THE CALLAHANS (A Mafia Romance): The Complete 5 Books Series (51 page)

Amelia

“Keep a close eye on him. We weren’t terribly sure about the dosage,” Mickey said, slipping a room key into my hand. “And make sure you get to the chapel by four.”

“He has no idea what we’re doing?”

“No. But you can trust me. This will all work out for everyone.”

I watched him walk away, fear pounding in my chest as I turned to the hotel room door. I’d never been in the guest rooms before, never had a reason to be. But this moment had the power to change everything.

I closed my eyes and another moment burst across my mind. My mother and father fighting, my father screaming at the top of his lungs like some sort of child. I hadn’t thought about those fights in years, yet they were suddenly right there, ready for me to snatch whenever I needed one.

Or didn’t need it.

I remembered how splotchy my father’s face was when he came to my school to tell me Mother had left him. I remembered the name he spoke, the man who’d ripped our family apart.

Brian Callahan.

This was my opportunity to fix all that had gone wrong in my life, in my father’s life. I could at least repair some of the damage and return things to a livable condition. And what difference did it make if Brian Callahan’s son was hurt in the process? He hadn’t cared when his actions destroyed me and the future I’d had planned for myself.

I took a deep breath and used the key to open the door. He was standing by a table at the back of the room, repeatedly removing the lids from room service dishes.

“What is this? Are we having dinner?”

“We are, Mr. Callahan.”

“Lovely. I enjoy having dinner with beautiful women.”

He crossed the room and came to me, taking my hands in his. He was nothing like what I’d expected. He was tall and dark, his hair cut so short as to not be there, his features so delicate that he almost resembled a china doll, if a china doll could be masculine.

He was beautiful. And he thought I was, too.

“I seem to be having some trouble with my memory,” he said slowly. “Did I invite you up?”

“Yes. You did.”

“Lovely.”

“You’ve been drugged, Mr. Callahan,” I said softly. “So that we can use you and do things that we shouldn’t be proud of. But when it’s all over, some of us will walk away better than how we came into this game.”

“Good,” he said with a bright smile. “Let’s begin this game, then.”

Amelia

He was sitting at one of the blackjack tables, his dark expression letting the whole room know that he wasn’t terribly happy with the way things were going. But, again, that was already obvious. He’d been losing fairly steadily for the last few hours.

“He’s pretty, isn’t he?”

I blushed, turning away as I picked up a fresh tray of drinks. “Just a customer,” I said.

“‘Just a customer,’” Joy, my coworker said. “Yeah. But he also happens to be the son of the guy who owns this place.”

“Ian Callahan? He’s not old enough to have a son.”

“Ian isn’t the owner; he’s also the owner’s son. No, that’s Kyle Callahan.”

“Kyle?”

“His father is Brian Callahan…you know, CEO of MCorp in Boston? That guy who was arrested last month on RICO charges?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Brian Callahan owns this place. Ian just manages everything for him with Mickey. And that,” she said, pointing to the man at the blackjack tables who was losing so badly, “is Kyle, his son. From what I understand, Kyle, Ian, and several of their siblings are adopted, which explains why he looks almost nothing like Ian.”

I nodded, my thoughts suddenly whirling. “Does that mean he’s got a trust fund, like Ian?”

“I suppose so. From what people around here have been saying, he’s worth quite a bit. Never fails to pay his gambling debts even when they’re in the thousands. And he tips really well. Last time he was here, he gave me a hundred dollar bill as a tip. And Lacy, on the day shift? She said that he once gave her over a thousand.”

The subject of our conversation shoved his hand across his chips, cursing loud enough to make it pretty clear that this hand hadn’t gone any better than the last few. He sat back and studied the dealer—who was trying to look indifferent, but his amusement was dancing in his eyes—trying to decide if he should go one more round.

“He likes to pick a girl and lavish her with dinner and drinks when he’s done for the day,” Joy said near my ear, as she headed out with her own tray of fresh drinks. “Last night was Candi. She says he has quite a talented tongue. And the night before was Miranda. She told me that he’s like the Energizer Bunny…he keeps going and going and going.” She laughed at the shock on my face. “That’s a wonderful thing, my dear, chaste friend. Maybe he’ll chose you tonight.”

She winked as she walked away.

