Hard Up: A Military Mafia Romance (4 page)

T
he silent car
ride to his apartment gave Callum time to brood. Mostly, over what a terrible idea it was to bring Viola home with him.

Cormac was in the driver’s seat, doing precautionary maneuvers like circling the block extra times, making sure they didn’t have a tail. It turned a ten minute drive into thirty minutes.

All the while, Callum stared out the window, pointedly not looking at
her
. Already this morning he’d bickered with her enough, over everything from her pop culture knowledge of the mafia to her panties, for fuck’s sake.

The problem was, he kind of liked to fuck with her. Her cheeks turning red, her eyes flashing… chest rising and falling a little faster, drawing his gaze down to her amazing tits…

Correction. The real problem was that Viola was hot as hell. A fact he knew all too well, seeing as how he’d already fucked her.

So why the hangup on his part? He usually forgot about chicks the second he slipped out of their beds. Viola… if Callum was honest with himself, he’d certainly planned to fuck her again.

He groaned internally.
She’s one hot girl in a fucking whole sea of hot girls. Get the hell over it.

Then there was the fact that she’d shot a man to save Callum’s life…

His lips thinned.
Doesn’t matter. You can’t fuck her again now. Get that out of your head.

By the time they pulled into the parking garage of Callum’s upscale condo building, he’d raked himself over the coals a dozen more times. The self-rebukes seemed to work, because he felt steadier, more in control of himself.

Cor parked the car and Callum climbed out first, checking that the garage was clear before helping Viola out of the car. Callum’s condo was one of dozens of the Cúram’s safe houses, but with all that was going on in Savannah today it paid to be extra cautious.

They took the gilded elevator up from the basement level to the penthouse, a sprawling renovated warehouse loft. Callum could feel Viola’s curious gaze on him as he led her into the apartment, could imagine what she thought as she took it in.

Two bedrooms, a home gym, and a huge open kitchen and living room area. Nice artwork on the walls, chic modern furniture, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, French doors that led out onto an expansive balcony.

Expensive, but completely impersonal. Just how Callum preferred it.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing Viola’s suitcase and heading toward the guest bedroom.

He saw Viola glance at Cormac and Declan, as if seeking some kind of comfort. Cormac remained stone-faced as usual. Declan at least inclined his head, which seemed to give her little reassurance.

Callum hustled her down the hallway that led to the identical bedrooms. He pointed to the guest bedroom door and followed her inside; the furniture was a little dusty, since no one ever stayed with him, but it had a big comfortable bed and those same beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Huh,” Viola said as she dumped her bag on the bed.

“Bathroom’s in the hall, between the bedrooms,” he said, pointing at the adjoining door. “And a walk-in closet. Not that you need to get too settled in or anything.”

Viola frowned. “Okay.”

“Stay put,” he ordered, turning and closing the door behind him.

He stilled for a second, exhaling a pent-up breath. Having her in his house was… strange.

He moved to his bedroom and quickly changed out of his clothes, dumping them in his laundry hamper. He was still moving slow, but the pain in his shoulder was almost gone. The pain in his hip was… bearable.

Callum headed back down the hall, finding Cormac and Declan waiting for him on the balcony. Or verandah, as Savannah locals might say.

Callum had lived in the South for months now, taking care of the Cúram’s holdings in Savannah. He still didn’t quite get the Southern accent or slang, being Boston born and bred.

He stepped out onto the balcony, frowning when Declan and Cormac went silent at his approach. He didn’t like being talked about, it was one of his pet peeves.

“Go ahead,” he said to them.

“Fucking A,” Cormac said, shaking his head and looking away. “What the hell have you got us into this time, Cal?”

Callum didn’t react. Of course they were going to be mad that he’d brought a stranger into their midst. If he was in their shoes, he’d be pissed, too.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he said slowly.

Declan grunted. “Look, she’s a perfectly nice girl. Bad bartender, nice tits, all that. None of it explains why she’s here, compromising our whole fucking operation.”

“I told you, she saved my damned life,” Callum said, leaning against the balcony’s wrought-iron railing and crossing his arms.

“So why not just give her some money to get out of town?” Cormac asked.

Callum squinted at him. “She shot one of the Valetti hitters, right as he stood over me with a gun leveled at my chest. Ordinary bystander, getting involved in Valetti family doings? They’d hunt her down and make an example out of her.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not exactly the first time you’ve gotten involved with a female civilian, is it?” Cormac said.

Callum flinched. “That’s unfair. What happened with Azara, that couldn’t have been guessed at.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t off making eyes at her, the whole day would’ve gone down differently and our unit would still be alive,” Cormac said, jabbing an accusing finger at Callum.

