but I cut her off with a hard kiss. The elevator doors open at
the same time, and I catch someone standing there from the corner of
my  eye.  I  pull  away  from  Callie,  noticing  we  haven't  reached  the
ground  floor  yet.  Greg  Cartwright  steps  into  the  elevator,  looking
pissed.
"Enjoying yourselves?" he asks, standing beside us with his hands in
his pockets. "I just wanted to tell you that you had better get used to
looking over your shoulders. You think you can just blackmail me and
get away with it? Just wait. When you least expect it, I'll—"
My fist cracks against Greg's jaw. His head whips to the side and bangs
into the elevator door. His eyes roll back and close as he slumps to the
floor, unconscious. I grab him quickly by the shoulders and lay him on
his side, moving him to the corner of the elevator and turning his face to
the  wall.  The  doors  open  a  few  seconds  later  and  two  women's  eyes
widen when they see him on the ground.
"Had  too  much  to  drink,"  I  say  casually,  grabbing  Callie's  arm  and
leading her from the elevator.

Callie
Three Months Later
I  show  Damian  a  printout  of  The  Spot's  numbers  for  the  month.  He
leans forward, putting a hand on my shoulder as he takes a closer look.
"You're telling me we made that much just from selling people
food?"
I try not to smile too wide. "It's a wonder what a little advertising can
do, isn't it?"
He shakes his head. "No. It's a wonder what you can do." He kisses me.
"With money like this, who needs to break the law."
"It  will  only  get  better.  If  you  franchise  the  restaurant  and  start
investing in expansion, there's really no ceiling to how much we can
grow this. It helps that people love the food."
He laughs. "I thought I was the only one who knew I was a good
cook."
"I hate to admit it, but you're an amazing cook. I think the problem is
you're  just  amazing  at  everything  you  try.  Except  card  games  and
bowling, at least."
Damian gives me a fiery look. "You think you're slick, but I know your
games now. You start trying to piss me off when you want to fuck." His
hand slides up my shirt, moving under my bra. "You know better than
to tempt me in public. Remember what I did to you at that hotel
pool?"
My cheeks burn red at the memory. There were people walking by as
he fingered me under our towel. If anyone had paid enough attention, it
would  have  been  obvious,  but  no  one  did.  It  was  exhilarating  and
terrifying at the same time. But that's a combination I'm getting more
and more used to with him. "I remember," I say quietly.
He bites his lip. "Good. If you can keep your pants on long enough, I
have a surprise for you," he says with a smirk. He leans his head out of
the small restaurant office and shouts down the hall for Julia.
She steps in, holding a rag and a glass she was cleaning. "Yes?" she
says, eyes darting between Damian and I.
I give her a look that says I'm sorry and I don't know what this is

about.
"I heard you were trying to pay for school?" asks Damian.
My heart sinks. I don't know how he heard, but I had almost forgotten
about all the money he gave me. He never asked where it went, and I
worry  that  he'd  be  pissed  to  learn  I  gave  it  away.  From  the  look  on
Julia's face, she's worried about the exact same thing.
"Yes. I want to be a therapist," says Julia, her voice uncharacteristically
meek.
"Yeah, well I paid for it. I know some people in the education field and
I made a few arrangements. I also got your name thrown to the top of a
few lists for graduate school for when you finish the last semester of
undergrad."
Julia frowns. "I can't accept that..."
"Too bad, because I already did it. I did it for Callie, because I know
she cares about you, and I get good fiancé points whether you take me
up on it or not. So to be honest, I don't give a shit if you go to the classes
I paid for or if you go to graduate school."
I scowl at Damian. "For the record, you don't get as many points if she
doesn't go."
"In that case, you had better accept, or I'll fire you."
Julia  laughs  in  disbelief.  "You  really  did  that?  This  isn't  some  kind
ofjoke?"
Damian just shrugs. I know he probably doesn't care about her or her
education, but knowing he went through all of that just for me makes
me swell with warmth. I'm thrilled for Julia, too.
She  wipes  a  tear  from  her  eye  and  hugs  Damian  and  then  me,
whispering thank you in my ear at least ten times. I feel like I should
tell  her  I  had  no  part  in  any  of  this,  but  I  also  don't  see  the  point  in
ruining the mood, so I just hug her back.
"Go on, get out of here," says Damian. "You've got drinks to serve!"
She nods and hurries off.
"You  are  the  nicest  asshole  I've  ever  seen,"  I  say  in  amazement.  He
quirks an eyebrow at me.