I delivered my drinks, hyper-aware of the sounds coming from the blackjack table. People were standing around, egging him on. They seemed interested in watching him go all in, but he was coming up with all these excuses as to why he shouldn’t. I watched, fascinated by his charm. Even though he was clearly annoyed, he was being incredibly polite to these strangers.

“Hello, little lady,” he said to one woman, who was standing just beside him with a man who looked like her grandfather—though I was pretty sure the man was her husband. “Would you mind coming a little closer? Maybe your nearness will impart a little luck on me.”

She giggled, but sidled up closer to him, resting her hand, almost hesitantly, on his shoulder. He smiled up at her before asking for another hit. The card he’d wanted came up, and the crowd cheered as he raked in a significant amount of chips for the win.

He spotted me as I sidled up to the table, dropping off a drink for one of the other players.

“Could I get a vodka and cranberry?” he asked, a touch of a Bostonian accent making his words slightly warmer.

“Yes, sir.”

I walked away, sliding my tips into my pocket before returning the tray to the bar and calling out a new set of orders. When I returned to the blackjack table, he was watching, his warm eyes like a bath of caramel rushing over my flesh. I’d never seen a man quite as handsome as he was. There were a lot of people who came and went through this town, a lot of them rich and dressed in clothes that I couldn’t afford in a year of tips, let alone the paltry salary I drew from this dead-end job. But none of them were quite as handsome as he was, even the occasional celebrity we had come through here.

I could feel my hands shake as I set the glass in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his eyes sliding slowly over me. He dropped a handful of bills on my tray, winking before he turned back to his game.

Mickey came up behind me a little less than an hour later.

“What time are you off tonight, Amy?”

“Midnight.”

“I can have Joy finish your shift.”

“Why?”

Mickey—he was a short, stocky guy, who looked like a caricature of all the mob guys in all the movies Hollywood has ever made—smiled as he ran his hand nervously over his well-greased, slicked-back hair. The smile was clearly forced.

“I know you don’t like this kind of thing, but one of our VIP guests would like to take you to dinner.”

“Which VIP?”

“Mr. Callahan.” He leaned a little closer, the stink of his sweat reaching my nostrils just before the overwhelming woodiness of his cologne. “As in Callahan Industries? The people who own this place?”

I glanced at the blackjack table, but Kyle Callahan wasn’t there anymore.

“He asked for me?”

Mickey inclined his head. “I know you don’t like this stuff, but this guy—”

“It’s fine. I’ll go.”

Mickey’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

I shrugged. “He’s the owner’s son, right?”

Mickey’s eyes widened slightly, but he smiled. “That’s right. So, why don’t you run along, go pretty yourself up, and go to the Presidential Suite at eleven?”

“Okay.”

Mickey’s eyes seemed like they were ready to pop out of his head as he watched me put my tray down and head for the door. He really was expecting a fight, and that shouldn’t have surprised me. I did fight him whenever he suggested such things. I wasn’t a prostitute, and I wasn’t going to pretend I was. Sleeping with the guests was something the other girls did quite willingly, but I still insisted on holding onto the tattered cloth of my dignity. I hadn’t wanted to take this job, and I hadn’t wanted to even come to this God forsaken city.

But this was different. This guy could be the answer to my prayers.

I drove home to my crappy, little, economy-sized apartment and quickly stripped, jumping into the shower. I smelled like the bottom of a booze bottle, one of the perks of working as a cocktail waitress. The other was the bruises on my ass from all the guys who thought it was okay to pinch me. But bruises on my ass were a lot better than bruises on other parts of my anatomy, I supposed. Wouldn’t they be amazed if they knew the truth about me? Most of these guys assumed I was just like the other girls, willing to do just about anything to make a buck or two extra. The truth was, I needed this job and I desperately needed the money I made from it. I had expenses, expenses most of these people would never understand. My life was not as simple as they might believe.

I wasn’t a high school dropout like Joy. I was valedictorian at my high school—and nearly graduated college summa cum laude.

I wasn’t a single mother like Callie—not that there was anything wrong with that.

I wasn’t a drug addict or in recovery of any kind.

I didn’t run away from an abusive father or a mother who drank her breakfast. I missed my family with everything I had.

I wasn’t any of those things. I’d lived a life of privilege and comfort. When things changed, I could have turned my back on the struggle my father found himself fighting. But I didn’t. I was here because it was the only way I could help.