“Fuck off with that,” Callum growled.

“Hey, hey,” Declan said, ever the peacemaker. “Cormac, you fucking know that’s not true. We were set up from the beginning. None of that has anything to do with Callum’s… flirtation.”

Cormac muttered a curse and looked away again, this time with a tic in his jaw.

“Chill the fuck out,” Declan warned them both. “We made a pact, coming into this. We promised not to bring up the past, said that we would only look forward from here out. Savannah is a fresh start for all of us.”

He gave Cormac a meaningful look; Cormac’s own taboo romance had blown up in his face in Boston, and that was one of the main reasons they’d ended up stationed so far away from the rest of the Cúram.

“You know what? Do whatever you want. Tell her everything, blow our cover, get us all fucking killed,” Cormac said, storming off into the house. “I’ll be in the fucking car.”

Callum pinched the bridge of his nose. Declan sighed and shook his head.

“He’s never going to forgive me,” Callum said.

The same taboo love affair that had sent the Black Saints running from Boston had ended with the death of Cormac’s girlfriend. The girl was killed while she was with Callum, running a routine money drop between safe houses.

Cormac was never the warmest soul, but the death of his girl had turned his heart to ice. Sometimes Callum actually, genuinely worried for his friend’s
soul
.

“He’s still hurting. In time, he’ll come around,” Declan sighed.

He cocked his head, prompting Callum to turn around. Viola had apparently not taken his command to stay put very seriously, because she was wandering around the kitchen with a curious expression.

“She’s going to be a handful,” Callum sighed.

“Cal…” Declan said.

Callum glanced at his friend, cocking a brow.

“You can’t get involved with her,” Declan said slowly.

“I’m not going to.”

Now it was Declan’s turn to arch a brow. “I’m just guessing here, but from the way she looked at you at the bar… I think you already fucked her.”

Callum pulled a face.

“So what?”

“So, she’s fucking hot as hell and you’re a fucking manwhore who can’t keep it in his pants. Blonde, big tits, talks all soft and breathy? Just your goddamned type,” Declan uttered.

Declan had him there. Viola was exactly Callum’s type.

“Yeah, well. I figure I’ve learned one thing in the last few years,” Callum said. “And that’s the fact that I like being free of bullet holes more than I like getting my dick wet. I’ve already been shot once near her, she’s definitely bad fucking luck.”

Declan winced. The Irish blood in their veins made the Black Saints take the concept of bad luck very, very seriously. Maybe the good behavior and obedience of Catholicism hadn’t stuck with them, but the superstitions sure as hell had.

“You need to make things crystal fucking clear with her, the second I leave. Otherwise there’s gonna be baggage,” Declan said.

“Baggage, huh?” Callum asked, eyeing Viola as she opened cabinets in the kitchen, seemingly unafraid to make herself at home.

Declan reached out and snapped his fingers in front of Callum’s face. Callum gritted his teeth. He hated when people put their hands in his face. Anyone other than Declan or Cormac did that, they’d end up with broken fingers.

“This is what I’m talking about, right here,” Declan said. “You fuck her, you dump her, she goes running to the Valettis or the Richetti
familia
or whoever the fuck. Next thing you know, you and me and Cor are all fucking riddled with those bullet holes you claim to be trying to avoid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Callum said, pushing Declan’s hand away. “I get it.”

“Look at me,” Declan insisted. “Do. Not. Fuck. Her.”

“Okay, message received,” Callum groused.

“I’m off to go calm Cor down, probably hear him bitch about you for a fucking hour,” Declan said, moving toward the French doors.

“Good luck with that.”

Declan shot him a look. “My job is easy. You’re the one who has to call your uncle and tell him how fucked we are.”

Callum winced. His Uncle Fallon was notoriously mercurial, so there was no telling if Callum’s story would enrage or bore the head of the Cúram.

“Yeah. Fuck,” Callum muttered.

“And if I were you, I wouldn’t tell him about your passenger here,” Declan said, jerking his thumb toward Viola. “If you don’t want her to take a long walk to the Harbor, you need to get rid of her before Fallon even knows she’s here.”

Long walk to the Harbor meaning Viola’s body would turn up as a Jane Doe floating in Boston Harbor. It was the Cúram’s way of silencing unimportant, but pesky witnesses.

Callum just waved a hand at Declan, who rolled his eyes and headed out. Callum stayed on the balcony, watching Declan give Viola a silent salute as he left.

Viola turned and stared at Callum, a question written clearly on her face.

What now?

“What now, indeed,” he muttered to himself.

He had no idea what to do with her. He still had to work, still had to come and go, would still have to handle sensitive conversations. She was going to be a huge problem, because the more she saw and heard in his presence, the more danger she was in.

