Chapter Twenty-Six Lexie
My brain won’t shut up.
Not even a good rot-session on the couch can stop the incessant noise inside my head. I can’t seem to focus on the social media posts scrolling across my phone screen; my mind won’t stop obsessing over the questions that repeat on a loop. When did my life turn into such a complicated puzzle?
I let my eyes wander from the device in my hand back to the man sitting next to me on the couch. Callum isn’t working for once, there’s a book in his hands instead.
Just looking at him makes me want to jump his bones.
He’s so sexy, strong, and thick all over.
I’d like to lick every substantial inch of him.
I’m sure he’d enjoy every second of it too—before returning the favor.
As hard as he is to read, there’s never a single moment he’s not charged up and ready for any opportunity to have me.
Callum is an enigma with more complexities than I thought possible in one person.
His family is part of the New York Mafia, obviously very close to the head family.
With his connections and involvement, it’s obvious that he was a member of the Cosa Nostra at some point too. But that doesn’t seem right.
To be fair, my knowledge of the Mafia comes from true-crime documentaries and romance novels—so it’s more than possible that I’m wrong—but leaving the Mafia isn’t something you can do alive.
Live by the blood, die by the blood, and all that jazz.
“It’s difficult to read while you’re staring so hard,” Callum says, turning his head to meet my eyes. I don’t shy away from his gaze, staring at him in consideration. “Ask me, Dewdrop.”
“You’re a made man.” I wait, and he lifts one shoulder in vague confirmation. “Tell me how you left the Outfit with your life.” His brows jump in surprise, and he pauses to look me over thoughtfully.
“Knowing that information is dangerous,” he informs me.
“Apparently so is knowing you,” I point out mildly with a shrug. “What have you been looking for? Levi, Viktor, the guy with the finger. You’re obviously hunting something.”
“Not what, who. I’ve been hired to track down a sixteen-year-old girl.
” His answer knots my stomach. Sixteen? She’s so young, just a baby really.
I open my mouth to ask a follow-up question but think better of it.
It’s a rare occasion that Callum is open to questions.
There’s a bigger mystery that I want answers to.
I can finesse more answers about the girl later.
“How did you get into ‘fixing’? And how long have you been doing it?”
“So many questions, Dewdrop. But I have some of my own. I’ll make you a deal—truth for a truth.
” Of course he’s bargaining. It’s just like him to turn a conversation into a transaction.
He can’t simply give something away without receiving something in return, that wouldn’t benefit him.
Callum is an expert at spinning every situation for his gain.
But this request seems fair, so I agree.
“Deal.”
He leans forward to place his book on the coffee table, before settling back on the couch. I shift in my place in the corner of the plush sectional, crossing my legs underneath me to get comfy.
“Before Marcus and I were born, my father was part of the Cosa Nostra with Rafael Grassos’ father Don Salvator.
He was a loyal soldier, working closely with Rafael doing Family business.
At one of the street fairs, he met an Irish girl whose father was part of the Irish Mob.
One thing led to another and—despite all of the reasons not to—they fell in love. ”
“Aww, that’s so sweet.” I can’t help myself, it’s a regular star-crossed lovers’ story. Callum’s lips twitch with a smile, and he continues.
“They wanted to get married, but the Italians and the Irish were at war over alcohol trades and territory on the docks. So they made a plan. They knew the only way they could be together was to get pregnant and force their families’ hands.
They got married, and my brother was born three months later.
The wedding was more than tense, a few members from both sides even came to blows. ”
“That’s crazy.”
“It’s not uncommon.” He shrugs. “I grew up loyal to the Grassos family. I became a made man when I was fourteen. My initiation into the New York Mafia was taking care of a supplier who was stealing from Don Rafael. That was the first man I ever killed.” My stomach drops at the mention of murder, so I change the subject.
“What about your mom’s family?” Callum flashes me a concerned glance that says he notices the shift in conversation, but he answers.
“The Irish and the Italians made attempts to get along but turns out being civil proved to be impossible.” He shakes his head.
