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Carlos wants to have an official ceremony, which was the reason for dinner last night. He insisted it take place in Italy, which means he has to wait until he’s cleared to fly. Which also means one more week of keeping a secret. A secret that gets heavier and heavier every time I look into Callisto’s eyes.
He knows my body inside and out. He notices everything. Sometimes I wonder if he feels it changing the same way I do.
I hate not telling him, but I understand now why he kept things from me in the past. Sometimes we keep secrets to protect people from themselves, to keep them from making choices that will change their course. Sometimes, we hold the darkness that a lie brings within ourselves so that others can find their way—not forever, just long enough for the light to guide them.
As of today, four things are official.
I am a registered nurse.
I applied for graduate school.
Callisto will take his father’s place.
And I’m pregnant.
Almost seven weeks along. He—or she—is about the size of a blueberry. A blueberry with arms and legs and a brain and kidneys. He’s going to be smart and strong. Just like his father. They say brown eyes are dominant. I hope he has Callisto’s eyes.
I’m pulling into Suppato’s for the first time since I left covered in Franco’s blood. A chill from the night air brushes across my skin when I step out of my car. There are no cars in the parking lot other than mine and Callisto’s. The restaurant is closed. It has been for almost an hour.
Callisto is working late and I was hoping to surprise him. I should’ve known he’d be here, walking across the parking lot like he’d been waiting for me. There’s no surprising a man who lives his life anticipating people’s next moves. My body warms the moment I see him.
His black dress shirt is tucked into matching black dress pants and rolled up his forearms. His dark brown hair lies in perfect chaos on top of his head. The looks of a sinner with the patience of a saint. He pierces me with a look so dark, so fierce, I might melt. Then, his lips, full and delicious, part to reveal the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
His hand finds the small of my back, and my entire body vibrates. Every time he touches me, my body sings with the anticipation of what’s to come. Every time he’s close, I want him closer.
“Hungry?” he asks in that deep timbre I love.
Starving. “What’s on the menu?” My hand drifts along the side of his neck, then up the sides to the strong curve of his jaw. My thumb skims neatly-trimmed scruff there. This feeling will never get old. As long as I’m with him, he will make the butterflies flutter in my stomach. He will make my heart skip a beat. And when he looks at me the way he’s looking at me right now, a familiar heat will spread through my veins straight to my core.
“You’re trying to make me fuck you.”
“Is it working?” I want him. No. I need him. I crave him. So much so that I physically ache.
He grabs my hand and drags me around the corner of the building, then pushes me against the hard brick wall. Here, we’re hidden in the shadows. Here, only glimpses of our figures can be seen by the reflection of the moonlight.
He presses against me, and the rough edge of the bricks digs into my back. Electricity pulses between us as he finds the hem of my short red dress. He glides his palm up the side of my thigh, bringing the thin fabric with it. He digs his fingers into my flesh, lifting my leg off the ground and wrapping it around his waist.
“Do you remember the first night I saw you here?” he asks, his free hand tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
How could I forget?
“Yes,” I answer, breathless and nervous, wanting to feel more than just his hand on my thigh.
The memory of that night comes back full force. I was with Reid Landry, and Callisto was nothing more than a shadowed figure in a hoodie and a baseball cap. He stopped long enough to warn me to stay out of the darkness. I didn’t know then what he meant by that. Now I do.
“Were you afraid then?” His face nuzzles in the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
“A little.”
Any sane person would’ve been. Callisto is a very intimidating man. He towers over me, the same way he towers over most people, and he can silence a crowded room with just one look. In his eyes he holds a power most men envy.
His fingers inch farther up my thigh, to my ass. “Are you afraid now?”
My eyes are locked on his lips. “No.”
“You should be.” He pushes his body against mine, pressing his erection on my clit.
I hear what he’s saying, and I know why he’s saying it. Callisto isn’t one for public affection. He says it’s a distraction, and distractions are dangerous. He’s trying to train me to be aware, to have a sixth sense the way he does. But the skills he possesses can’t be taught. He was made for this. I swear if he weren’t born into the mafia, he’d work for the CIA. He’s that good. Maybe that’s why I’m never scared when I’m with him. I know with as much certainty as I know my own name, that he would never let anything happen to me.
