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29
Makenna
Callisto needed a break from the hospital and from the demons wreaking havoc in his mind, so he sent me a little black dress and told me to meet him for dinner. There’s a powerful thrill in watching him look at me the way he does when I wear what he tells me. It’s like the reality is better than the fantasy he had in mind when he chose it. Right now, he’s looking at me from the other side of a dimly lit booth at a classy restaurant, and I feel anything but ladylike.
There could be a thousand miles between us, and I’d still feel the heat in his eyes when he wants to touch me.
He reaches across the table, taking my hand. A simple touch that sends waves of need sprouting in every nerve. I cross my legs, squeezing my thighs together.
He runs the pad of his thumb across the top of my hand and locks eyes with me. “Tell me you aren’t wearing panties.”
“I’m not wearing panties. Your turn.” My eyes challenge him. “Tell me what you’re keeping from me.”Tell me what’s been bothering you. Tell me you’re worried about your father. Tell me what’s been keeping you awake when you don’t think I notice. Tell me your secrets, so I can tell you mine.
He sighs. His eyes fall closed, then melt my heart when they open again. He keeps everything locked so tightly inside. I want to reach inside and drag him out of the hole his pain has buried him in. But how do I save someone who believes they’re unsavable?
“Now isn’t the time.”
Translation: We don’t talk about me.
“Right.” My jaw tightens.
There’s something he’s not telling me. I feel it. And it stings.
You’re keeping a secret too.
A wall is building between us. The bricks have been dropping since Carlos had his heart attack. Stacking with every unspoken word. Piling high, blocking me in.Just talk to me.
“In my world, words are weapons. They can get you killed.” A mix of emotions war in his eyes, a flashing storm. He squeezes my hand, tugs it, forcing me to lean forward over the tabletop. “The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
“I know you think you’re protecting me by shutting me out. But how can I protect myself if I don’t even know what can hurt me?”Let me in.
“I’llprotect you. That’smyjob.”
I pull my hand from his, sliding across the green vinyl and out of the booth. I walk around and slide in next to him, pulse racing. “And I love you for that. But, I’m not fragile. If I haven’t proved that to you by now, I never will.”
The waiter shows up with our food, and Callisto drapes the black cloth napkin across his lap, indicating the conversation is over. For now.
I’m tearing down that freaking wall whether he likes it or not.
30
Callisto
My father took over for his father before I was born. Back then, the mafia was old school. Made men didn’t brag about being made men, and everyone followed the ten commandments of the mafia as though Moses had written them himself. My father and a few other bosses don’t engage in things like human trafficking or drug smuggling. They don’t make deals with cops, and they don’t have to pull their dicks out to prove whose is bigger. Respect is understood. They didn’t always make their money the legal way, still don’t, but people weren’t sold to other people and they sure as shit weren’t responsible for the rising heroin overdose statistics. If you were marked by the mafia, it’s because you deserved it, not because it put a dollar in someone’s pocket.
I suppose in some ways, I’m lucky. I could’ve ended up like Morano.
Dad gets out of the hospital tomorrow, and we need to talk about where we all go from here. I can’t let the name he built for us go to shit the way some of the otherfamigliashave. The only way to do that is to run it myself. Which is why I’m meeting Franco for lunch at a small, locally-owned place where we won’t attract too much attention. By the time I arrive, he’s already waiting for me in a booth at the back of the restaurant. His gray hair is styled to the side and he’s wearing his signature white button-up with gray pants. The only difference is now he’s got a sling over his shoulder thanks to the bullet wound.
I slide across the smooth black leather and shake his hand with a smile, the way two old friends meeting for a drink would.
The waitress walks up, looking everywhere but directly at my face. “Can I get you something to drink?”
I know her, but right now I can’t place how.
“Whiskey. Neat.”
For a split second, she makes eye contact with me. She’s terrified. She’s fighting hard not to show it, but I know fear, and this woman is damn near drowning in it.Renee.At least that’s what her name tag says. I usually remember every face of every person I cross paths with, especially those on the wrong side of my wrath. I’d remember if she had a reason to be afraid.