Damian
I get off the phone with the wedding planner for what I hope is the last
time. Picking colors and decorations is like torture, but I want the day
to be perfect for Callie. She has put up with so much shit from me that
she  deserves  every  last  detail  to  be  just  right,  even  down  to  the
placement of the monograms on the silverware. I step back out into the
cafe where Benny, Brooks, and Franklin are drinking coffee in a booth.
I sit down with them.
"So what did you find?" I ask Franklin.
"Not  much,  which  is  good.  The  Sanatores  that  were  pulled  in  and
arrested after your trial must have been most of the brains. It seems like
the  rest  of  them  are  just  splitting  off  and  joining  with  other  crews
instead of trying to rebuild. It may not have been the way you wanted it
to go down, but you took them off the map."
I nod. He's right, it's not how I thought I wanted it. To be honest though,
being with Callie has soothed the fire for violent revenge in me. I can
live with justice. I might go as far as to say I'm happy it turned out this
way.
"What about the Cartwrights?"
"They took some heat for the trial. A few of the people they pressed to
help  you  spoke  out  against  them.  But  the  public  doesn't  care  much
about  the  owner  of  a  mega  corporation  and  his  son.  The  story  is
scandalous, but neither of them are famous enough for it to really stick
or matter. It'll blow over soon."
"So they will both be back to living their lives of luxury," I say sourly.
Franklin nods, reaching to pull something from his briefcase. "Unless
you turn this into authorities." He hands me a manilla envelope stuffed
with papers.
"Evidence?" I ask.
"Enough to sink the Cartwrights overnight. I thought you should hold
on to it, in case Greg makes good on his promise to turn in that security
footage he has of you and Mr. Capobianco."
"Just call me Benny. And Damian," says Benny, "I think we should

drop  him  before  he  has  a  chance  to  turn  us  in.  What  if  he  just  goes
straight to the cops with it and doesn't come through us?"
"He  won't.  I'll  make  sure  he  knows  we  have  the  book  on  him.  Trust
me."
Benny nods. "Fair enough. If you think he's safe, I'll trust you on
it."
"I do. Thanks, Franklin." I say pointedly, giving Franklin the signal that
he's free to leave.
He tips his fedora and stands, leaving without finishing his coffee.
"How's the business?" I ask Benny and Brooks.
"Not the same with you on probation," says Benny, "but we're doing
okay. I got a new source of industrials out of Jersey that should bring in
a few extra grand a month for us. I was thinking if we—"
I hold up my hand. "That's good. Benny. I want you to take over for me.
Permanently. I've got a fiancé who is pregnant with my child. I can't
keep living this lifestyle. And I trust you to run this thing in my place.
The  guys  will  listen  to  you,  and  you've  got  a  good  head  on  your
shoulders."
He gives me a look of astonishment. "Just like that? You're going to
walk away?" "Yeah."
Brooks raises his eyebrows. "Good for you, Damian. You're doing the
right thing."
"I know."

Epilogue
Callie
A  tropical  rendition  of  wedding  music  plays  in  the  background.  It's
hard  to  hear  over  the  rustle  of  palm  trees  and  the  whoosh  of  waves
lapping  at  the  beach,  but  I  think  I'll  get  over  it  somehow.  Damian
wouldn't let me stress about planning the wedding, which might have
bothered some women. Not me. It's like he knew I didn't want to have
to think about it. I just wanted the day to be special and to be with him.
All the little details didn't seem that important to me.
It  made  me  smile  seeing  him  try  to  be  sneaky  about  laboriously
planning the day though. He would slip off and take calls, whispering
about floral arrangements and color pairings. I would say it showed me
another side of him, but it really didn't. Damian has always acted with
one driving purpose since we met, and that was to do what would keep
me safe first and foremost, and what would keep me happy right behind
that. I' ve just been surprised to see that he will go to any lengths to
make me happy, even leaving behind the only kind of life he has ever
known.
I made sure he knew that it was his choice. I wasn't going to leave him
if he stayed in the mafia, but I was going to at least have some ground
rules or expectations for the safety of our family. When I got into this
relationship with Damian, I knew I didn't want to force him to change.
God knew Greg tried that with me for so long that I couldn't live with
myself if I did. Did I not-so-gently nudge him out of murdering some
people in cold blood? Maybe. But I think that's one exception I can live
with.
Franklin Guerre stands beside me, wearing a sharp blue fedora and suit.
He looks a little ridiculous, but in his charming, slightly off sort of way.
Since  I  definitely  wasn't  inviting  my  family,  Damian  said  he  wanted
Franklin to walk me down the aisle. Franklin looks over to me. "You
ready?"
I suck in a deep breath, which is easier said than done in my wedding
gown. I didn't want to look ridiculous with some overly frilly thing on
the  beach,  so  I  chose  a  more  sleek  style  without  all  the  bells  and
whistles. It still has beautifully elegant lines and a cut that I was happy
to