She’d saved his life, and Callum had sworn to himself that he would protect her.

But was bringing her into his life protecting her, or signing her death warrant?

V
iola nosed
through Callum’s cupboards and fridge as she watched his balcony meeting. She was starving, hadn’t eaten in half a day, but the drama outside was pretty riveting, too. Cormac stormed out of the loft first, with Declan leaving in a hurry not long after that.

She kept an eye on him as she made herself a peanut butter sandwich, bread and peanut butter being the only actual foods in Callum’s fridge. The rest was just wine, liquor, and various kinds of spicy mustard.

He didn’t come inside after the other two Black Saints departed. He pulled out his phone and had a long conversation, gesturing a lot as he talked. He looked angry, especially the moments when he glanced back at
her
.

I didn’t even want to come here
, she thought.
I could be driving across the state line right now, heading north through Tennessee
.

She took her sandwich back to the starkly impersonal guest bedroom, then spent a few minutes scattering dust bunnies and shaking out the bed linens.

Collapsing on the bed, she ate her sandwich in slow bites. She grabbed her cell phone, a half-formed idea bubbling up to the surface of her mind.

She wanted to know who she’d shot, and what the reaction to it was back home. There weren’t a lot of avenues to find that out, short of calling her father and asking…

Which she would never, ever do. If he found her…

She’d be bound, gagged, and on a plane back to New York before she could say
kidnapping victim
. And after that…

She shivered at the thought.  

Still, she had one more trick up her sleeve when it came to eavesdropping on her old life.

Vi didn’t exactly do social media, Facebook and Snapchat and all that stuff. After all, the last thing she wanted to do was broadcast her face and current whereabouts online.

But in order to check in with the
familia
and monitor their goings-on, she’d made a fake Facebook account under the name Gianna Falconi. Using a photo she’d found online of a cute Italian girl, she built up a whole fake story.

Gianna was a distant relative of the Valettis, a happy New York native who worked at a bakery and had little to do with her mob-connected family, but didn’t judge them either.

Viola was shocked at how many of the Valettis had accepted her profile as genuine. Soldiers that worked for her father’s crew, cousins and aunts that Viola had been close with as a girl. On top of that, she’d friended tons of girls from high school, who’d greeted her enthusiastically and always told her happy birthday on Gianna’s made-up birthday.

All of them were seemingly unable to tell one cute brunette from another, giving Viola access to a treasure trove of information.

The men were a little less blatant, but the women… they posted about everything in their lives. Photos of family gatherings, death and birth announcements, who’d married and divorced. Not just in the Valetti family, but in any of the five major Italian families that dominated New York.

So when Viola needed to know something about the people who’d populated her old life, she went straight to Facebook. She only had to scroll through a few posts before she found what she was looking for.

A photo of her high school friend Mariella, holding hands with her boyfriend, a smiling man with the dark eyes and dark hair that were unmistakably Sicilian in origin. Mariella’s status said, “I will always love you Antony, you are the love of my life. Send prayers and thoughts pls.”

Viola looked at the tag on the photo. Antony Valetti.

“Fuck!” she muttered.

Yep. She’d shot one of the Valetti soldiers. Not only that, but she’d killed him. If Callum couldn’t track down that witness, there was no telling what he might tell the Valettis about her, and she couldn’t have that. Not after what it had cost her to leave her old life behind.

When Viola had run away, her father had put out a substantial reward for her forcible return.

A photo of her at age nineteen had been plastered in every damned pasta joint and mob bar in New York City and half of Jersey; she’d seen that for herself in the few days between leaving her father’s house and managing to get herself out of the city.

Viola touched her long blonde hair, biting her lip. A gift from her Grecian model of a mother, she had gorgeous naturally flaxen locks.

Distinctive
locks. She’d only just got the courage to grow her hair out and stop dyeing it red this year, and she had to admit that she’d gotten quite vain about it. She really, really didn’t want to lose it…

But she’d also rather not be spotted, snatched off the street, and returned to her father so she could be forced to play third wife to one of his creepy old friends.

She’d have to get her hair on some dye and scissors, and sooner rather than later.

She walked her empty plate back out to the kitchen, finding the balcony and the rest of the loft vacant. If Callum was even here, she couldn’t tell.

Putting her plate in the empty dishwasher, she padded over to the front door. On impulse, she reached out and turned the handle, just testing.

Only it didn’t turn under her touch.

She grumbled a curse, rattling it. Her heart sunk in that moment, realizing that she was locked in.

Viola
hated
being trapped.

The last time she’d been captive, she’d still been living under her father’s roof, faced with the prospect of being forced into an arranged marriage.

