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I’ve been fighting battles since I was a kid. Trying to keep my father from beating on my mother, even though she resented me for it. Trying to keep him from beating on me. From beating on Kelly. Then came battles of a different kind, in desert wars around the world.
I suppose I knew peace to some extent when I first started working for the Kildare family—at least, when Declan with his seemingly perpetual sour mood wasn’t around. But even then, the peace was only partly there. Back then, I was still permanently in this soldier mindset. Those two girls I was tasked with watching over wereeverythingto me, and they became a mission I knew I’d never falter in.
But then, a week after Callie’s interview for the MBA program and me going more than slightly postal on that little shit who tried to put his hands on her, me and peace finally get well acquainted.
It’s Deimos who shoots me a text letting me know he’s coming up to the apartment. Callie’s in the shower when I open the door for her brother and shake his hand.
I won’t lie, there’s something freaky about Deimos. I mean I like the guy…I think. He’s extremely intelligent, calculating, and well-mannered, if a little cold. And yeah, physically I get that he’s a little imposing to most people—tall and built, dark black hair, piercing dark eyes, the almost supernaturally pale skin in contrast, the high cheekbones and chiseled jaw. But it’s not the physical about him that spooks me.
It’s that I recognize deep-seated and well-covered inner darkness when I see it. Damaged recognizes damaged. What Deimos’ hidden demons are and what caused them, I can only guess. But whatever it is, those scars rundeep.
“Castle,” he growls in that slightly roughened voice of his as he steps into the apartment and glances around. “Callie?”
“Shower,” I say casually, walking over to the kitchen area. I’mobviouslynot going to add that she’s showering because not twenty minutes ago, she was bent over the very kitchen counter I’m currently leaning against and moaning as she came all over my cock.
I raise a brow to Deimos as he follows me into the kitchen. “Want a beer or coffee or something?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you,” he growls quietly. He rolls his neck, giving me a peek of the myriad of tattoos that creep up from his collar. “I just wanted to drop by to give you the good news in person.”
“I’m all ears.”
He smirks, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the fridge. “You’re in the clear, on all fronts.”
My brows furrow. “Meaning?”
Deimos pulls two file folders out of his jacket. He thumbs one open and then tosses it onto the kitchen island in front of me.
“This won’t be made public until next week. But…” He shrugs eloquently. “I’ve got lots of little birdy friends who chirp all sorts of secrets to me.”
I nod as I reach for the file. I’ve heard that about Deimos. He doesn’t really advertise it, but he’s a bit of a spymaster in the criminal world, not unlike Dante Sartorre.
I open the file and my eyes drop to the photos inside—a bit blurry, and clearly shot with a drone. When I peer closer, I realize I’m looking at what looks like an outdoor wedding.
WIth Massimo Carveli standing at the altar next to a pretty girl all in white.
My eyes raise to Deimos. “That’s who I think it is, right?”
He nods. “Yup. And the victim, by which I mean the blushing bride, is Eloise LeBlanc.”
I frown, racking my brain for how I know the name before it finally clicks. “As in Andre LeBlanc’s daughter?”
I only know them slightly through reputation, but the LeBlancs are French Mafia. The same French Mafia who have historically been in a bloody all-out war with the Italians. Deimos clearly reads my expression, because he dips his chin.
“Yeah,” he snorts. “Thatshould be an interesting story.”
“I mean…” I shake my head in bewilderment. “How?”
“Who knows,” he mutters. “But, on the bright side…”
“This completely removes any interest the Carveli family might have in Callie.”
Deimos nods slowly. “Exactly. Now, that doesn’t mean theotherCommission families won’t be highly invested in seeing this marriage of yours and my sisters through for the next year, I’m sorry to say.”
Funny, because I’m not.
I almost flinch the split second that thought enters my head. It bursts in without warning, and when it does, it leaves me tense and frowning at a spot on the floor past the file folder in my hands.
I want to say it’s the soldier in me talking—that I signed up for a year-long mission, and I’ll damn well see it through to the end. But I know that’s bullshit.