see flattered my frame in all the right places. It's tight around the baby
bump and the chest though, and I worry a sharp breath might pop me
right out of it. I underestimated how much my belly would grow from
the baby between when I tried the dress on a few weeks ago and now.
Damian stands beneath the makeshift altar of terraced wood laced with
palm  fronds.  His  back  is  to  the  ocean  and  he  faces  a  beautiful
arrangement  of  chairs  framed  by  half  pillars  with  strings  of  flowers
hung between them.
The sun sinks beneath the waves inch by inch as I begin walking down
the aisle toward Damian. He's cast in shadow, little more than a black
shape against the brilliance of the sun, and I can't help remembering
seeing  him  this  way  the  first  time,  at  the  gas  station.  Back  then  I
thought the darkness I saw was a reflection of the man inside, now I
know it's only a part of him, even as his face is shrouded in blackness,
he' s bathed in light from behind. If I look closely enough, I can see the
faint  halo  of  reddish  orange  surrounding  his  body,  almost  like  a
promise of the man he is becoming. For me.
The  ceremony  was  a  blur.  I  feel  guilty  for  not  noticing  more,  but  as
soon as my eyes met Damian's, it felt like I was in a daze. The priest
spoke, I said the words, I cried, and I kissed him more passionately than
was dignified in public. It was only thirty minutes ago and I'm already
forgetting everything except for snapshots of how perfect it was.
We sit outside a beach cafe. It's a barbecue place, and I felt a swelling
of love toward Damian when I saw it. He remembered the first time we
ate together was to have barbecue. It's  a simple thing, but that's all I
ever  needed  in  a  relationship.  I  only  ever  wanted  small
acknowledgments  of  affection,  not  the  grand  gestures  Greg  thought
could smooth over any mistake.
A  waitress  sets  a  plate  of  fried  chitlins  at  our  table  and  I  burst  out
laughing. Damian smiles at me from the other end of the table and pops
one  in  his  mouth,  trying  to  look  like  he's  enjoying  it.  The  way  the
corners of his mouth pull down faintly in a grimace makes me laugh
even harder.
Julia stops by our table and makes a face at the chitlins. "You guys

like those things? You know pig shit passes through those, right? They
are small intensti—"
"We know," I say, grinning. "Thank you for coming, Julia, it means a
lot to me. You're one of the few friends I have here."
She leans in to give me a hug. "That's fine by me. It means I get you all
to myself."
"How is school going?"
"Good. Great, really. I' m about to get the last credits I needed to apply
for grad school in a few weeks. I've already started contacting schools.
I'm thinking of staying here in New York, though. Anyway, I'll let you
two get back to your food."
Vince and Aubriella are next to visit our table.
"The ceremony was beautiful," says Aubriella.
"Thank you," says Damian.
She gives him an odd look and Vince laughs.
"What, did you plan it?" asks Vince.
For the first time since I've known Damian, I see him blush.
"Yeah. Maybe I did."
Vince's eyebrows flick up and he smirks. "Well, good job. It was nice."
"Where are the kids?" I ask Aubriella.
She points over to a table where Agent Conway's grandchildren and
Aubriella's kids are watching a woman in a cheesy lab coat drop dry ice
into colored beakers of water. "They are entertained and supervised,
which means we are happy," she says, squeezing her husband by the
waist.
Her husband. My eyes slide from Aubriella to Damian. My husband,
Damian. I twist the wedding band around my finger idly. My husband.
The thought makes me feel a little giddy, and I want to find an excuse
to say the words out loud. "My husband ordered us some chitlins. Do
you want any?" I ask.
Aubriella gives me a look that says she sees straight through my ploy,
and now it's my turn to blush. "It feels weird to say it, doesn't it?"
"Really weird. But good," I agree.
Vince reaches down to grab a chitlin. Aubriella looks like she's

