Portia"Jesus!" I'm startled at the look of the very large and very excited German Shepherd that comes through the door.Callahan turns to look at me with a grin on his face-asshole which is gone the instant the giant hound sniffs me then sets his head on my lap, tail wagging like we're old friends.I admit, this is a scary looking dog but they're usually the sweetest. It's the little fuckers you have to watch for. I still remember a friend's yappy poodle chasing me around the dining room table on my first visit to her house when I was barely five."Well, hi there. What's your name, sweetie?" I ask him in a voice that makes Callahan roll his eyes as I lean down to cuddle the dog.Callahan mutters something under his breath. I don't hear what it is, but he sounds annoyed. Good."Cerberus. Here." He points beside him, but Callahan nuzzles his nose into my hair behind my ear. "Christ," he mutters and tugs the dog away. “Sit.""Hey!"The dog whines but sits, just barely, tail still waggin
Portia "Hey." I try to claw his arm off. “Where are we going?”He stops, looks back at me. “You saw your brother. He's fed. He's unhurt. Let's go.""That's not really fair.""It's exactly what you asked for.""But...no. That's not...I want to talk to him. Can he come upstairs, please? He's harmless." I gesture to Nathan as if to make a point."Are you warm?" Callahan asks Nathan over my head."I...guess." I forget how young he is. Just a kid. So unlike Vincent and Gregory were. “I have a blanket." He points to it as if he doesn't want to be any trouble.Callahan turns back to me. "You'll visit tomorrow." He pulls me to the stairs."He's probably scared down here all alone.""I think he's old enough to no longer be afraid of the dark. Let's go. If you give me trouble, you won't see him again."I go with him because I don't have much choice. "Does that mean we'll both be alive tomorrow?" I ask when we're upstairs.He releases me, looks down at me. Sweeps his eyes over my — his — clot
CallahanI don't look at my mother's portrait when I pass it, but turn the corner into a darker corridor. I make my way to my study thinking about what Portia said. That I have my mother's eyes. It's such a strange comment to make. Especially from her.Once inside, I close the door. The desk lamp is on. I set the whiskey bottle down, pull my sweater over my head, and sit before pouring another into a glass Lenore left on the desk. She worked for us before, too, and has been living with her family for the ten years since the massacre. She was one of the few people who knew Antonio and I were alive.I took three bullets during the attack. Two to my torso, One to my head. They'd mistaken me for a soldier or I'm sure I would be dead now. No execution style killing for me. But I did watch from my place on the bloody marble floor that mom loved so much. I remember how cold it felt, even in the July heat. How that small, inconsequential detail stood out.My older brother and father were al
Callahan "Do you know the story of Heathcliff the Betrayer?" she asks, slurring her words.“You're drunk, Portia.”"First, he tricked his brother." There's that finger again, making some drunken point. "Then his father. Do you know it?"“Yes, I know the story. What does that have to do with anything?"“My uncle is a liar. Among other things. He can't help himself. It's in his name. You can't escape your name.”I step closer, narrow my eyes. "Are you always so philosophical when you're drunk?""I'm not drunk.""Besides, there's no such thing as destiny. We have free choice. People choose what they are.""You mean who they are.""I mean what they are."She considers for a moment before standing and coming up to meet me, to push her slender finger into the middle of my chest."Do you know the man you have aligned yourself with, Callahan Scarfoni? Do you have any idea what he is?"One knee gives out and I catch her elbow to steady her. I open my mouth to tell her I know exactly what her
PortiaI wake to a violent pounding in my head. I groan, turn over, burying my face in the pillow, the unfamiliar feel of it — mine is softer.And mine doesn't smell like him. My eyelids fly open and bright sunlight makes my head hurt worse.This is the second day now I'm waking with a headache. This one I did to myself.Whiskey.Too much of it.It takes me a long minute to get up the courage to look behind me. But when I do, I find the bed empty and realize what that sound is. The shower.He did sleep here, I realize. I still see the indentation from his head on the pillow and when I reach to touch it tentatively, it's still warm.I wanted this, right? To be passed out when he touched me? So, I wouldn't remember it.What do I remember? Not much.Lifting the comforter, I peer underneath, surprised to find I'm still wearing his clothes.The tie is gone, and the pants are down around my ankles, but I don't feel anything. I would feel it if he'd touched me. I've had sex before. I know ho
CallahanShe's ruffled me. Gotten under my skin.I'm distracted when I walk out of the room. I fist my hand, relax it. I swear I can still feel the pulse at her throat in my fist. I need to be careful. I need to check my rage. I may need her yet.And I don't want to hurt her."Callahan," Alec calls out. He has to do it a second time before I stop and turn. I didn't even see him outside the door. "Everything okay?"“Everything's splendid. Stay with her. She can spend five minutes with her brother after she eats. Then I want her in that room unless she's in the kitchen with Lenore. She's not to go outside and you're not to leave her side, understand?"He appears momentarily confused and I realize how intense I sound but he schools his features and nods."Good." I look at my bedroom door behind which is my infuriating captive. I give a shake of my head to clear the assault of her words. I'm walking down the stairs but before I've even reached the bottom, I smell it. Burnt sugar.I inhale
Callahan"Here." He hands me a folder out of his briefcase. He's old-school. Leave no electronic trail. Ever. It's probably what's kept him out of prison.I open the folder and the first thing I see is a grainy photo of the man who orchestrated my family's massacre.The younger Fernando Mancini.I flip through the photos, look at the vast, empty land around him. I look at the men in their pickup trucks, the porch of the house he's stepping into. The bigger house I don't recognize.“He's in Mexico?"My uncle nods. “Making an alliance between the Esmeralda Cartel, which he considers himself the head of since he is engaged to Portia — ”"He can consider himself the fucking king of England for all I care. It makes no difference to me. Like I said, he's no longer engaged to Portia. She told me she'd rather kill herself than fuck him."“Well, that'll be news to him then.""Go on. I recognize the Esmeralda house. But what's this one? With whom is he forging this alliance?""Felix Pérez. Heat
PortiaI'm sitting in the kitchen flipping through an old Italian cookbook, my hand absently petting Cerberus when I hear the sound of the chopper. I look at the clock. It's a little after nine at night.Lenore, who has been sitting across from me making a shopping list, gets up and puts the espresso pot on the stove.“He'll want coffee," she says to me.Alec glances out the window. He's been my shadow today and if it wasn't for Lenore telling him I could walk out to the greenhouse to collect fresh vegetables, I'm pretty sure I'd have been locked up inside all day.At least I got to see Nathan. He told me that Alec had brought down the entirety of the cake last night.I wonder if I should go up to my room. Well, his room. Will he really make me kneel to apologize to him? And if so, would he make me do it in front of Lenore? I feel my face burn just thinking about it.But he does deserve an apology. I do know that. What I said, what I accused him of, it wasn't right especially knowing