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“I swear, you drive like a grandmother.”
I can hear the way Dad used to tease her whenever she was behind the wheel. He hated riding as a passenger when she drove since she drove so much slower than he did. “I have precious cargo onboard.” She’d wink at me in the mirror as she’d say it.
Mom would’ve been driving slower, especially if it was raining hard, though somehow she was moving fast enough to crush the front of the car on impact.
My hands start to tremble, and I can barely minimize my browser window. I can’t have it sitting right out in the open in case somebody walks past—even more I can’t sit and stare at the car any longer. It makes my head spin and my heart race as a cold sweat clings to the back of my neck.
Why would she be driving that fast in the rain? Cars used to fly past her on the highway—I recall hearing horns blaring so many times, where every so often, somebody would flip her the bird as they passed by. I learned a few filthy words during those car rides, mainly from the frustrated drivers as they passed. It was never enough to make her speed up.
Granted, I wasn’t in the car with her that day. She might have had less of a reason to creep down the road. Being cautious was her thing. Constantly double-checking the locks on the doors and windows before going to bed. Asking if we made sure everything was turned off before leaving the house. I asked Dad about it once, and he shrugged it off. Some people are extremely careful because they know how thoughtless others can be.
Once she was gone, he became the cautious one. Actually, he became downright paranoid. I’m starting to understand why. All it took was a few minutes of internet sleuthing, and I was concocting all kinds of stories. How maybe she had to speed up to outrun somebody. Or perhaps another car forced her off the road.
My imagination is running away from me. Drawing these conclusions will not get me answers, although there’s no denying how much more interested I am in Dad’s theories than I was before. Still, even though I can imagine the car being run off the road and Mom’s terror when it was happening, there is something I’m having a difficult time visualizing.
Callum, sitting behind the wheel of the other car. Him stepping out of the car and walking over to my more than likely crying mother, standing beside the car and firing a bullet into her head. He’s many things to a lot of people, but he is not the man who terrorizes and murders an innocent woman. I refuse to believe that, I can’t. No matter what my feelings are towards him, and no matter what my father thinks it’s not an option, because that would mean I’ve been sleeping with my mother’s murderer and I don’t know if I could survive that truth.
CALLUM
“Don't forget, you have a meeting with Sebastian Costello later today,” Romero tells me as he glances up from his tablet. “He told me he has some news about the missing shipment.”
The shipment. Those fuckers. “Tell me he knows where the fuck it went?” I grunt, grinding my teeth at the reminder of the loss. A shipment of that size doesn’t just disappear.
This is a nice distraction from where my thoughts currently were, being held captive by a brown-haired, blue-eyed woman. Like always, thoughts of her are there, constantly lurking in the shadows. She’s a poison without a cure, and I’m addicted to every hit I get from her. Everything has been fucked since I received word that one of our cargoes was being overtaken and armed men were removing the shipments.
“He hinted at having a possible lead,” Romero replies, nostrils flaring. “I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. It could mean he’s the one responsible, and he’s just fucking with us.”
“Or it could mean he knows something we don’t. First things first, I want to meet the kid. Get a feel for who he is.” From everything I've heard, Sebastian Costello is a natural up-and-comer in our world. Have always respected his father, Salvatore, although I found him to be a bit soft.
He was tough but always preferred to settle disputes with as little violence as possible. I never had the chance to meet his son. I knew he would eventually pass on the reins, but when he got sick, business between us stopped.
If the rumors are true, Sebastian is nothing like his father. Violence is merely another way for him to get what he wants.
Romero slides a file my way, and I open it immediately, my eyes drinking in the information. The contents are as I confirmed. “He’s suspected in at least half a dozen hits and has continuously managed to beat the rap. He’s the oldest of three siblings, and his brother is just as unhinged as him. He's got a temper and is very ambitious. Prior to the old man’s passing, he convinced him to renegotiate a bunch of deals that were made years ago–in his family’s favor. From the looks of it, he’s grown tired of leaving money on the table.”