And the kind of money Kyle Callahan had, the kind of influence his family had, could change everything. I could fix things for my dad.

I
had
to fix things for my dad. After all, it was my fault he was in the mess he was in.

I showered quickly and looked myself in the mirror. I wasn’t a bad-looking girl. I had dark hair that used to sport these perfect blond highlights, but now they were faded and sort of brass-colored these days. But I had a good figure—even if my breasts were a little bigger than I would have preferred and my ass was a little flatter than I would have liked. At least my belly was flat and the scar that ran along my hip wasn’t all that visible anymore. It was a stupid accident, a horse-riding incident. I’d hit the metal fence and it had ripped the flesh from my hip. But it’d healed nicely and the scar, as I said, was barely visible anymore. I had a long, straight nose, a few freckles scattered along my cheekbones that were easily hidden with a little foundation, and blue eyes that most guys seemed to find exciting. I didn’t see what was so exciting, but my college boyfriend used to go on and on about them.

I thought about Kyle’s milk chocolate skin and those caramel eyes, and I found myself both thinking about how great it would be to jump into that sweet dish of ice cream and feeling the cold fingers of dread as I realized everything I would have to give up to convince him to do what I needed him to do.

It wasn’t as if I knew what I was doing. I’d never tried to manipulate anyone before. Hell, I’d never even flirted with anyone, really. I mean, a little innocent joking here and there, but not the kind of flirting women on television were capable of. Or the other waitresses. Most of them got better tips than I did because they could flirt much better than I ever could. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I couldn’t convince him to…?

There was no room for “what ifs” now. I had to do this, or everything I’d ever known would be gone.

This had to work.

Kyle

I woke with a start from this dream…it was one of those dreams that make you wonder what the hell you were thinking when you went to sleep. Mom—Abigail—was there and so was my real mother, the woman who totally destroyed us both with her stupidity. Everyone told me I’d forget, but the memories my biological mother left me with would never really fade. How could they? They were my reality for so long, this life I’d had with the Callahans was like a dream. I was lucky—and I knew that. This behavior, the gambling, was an insult. I knew I shouldn’t do it, especially here at Pops’ casino, especially not with everything that’d been going on with the family—we found a new sister Pops didn’t even know about, Stacy’s fiancé died and then she married Killian and had a kid, Pops got arrested on RICO charges (after marrying some woman he’d had an affair with years ago), and Sean disappeared with his new girlfriend, Delaney. I should be at home with the family, doing whatever it was I did with my time—sometimes even I didn’t know what that was—but, instead, I was here.

But, again, it was my birthday last night. If I couldn’t make stupid mistakes on my birthday, what could I do?

I rolled over and realized there was a young woman in bed beside me. That wasn’t unusual. What
was
unusual was that I didn’t remember inviting her into my bed. In fact, now that I thought about it, I couldn’t remember going to bed last night.

I sat up and nudged her a little, causing her to moan and roll onto her side. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her.

The last thing I remembered was coming up to my room after a particularly bad losing streak at the blackjack tables. I was usually pretty good at blackjack, but I was distracted by the things going on back home. And then there was this waitress…tall, dark, but with the most amazing blue eyes…

That’s who this was.

She looked different, sleeping like this. Relaxed in a way she hadn’t been on the casino floor last night. Her beautiful features were a little hard last night, the lack of a smile probably a big part of the problem. But her face was so relaxed now that I could see how gentle the curves of her jaw were and how high the arch of her cheeks was. And the widow’s peak at the center of her forehead was less severe with her hair down like this.

Beautiful. But what the hell was she doing in my bed?

I got up and searched around for my pants. There was a delicate black dress tossed over the back of a chair, one of those cocktail dresses that women wore to just about any formal occasion these days. This one was a couple of years out of fashion, but well taken care of. Must have bought it at one of those discount stores Abigail used to drag Stacy to—even though Pops told her over and over again that we could afford to buy those things from the boutiques on Rodeo Drive if she wanted to shop there.

“You can take the girl out of Dorchester, but you can never take Dorchester from the girl.”

That’s what Abigail always said. Maybe that’s why Stacy still shopped those little mini-malls—even though Killian and Stacy’s combined trust funds probably topped three or four billion dollars.