She went through the apartment, checking Callum’s home gym first before working up the nerve to knock on his bedroom door. No answer.

She turned the handle, again just testing. It turned easily, but she didn’t try to open the door. If he was home, she had no idea what he might be doing just now.

She retreated down the hall to the guest bedroom on silent feet, contenting herself with watching TV on the enormous flat screen. She fell asleep watching some competitive cooking show, and when she opened her eyes again it was pitch black out.

She rose, turning off the TV, and then went to the window.

The window in her room looked out on a long cobblestone street. Lights twinkled here and there, but Savannah grew sleepy after dark. Unless it was St. Patrick’s Day or one of the big music festivals, the city was quiet at this hour.

It was one of the things that she loved and hated about Savannah. The first few months she’d lived here, she couldn’t shake that big city attitude, the feeling of being isolated and adrift in such a small city.

After living here a year though, she’d come to appreciate Savannah in different ways. Yeah, there were no twenty-four hour dim sum restaurants and the museums were less cosmopolitan, but the weather was nice most of the year and the local food was really good.

And for all its small-town ways, people had been very welcoming to her, not digging into her shallow and vague background stories. They took her at face value, not demanding anything more than that.

Vi pressed her fingertips against the window pane, trying to quell the sudden surge of worry. She still felt trapped, stifled. Controlled.

Tomorrow, she’d have to explain to Callum that she couldn’t stay here.

She heard a sound, something like a creaking footstep. Heart leaping into her throat, she turned her head toward it.

Silence.

Then,
creeeeeak
.

Someone was walking in the apartment.

No, not walking. Sneaking through the apartment.

What little she knew of Callum said that he wasn’t exactly a man who would sneak around in his own loft.

Vi tiptoed over to her suitcase, unzipping it as quickly and stealthily as she could. She fished around in the bottom, producing a switchblade. She was her father’s daughter, after all, and she didn’t take chances.

Keeping the blade closed, tucked against her palm, she padded to the door. Ever so softly, she opened her door and checked the hallway.

Clear, silent.

She crept down the hall, sticking to the wall to avoid those creaky spots in the floor. When she peeked into the kitchen and living room, she saw…

Nothing. No one.

Exhaling, she walked to the French doors, peering out onto the balcony.

Creeeeaaaak.

She whirled, heart pounding. Callum was only inches behind her, grabbing her wrists and twisting until she dropped the knife with a gasp. He picked her up and backed her against the French doors, knocking the wind from her lungs.

Only then did she notice that his eyes were barely open. He certainly wasn’t looking at her… in fact, he didn’t seem to be conscious.

“Callum, what the hell are you doing?!” she cried as he moved closer, caging her in against the window.

She struggled, and he growled softly until she stilled.

He pinned her in place, but didn’t hurt her. With his eyes still half-closed, he lifted a hand to brush a lock of hair back from her cheek, whispering something unintelligible under his breath.

What the hell is happening?
she wondered.

Then Callum leaned in, his lips descending to crush against hers in a hard, insistent kiss. She froze under his touch, completely confused as to why the hell Callum was…

Sleepwalking? Sleep-kissing? Whatever it was, she didn’t understand it.

He stepped closer, pressing his body up against hers. She gasped when she felt his erection against her belly, long and thick and unmistakable. When she opened her mouth, he invaded, sweeping his tongue against hers in sensual strokes.

Despite the strange moment, she couldn’t help the burst of heat low in her body, the way her breasts swelled slightly with arousal. Her mind instantly flashed to their night together, an illicit image of the way he bent her over, held her down, and fucked her until she screamed his name again and again.

His hand shifted to cup her breast, pinching her nipple through her thin t-shirt until she groaned. It felt good, but…

When he ground his cock against her belly again, sliding that hand down toward the waistband of her sleep shorts, she knew she had to stop him. If he touched her like that…

Well, she’d had a dose of his talent in
that
arena, with his fingers and his tongue. She might not be able to push him away after that; she absolutely could not complicate things any more than she already had by fucking him again.

She struggled, managing to catch his wrist and twist it at a painful angle.

His eyes opened, bright green and filled with confusion. He stilled, then shoved himself back from her body, his brow furrowing.

“What the fuck?” he said. Accusing, almost.

She cleared her throat. “You… you were sleepwalking?”

His expression tensed. “Go back to the guest room. You shouldn’t be out here at night.”

Callum turned on his heel and stormed off toward his bedroom, closing the door with a definitive slam.

Vi brought her fingertips to her lips, still swollen from his kiss. Her body ached for more, her traitorous brain couldn’t stop thinking of the last time…

Pushing off the glass door, she drifted toward the guest room, mind muddled with exhaustion…

And if she were honest, a little lust…