about to warn him but Damian and I both catch her eye, shaking our
heads  slightly.  He  pops  it  in  his  mouth,  chews  distractedly,  and
swallows, reaching to grab another. Damian looks down, covering his
mouth in an attempt to hold back laughter. Aubriella puts a palm to her
forehead in surrender. All I can do is watch in amazement.
Before the reception is over, we catch up with the last of our short list
of guests. I even meet Aubriella's old friend, Aria, who wishes us luck.
Agent Conway tells us that he was finally able to get out from beneath
Greg's  blackmail  by  threatening  to  release  what  he  knew  on  the
Cartwrights.  I  didn't  realize  how  much  strain  he  held  in  his  features
until it was gone. He looks like a new man, ten years younger and ten
times happier. Franklin wishes us well, and promises to be ready if we
ever need him again.
The  only  notable  absence  is  Greg,  who  was  not  invited,  but  we  had
expected to crash the party. To me, it's a sign that he has finally given
up on sabotaging us, and a sign that Damian and I can continue forward
on our own finally, without it feeling like the entire world is crashing
down around us.
We  move to dance together again as the reception is  nearing its end.
The song is slow, and one I don't recognize. The singer sounds more
hopeful than she does sad, but the chords are sorrowful, pulling at my
emotions. I cling to Damian, my firm, swollen belly pressing into his
hard body. His strong, protective hands circle me and I feel complete.
We hold each other,  moving slowly in circles, letting the music pass
through us, and I can't help feeling as though the song traces the path
our relationship took. The sadness in the music gradually lightens, with
major chords being worked into the composition. The vocals become
more  powerful  and  elements  of  the  orchestra  begin  enriching  the
solitary piano. The song ends with a wash of harmonious sounds that
blend together and fade out peacefully.
Isn't that how it was between Damian and I? We were drawn together
by  sadness  and  anger,  and  even  though  the  sorrow  was  always
surrounding  us,  the  moments  we  shared  together  were  like  protected
clusters  of  joy  and  excitement.  In  the  past  few  months  I've  felt  the
shroud of sadness fading away like mist before the sun. We're happy

now. Things still aren't perfect. There are lingering fears of what might
happen  if  Damian's  former  enemies  come  after  us.  We're  still  afraid
Greg  might  decide  to  try  something  to  sabotage  us.  But  we're  not
focused on it anymore. We're focused on each other, the way we should
be. And we're focused on making sure we are ready to be the happiest,
and most supportive parents possible for little Victoria. Damian wasn't
too upset that he'd have to keep trying to get me pregnant to get the boy
he wanted. He actually seemed excited.
Damian
Four Years Later
Victoria  stands  on  a  stool  by  the  dough  table  helping  Callie  roll  out
dough for pizzas. All she's really helping to do is make a mess, but she
looks like she's having the time of her life. Her little hands are covered
in flour and her face is drawn in concentration as she tries to make a
round  shape  out  of  the  dough  by  smashing  it  with  her  palms.  Callie
smiles lovingly at her, reaching over to help guide her hands and make
the  pancake  of  dough  back  into  a  ball.  Her  stomach  is  already  as
swollen  as  I  remember  it  being  near  the  end  of  her  pregnancy  with
Victoria and she's only five months in, but the doctor said that's normal
with twins.
Twins. I still can barely believe it. It took longer than we expected to
get pregnant again, but it gave me an excuse to fuck Callie as often as
possible, not that I really needed one. We've already got a room set up
with two cribs for the boys when they are born. Callie painted airplanes
on their walls herself. Whenever I think about our family I swell with
pride. I never thought this was the kind of life a guy like me could have.
I pictured myself dying a violent death before forty or living to be old,
gray, and pissed off. I thought I'd always have to have eyes in the back
of my head to look out for the people I pissed off along the way. Now?
I can hardly believe it, but I haven't broken the law in years. Benny took
over all the loose ends for me. Things never worked out with him and
that  girl  down  in  Jersey,  so  he's  happy  to  put  all  his  time  into  the
business. I still keep in touch with him, but we don't talk work. He asks
about the family, I ask him if he's got his eyes on any new women, and
that' s about it.

I even told Benny he didn't need to keep kicking extra profits to me. We
have  five  franchise  locations  of  The  Spot  now,  including  one  in
downtown New York, which has been bringing in unbelievable cash.
Callie has a team of people helping her manage the advertising now,
but she still likes to get her hands dirty and help me cook, which has
been where I' ve spent a lot of time lately. I dream up new recipes for
the restaurant, perfect old ones, or just enjoy myself while I whip up
something delicious for my girls.
It's not the life I thought I would lead. It's better. Better than anything I
ever thought I deserved.
I  move  behind  Callie,  hugging  her  and  kissing  the  top  of  her  head.
Victoria turns to smile up at me and stick her tongue out. I reach to grab
it and she giggles, tucking her chin into her neck and swatting at me
with her doughy hands. My hand slides down Callie's back and wraps
around her swollen stomach. My family. Not my mafia family, not my
crime  family,  just  my  family.  My  gorgeous  wife,  beautiful  daughter,
and two little men just waiting to greet the world. I couldn't possibly
love them any more, but I know I'll keep finding ways day after day.

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