Pops was a generous man. We all had trust funds that began in the high hundred millions and had increased significantly—thanks in part to good management and lucky investments. I don’t think any of my siblings used their trust funds, except maybe to pay for their educations. I was the only one, and that was just to cover my gambling debts so that I wouldn’t embarrass Pops. Everything thing else I’d earned through my work for Jack and the Irish mob.

Jack—my father’s business partner at MCorp—required a hired man to protect him when he traveled, a man who could do anything that was necessary on the spur of the moment. He needed a man to make sure the Italians didn’t take him out in a moment of vulnerability. That was me. Pops knew about the role I played in the mob now. I don’t think he was aware that—before becoming Jack’s personal bodyguard—I worked as an enforcer for him, beating up poor, out of luck guys who owed Jack money for one reason or another.

Ironic, really. The gambler enforcing gambling debts among his own peers. That’s why I did most of my gambling here in Vegas. Not only was it an embarrassment to the family who took me in when I needed them most, but because it took something away from my reputation when my marks knew I was in the same position as them just the week before.

I found my jeans folded and sitting on the top of the dresser. Now I knew I hadn’t undressed myself because I’d never folded a pair of jeans if I could help it. I glanced back at the bed and noticed the simple gold band on the woman’s finger for the first time. What was her name? I couldn’t remember, though I did know that I’d asked Mickey at one point or another.

Mickey was a family friend, who helped me hide my gambling debts. He ran the casino for Callahan Industries, the little side company Pops had that owned this place. Ian was Managing Director of Callahan Industries, the one responsible for all the properties they owned. He’d put Mickey in charge with the thought that Mickey once ran numbers alongside Pops and Jack for the former head of the Irish mob, so he must be trustworthy. He wasn’t very competent, but he was a nice guy. Ian somehow managed to keep his mistakes hidden, and Mickey kept my mistakes hidden. It was all a win-win situation in my opinion.

But this girl…what did Mickey say her name was? Amy? Amethyst? Am…Amelia. That’s what it was. Amelia something.

It fit her, that name. Classy, but not unapproachable.

I tugged my jeans on, hoping Amelia’s husband wasn’t on the way up here to kill me. And then I realized that there was a matching ring on my finger.

What the fuck?

I pulled the ring off my left hand and stared at it. It was simple, unadorned. No carvings, no engravings. Just a simple gold band.

Why was I wearing it?

I didn’t get Pops and my brothers’ sudden need to tie themselves down to one woman. I mean…Pops had been married for twenty-five years to the perfect woman. Why would he want to saddle himself down to a new woman after only five years of bachelorhood? Surely he’d enjoyed the freedom of doing what he wanted and going where he wanted whenever he wanted, sleeping with every beautiful woman who came his way. I knew for a fact that he had a pretty, hot, young woman coming and going from his bed just weeks before he married Cassidy. I didn’t get it.

And Killian marrying our sister? I mean, they weren’t really related. Stacy wasn’t his blood sister, and she’d never officially been adopted by Abigail and Pops. But…still…why? There are so many beautiful women out there! Yet, he not only saddled himself with his sister as his bride—a woman who knew even the darkest secrets of his childhood—but he had a kid with her.

Then there was Sean. He’d suddenly moved in with this woman he knew for a month, then disappeared with her, supposedly running off to hike through Europe before he had to settle down to a new job at a local law firm. Why? He was doing pretty well working in the legal department at MCorp and running protection for Jack’s people. Why saddle himself down to some girl, even if she was Jack’s illegitimate daughter?

Even Kevin was getting into it. He was getting cozy with Brianna, Pops’ secret daughter with his new wife, Cassidy. She was beautiful, even I had to admit that, with her red hair and pretty green eyes. But she was not worth giving up his freedom for.

I’d never seen the point of marriage. Why marry a girl when you could get all the good parts of marriage without actually making any promises? Without the bad stuff weighing you down?

I really didn’t get it. I was perfectly happy sharing my bed with whatever girl happened to come along, moving on to the next pretty girl when that one became too clingy. There was a lot to be said about freedom. And a lack of commitment.

Commitment wasn’t my thing. The only thing I was willing to commit myself to for any length of time was the family who rescued me from a pretty dark childhood. Anything beyond that simply wasn’t my thing.