“I was twenty-one and my mother insisted we should get both sides of the family together for a Christmas party. My father thought it was a terrible idea, but trying to stop Tara Walsh-Russo from doing something is like trying to stop a hurricane—completely pointless. My father was right.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Exactly what you’d expect when you put members of rival mafias together in the same room. Old feuds sparked and things turned explosive. A fight broke out, and one of my mom’s brothers pulled his gun.”
“Someone got shot.” My eyes widen, and Callum nods.
“The bullet went through my mom’s spine, almost killing her. Because those fuckers lost their temper, my mom will never walk again.” His hand runs over his beard as he thinks back. “That’s when I realized blindly acting on emotions was dangerous. There are much better ways to get what you want.
“I slowly started to separate myself from the Outfit. I knew leaving outright would be a death sentence, so my moves started out small. I made myself indispensable to the Grassos family as a ‘cleaner’ of sorts, taking care of messes. I kept all the dusty skeletons from falling out of their closet. That’s how I met the Manici family who run the Chicago Syndicate, along with politicians, officials, celebrities, and CEOs.
Eventually I was valuable enough to step away from the family business relatively unscathed. ”
“Relatively unscathed?” I repeat.
“The Grassos felt possessive at first. They didn’t like when I started working with outsiders,” Callum explains. “The shift in power caused some growing pains, but ultimately Rafael learned his place.”
“So what about your brother? He’s still in family business, right?”
“That’s a different question. It’s my turn.” I open my mouth to protest, but the look he gives me is a reminder that I promised.
“Alright,” I agree, scooching forward on the cushion. “Shoot.”
“Tell me about the nightmares.” Callum doesn’t bother with small talk; there’s no beating around the bush. Instead, he plows straight to the point. This isn’t something I was planning on sharing with him—or anyone outside my therapist’s office.
I narrow my eyes as I mull it over. Callum sits patiently, watching and waiting. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for the story.
“Two weeks before my contract at New York Presbyterian ended, I was scheduled for a three-day stretch of twelve-hour shifts. A trauma came into the ER, a bus was hit by a semi-truck. The wreck was so bad, they were carting some of the victims in pieces.” I can’t help the tears that mist in my eyes, so I pull my gaze away.
Tilting my head back to look up at the ceiling, I will the waterworks to recede.
When the first tear falls down my cheek despite my best efforts, I close my eyes instead.
“I’ve seen a lot of carnage in my job, a lot of car accidents. But not like that.”
A shaky breath escapes me, anxiety dragging at my stomach at the memories. Biting my lip, I force out a calming breath before opening my eyes and lowering my chin. Callum sits silently, patiently. His eyes never leave my face, and a line forms between his brows.
“There were eighteen patients: seventeen from the bus, and the truck driver. Fifteen of them were between six and seven years old. It was a school bus.” I can’t help the sob that escapes me.
I close my eyes again and strong arms wrap around me.
Then I’m being pulled onto Callum’s lap.
His body envelops mine, his solid frame settling some of the panic inside me as I’m tucked under his chin.
“A class of first graders was going on a field trip to the Museum of Natural History. It was their first real trip away from the school as full-day students.” My voice trembles, shoulders shaking as I suck in shallow breaths.
Callum doesn’t say a word, somehow knowing that I need to get this out.
“One of the little girls, Andie, was crushed from the neck down.
Every one of her organs was affected, and she was bleeding out internally.
“She kept asking me when she could see the dinosaurs. She said she sold cupcakes for the money to buy her ticket. All of the operating rooms were filled with other children who had better chances of survival. Andie Brentwood bled out forty-three minutes after the crash, holding my hand. Her parents weren’t there yet, they couldn’t get to the hospital because of the traffic caused by the accident. ”
Andie’s face flashes behind my closed eyes; curly blonde hair, wide brown eyes lit with pain, and two missing front teeth.
I have to open my eyes before the image breaks me.
“Three kids out of fifteen survived. Two of them are expected to fully recover, one will be in a wheelchair the rest of his life. The bus driver and the teacher died at the scene.”
“And the truck driver?” Callum’s voice is gentle, his nose pressing into my hair. I can’t help the small huff of disgust at the memory of the man who caused the horrific massacre.