Chapter 16
Viviana
W aking up, my entire body feels deliciously sore. I smile into the dim light filtering through the main bedroom window. I heard Declan get up earlier, but I pretended to stay asleep. Honestly, I have no idea how to react after what happened last night. I need time to process everything—my feelings if I even have any beyond lust.
There’s no denying the overwhelming physical attraction I feel for him. Declan is as dominant in day-to-day life as he is in bed—though in bed, that dominance is taken to another level. The way he took my body and the care he showed to ensure I felt pleasure the entire time... it was unexpected.
I noticed his restraint—the way his muscles tensed, veins pulsing in his arms and hands, his entire body coiled with control.
The deep growls that reverberated from his chest seemed to make his tattoos come alive, dancing to the rhythm of his thrusts. Just thinking about
it now makes my core ache for him again. I need an icy cold shower before I lose my mind.
Feeling somewhat refreshed after the shower; I make my way to the living room. Declan is there in a perfectly tailored black suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and toned arms. His brothers are with him, looking equally sharp. The second I walk in, their conversation halts, and the air shifts.
“Morning,” Connor is the first to acknowledge me, his smirk revealing far too much. I feel heat rush to my face. Damn it, he probably heard us last night. I can’t deal with this. Not now.
I nod briefly at him before turning on my heel and heading toward the kitchen, but I don’t make it more than three steps before a strong hand grabs my arm. Declan spins me around, pressing me against the wall in the corner of the hallway.
Before I can say anything, his lips crash into mine. His arms cage me in as his tongue claims every inch of my mouth, devouring me with a hunger that makes my knees weak. I gasp for air as his intensity overwhelms me. He pulls back slowly, his piercing eyes locking onto mine.
His arms remain braced on either side of my head, forming a muscular, unyielding cage around me. My body betrays me entirely, screaming for him. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might break free of my chest, desperate to reach him.
“You weren’t going to say good morning?” he asks, his lips just an inch from mine. His warm breath brushes against my skin, and the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth makes me bite my bottom lip in response.
“You guys seemed busy. I didn’t want to interrupt,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds hoarse, as though I’m still drunk on the pleasure of last night. God, I need to get a grip on myself —or at least on my pussy, because she’s clearly running the show right now.
“Right,” he murmurs, his dangerously beautiful smile widening. That smile sends a jolt through me, melting any coherent thought I have left. “I’ll be gone until dinner. Wait for me in my room, alright, firecracker?”
God, why does his voice have to sound so menacing and sexy at the same time? My legs feel weak, my body melting like hot chocolate left out in the sun. Every word he says seems dirty, flirtatious—or maybe I’m just so horny that everything sounds suggestive now.
“Viviana,” his voice snaps me back to reality, low and amused. He’s still staring at me, his head tilted slightly, like he’s caught onto something I wish he hadn’t. Did he notice? Am I blushing? No... maybe not.
“Vi, are you even here?” His finger lightly pokes my forehead, and a teasing grin spreads across his face. The tip of his tongue glides over his bottom lip, and I swear the air between us crackles.
“I—I…” I stammer, shaking my head like an idiot. Now I know I’m blushing. My cheeks are burning, and I hate how obvious it must look.
His grin deepens, full of mischief and heat. “I’m thinking it too, firecracker,” he whispers, leaning in until his breath brushes against my ear. Then his teeth nip at my earlobe, sending an electric pulse straight down my spine, leaving my knees ready to give way.
“I’ll wait for you tonight, Dec,” I reply, somehow managing to sound steady as I trace light circles over his chest with my fingertips. His muscles tense beneath the crisp fabric of his suit, and I bite back a smirk.
His thumb presses gently under my chin, tilting my face up. His gaze drops to my lips. “It’ll be hard for you all day,” he murmurs, his voice a wicked groan. My triumphant smile spreads in response.
He laughs softly, and his lips capture mine again, softer this time, teasing. He sucks gently on my bottom lip, releasing it with a faint pop that leaves me breathless.
Then, just like that, he steps away. The absence of his warmth hits me like a cold gust of wind. I watch him retreat, his powerful strides commanding the room. The way his thighs move—those thighs that pinned me down last night, forcing me to open wider to take him...
No! Stop it, Viviana! Bad Viviana! What the hell is wrong with me? Calm down, for fuck’s sake!
I take a shaky breath, glancing around, desperate for a distraction. Anything to keep my spiralling thoughts at bay.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and my father’s name lights up the screen. My stomach twists as a wave of dread crashes over me. Not now. Not him.
I stare at the call, my chest tightening. It feels like the walls are closing in, squeezing the air out of my lungs. My heart pounds like a freight train under a mountain of bricks.
Shaking off the feeling, I focus on the task ahead. After everything that’s happened, I need answers. I need to be sure.
With the mansion empty except for a few guards in the lobby and outside, this is my chance. My pulse races as I climb the stairs to the top floor, each step amplifying my nerves. I stop in front of the door, my stomach churning. What if there are cameras? An alarm?
I take a deep breath, steadying my trembling hands. The lock is new, but I can pick it. My fingers work quickly, the faint click almost deafening in the silence.
The room is just as I remember. I scan the door frame and corners for signs of alarms or cameras—nothing. The faint scent of scented candles lingers, the kind she must have loved. Her ring and scarf sit undisturbed on the desk beneath the small window, frozen in time, just like the last time I was here.
A shiver runs down my spine as I remember that day. It feels wrong like I’m trespassing on sacred ground. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking the stillness. I’m not even sure if I’m apologizing to Declan or her.