So why the hell did I have a wedding band on my damn finger?

I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but I was about to find out.

“Hey,” I said, after pulling on my shirt, pushing at her shoulder. “Wake up!”

She rolled over and groaned, reaching up to touch her forehead as she tried to focus on me. Then she remembered that she was naked, and she reached down to tug the sheet up around her chest, but not before I got a good look at the goods she wanted to hide. Damn, she was beautiful! I felt my cock start to stretch its legs as I looked down at her. Her skin was like the heavy cream Abigail used to whip up with a little bit of cinnamon in it. And her breasts were full, her nipples dark and long, just begging to be sucked. I bit my lip, wishing she’d drop the sheet and let me get a longer look.

“Hey,” she said softly, as she sat up against the headboard and reached up with her free hand to brush the hair out of her face.

“Who are you?”

She looked up, a little hurt crossing her beautiful, pale eyes. “Amelia,” she said, her full bottom lip sticking out a little bit. “You don’t remember?”

“Should I?”

She shrugged. “It was a crazy night, but I didn’t think you were that drunk.”

“Drunk? I don’t even remember taking the first sip.”

“Oh.” She blushed a little, the color only enhancing the beauty of her lovely features. “I thought…I…I didn’t,” she stammered, as she gathered the sheet around her and got off the bed, quickly covering her ass as she strutted toward the chair where her dress was draped. “I should go.”

“Not before you explain these.” I held up my hand so she could clearly see the wedding band I’d shoved back onto my finger for reasons I couldn’t even explain to myself. “The last thing I remember is coming up here after playing at the tables. Then I wake up and there’s a damn wedding band on my finger.”

“We got married.”

“I can see that. When? Where? Why?”

I wasn’t sure why I asked anything other than that last question. Why? Why did I get married? Why to her? Was someone playing a trick on us, or something?

“At the chapel down the street. You said you…” She blushed again, as she snatched up her dress and headed toward the bathroom.

“What did I say?”

She shrugged. “You said all the right things. You convinced me that we were meant to be together.”

“But I don’t even remember you.”

“Clearly.”

She slammed the door as she disappeared into the bathroom. I stood there for a moment, staring at the wrong side of that damn door. The last time I’d been in this position was with a girl in college who thought she was my girlfriend just because we shared a bed a couple of times. She got me worked up and then locked herself in the bathroom, refusing to come out until my roommate finally went and got the dorm’s resident adviser to talk her out. Needless to say, I never saw that girl again—and I was quite grateful for that.

But I got the feeling I wasn’t going to get out of this one quite so easily.

I slipped out of the bedroom and headed out to the balcony for some fresh air. On my way, I found the room service tray (from which we apparently ate our dinner) and a couple of bottles of wine (that we apparently drank) strewn across the floor. And there were pictures stacked on an end table…along with the wedding license.

We were legally married. It was quite clear in this document that bore my signature—even though I don’t remember actually signing it. And the pictures…I was wearing a tux that there was no sign of in the bedroom, and she was wearing a tacky wedding dress that looked like something that had traveled here through a time warp from the seventies.

What the fuck?

How could all of this happened and I had no memory of it?

She came out of the bedroom practically on my heels.

“I’ll call my lawyer,” I told her departing back. “He’ll arrange a quiet divorce.”

She stopped, but she didn’t turn to look at me. She simply stood very still for a long minute.

“I…I can’t do that.”

“Excuse me?”

She shook her head, her body still facing away from me. “I can’t get a divorce.”

“Why not?”

“My family’s Catholic. Very conservative.”

“So? This is 2016. No one gives a shit about Catholics using birth control or getting divorced.” Even as I said it, panic began to build in my chest. “You do use birth control, right?”

She crossed her arms over her chest as she turned to face me, tears forming in her big, bright eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re a cocktail waitress in a Las Vegas casino. You obviously know how the world works, right?”

“I never thought I’d be getting married to some asshole who was just going to send me packing the next day!”

“Then why did you agree to do all this?” I asked, picking up the pictures and waving them in the air. “Surely you understood that I wasn’t in my right mind last night.”

“I don’t know anything about you! For all I knew, you always acted like that!”

“Like what? Drunk off my ass?”

“You had all of three glasses of wine!”

“But I don’t remember anything about last night. Surely I had more than that.”