I work quickly, taking photos of every document, picture, and list. I need to study all of this. If there’s something here, I’ll find it. When I’m done, I put everything back exactly as I found it. The lock clicks shut behind me as I leave, my heart pounding in my ears.
By the time I reach my room, my hands are clammy, and my breaths come in shallow gasps. A crushing weight settles on my chest, and I feel like I’m standing on the tracks, waiting for the freight train to hit.
I text Declan, asking if I can go to his office to grab a notebook and pen. I know the office is monitored with security cameras, and alarms. A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with a reply.
Declan:
Sure, the new notebooks are in the first drawer to the left, and the pens are on the table.
As I’m about to reply, another text appears:
Don’t touch anything else, firecracker, or I will punish you tonight.
Punish me? Is that supposed to be a bad thing? Don’t I want that? I lick my bottom lip, feeling my bratty side surface teasing me. “You can trust me,” I text back, adding a wink emoji.
His office is immaculate, almost intimidating. The walls are stark white, a sharp contrast to the black furniture that fills the space. A black oak desk sits directly under the window, paired with a sleek leather chair. Papers are neatly arranged around the desk, and the computer is off.
I open the first drawer as instructed and retrieve the notebook. From the corner of my eye, I catch a faint red light flickering in the
ceiling’s corner. Of course, Declan activated the live feed. I make a point not to glance directly at it as I take two pens from the desk.
Just as I’m about to leave, mischief ignites in my chest. Looking straight at the camera, I smirk, deliberately move one file from left to right, and stick my tongue out before walking out and locking the door behind me.
My phone buzzes, and I can’t help but shiver when I see Declan’s name.
I will enjoy punishing you tonight, little firecracker.
I laugh nervously, my heart racing. Oh God, what have I done?
Back in my room, I settle with a cup of hot tea and start going through the photos. Each image reveals fragments of a tragic story. I write down dates, times, and the list of suspects.
Was she killed on October 31st or November 1st? Two dates appear in the files.
Oh, she was discovered after midnight, so November 1st. My father told me that date himself. I remember it vividly because he had our chef prepare an elaborate dinner to celebrate my birthday since he couldn’t be there on the actual day—the 31st. He said he was working late—late… on a Saturday.
The victim was shot twice in the head.
The body appears to have been dragged from its original location.
The left side of the body shows more pronounced drag marks than the right.
Getting up, I grab a pillow and drag it across the floor, mimicking the movement. Over and over again, I focus on the right side.
Whoever did this couldn’t handle her weight evenly. Maybe they had a limp. Or a weak arm.
A weak arm… belonging to someone who broke it as a teenager climbing a tree in the backyard.
A weak arm… belonging to someone whose father took him to a private doctor, terrified that social services would intervene because of the other marks on his body.
A weak arm… treated in secret, with no records, no reports.
My stomach turns as the image burns into my mind: Elva lying in the dirt, blood pooling around her head. I can see Declan finding her like that. Tears sting my eyes. How did he bear it? How did he go on?
By killing everyone. That’s how.
I take a deep, steadying breath and pick up my phone, my hands ice cold. I call my father.
“I called you,” he snaps the moment he answers.
“And I’m returning the call,” I reply, my voice cold and emotionless. But inside, I’m boiling, the pressure mounting with every second.
“How’s the married life?” he asks, his tone as detached as mine.
“Great,” I say curtly. “Why did you call?”
“I heard about the latest attacks. Just wanted to know how the Callaghans are handling it,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. But I know him too well. There’s a tension in his voice, a hesitation he can’t quite mask.
“They’re handling it,” I reply, mirroring his tone.
“How? It’s important for us to know since we’re all part of the family,” he says, attempting to sound softer, even pleasant. But he can’t—not with me.
All part of the family? By “all,” he means me because there’s no way Declan would let him anywhere near his business.
“I don’t know. They keep it to themselves. And honestly, it’s none of my business,” I reply flatly.
“Tsk. You’re always so…” He makes a noise of disgust, the sound grating through me.
“So what, Dad?” My irritation flares, sharp and unyielding. Who the hell does he think he is?
“Disconnected,” he spits, dragging the word like poison from his lips.
“I am,” I answer coolly. “I keep my nose out of situations that don’t concern me. But if you’re so curious, why not call Declan directly?” My voice drips with sarcasm, knowing full well he’d never dare.
“Don’t use that tone with me, little girl! I am your father!” he roars. I can practically see his face, red with fury, his lips curled back in rage like a rabid dog.
Wish you weren’t.
“How’s your arm, Father?” I ask suddenly, the words escaping before I can stop them.
The line goes silent. Too silent.
“It’s fine,” he says tersely, his tone tight with annoyance. “Why?”
“It’s your right one, isn’t it?” I press, my pulse pounding in my ears. I close my eyes, my stomach twisting as I wait.
“No, it’s the left,” he snaps, and my heart sinks like a lead weight. The report flashes in my mind:
The left side of the body shows more pronounced drag marks than the right.
The burn of anger wells up inside me, hot and suffocating. My throat tightens, my chest feels like it’s caving in, and bile rises in my throat.
“Are you there, Viviana?” His voice cuts through the silence, sharper, angrier.
“Where were you on October 31st three years ago, Dad?” My voice trembles, betraying the storm inside me. My grip on the phone tightens so much it feels like it might shatter in my hand.
“Viviana,” he warns, his tone cold as ice. “Don’t dig into things that don’t concern you.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, a tremor shaking through me. My breath catches, and I can feel the walls closing in. “Please tell me you didn’t—”
“Shut the hell up, Viviana!” he roars, venom dripping from every word. “You keep your mouth shut, or I will shut it permanently!”
And in that instant, I know.
My father, Giovanni, killed Elva.