Chapter 25
25
C ALLAN
A tough, ruthless man can do a lot of things, yet this is not one of them.
I could put someone who’s wronged me six feet under.
I could burn down my enemy’s house.
I could do so many bad things.
Yet, seeing her go away, with her soul crumbling, is not something I can easily do.
The struggle is real.
In my short time with her, I learned two things.
She is genuine and loyal.
And she doesn’t deserve from me an empty promise or, worse, a silken lie. A false reality.
I can’t promise her anything at this point.
All I can do is make sure nothing bad happens to her.
Of all the people I have crossed paths with in my life, she is the one who least deserves bad things coming her way.
It’s unfortunate that she lives one floor down from Carmen.On the other hand, I would’ve never met her if it wasn’t for Carmen.
She paces herself as she walks down the street, and I don’t know what goes on through her mind, but I hope she feels what I feel.
The space stretching between us makes the thought that she’s gone unbearable.
Will I see her again?
Frankly, I don’t know. Anything could happen. Good stuff and bad stuff.
For sure, I want to stay away from her.
The worst stuff needs to come with me. Things she can’t have in her life. Like criminals and low lives.
Maybe I should just let her go. See about her life. Look for a job. Maybe think about moving someplace else.
One way or another, Carmen, her husband, and Alvarez won’t be a problem soon.
If the police don’t take care of them, I will.
But if it gets to that, and I take care of them, I might be facing an even bigger problem.
My invisible enemy will know.
He probably already knows about Mackenzie and me.
So I’ll make it look like she doesn’t matter much, so he can never think she may be used as leverage in his ploy.
I hate it when thugs go for the low-hanging fruit.The women and children.
I already hate that this guy is playing with me, waiting for me to make a mistake. Stealing from me and then sending me on a wild goose chase.
I don’t like to be fooled, and now that it impacts my life and the people close to me, I hate it even more.
She never turns around to look at me.
Why would she?
What good would it do to her?
I already told her what I had to say.
She knows I’m doing it for a reason. But that doesn’t take away the pain from my not changing my mind.
I lean back in my seat, pondering and grinding my teeth as I try to think of a better option. I don’t see one.
Even if I take a risk, this is not about risking my business. It’s about risking her life.
This isn’t about me as much as it is about her.
I hate seeing her go.
She was my sweet moment of reprieve, a nice reminder that life can be different. It doesn’t have to be about fighting and plotting out weird stuff.
It doesn’t have to be about revenge and protecting our turf.
Defending our positions.
It doesn’t have to be about acquiring power.
Power that gets us nothing in the end, or even worse, can get us killed.
My jaw is locked and tense when she vanishes out of my sight. A woman with long dark hair, a soft voice, and lips made of honey.
What has life come to?
I’m sitting here, grieving the only thing I can’t have.
A cold red sunset splashes over the road as I turn the ignition on and do one last thing for her. Or rather myself.
I roll my car down the street and check the neighborhood, making sure nothing weird is going on.
One of my men already surveils the street, and that is my consolation. At least she has protection.
As I slide past her building, nothing unusual catches my eye.
I slow down as I look up. Carmen’s windows are dark. And so are Mackenzie’s, which fills me with dread.
I pull my car to the side and call my man.
“Have you seen her?” I ask when he picks up.
“Yes. She went inside and then walked out, wearing different clothes. Then she crossed the street and kept walking.”
I tense up.
“Where was she headed?”
“One of my men says she walked past him. He's followed her to a store a couple blocks from here. He’s there, waiting for her.”
“Tell him to leave. I’ll take over.”
“Okay, Boss.”
We end the call, and I veer my car away and follow the lead.
Shortly after, I find a parking spot and pull my car to a stop.
Cold air nips at my face when I climb out and pop my collar.The snow crunches beneath my feet as I lock my car and cross the street.
It’s a small store with fresh vegetables and fruit. An Italian store.
She’s shopping inside.It makes sense. She hasn’t been home in three days.
I find myself standing in the middle of the sidewalk, people going past me, entering and exiting the store, while I watch her through the window store like a pervert.
“Sorry,” a woman says, snagging my elbow while having a hard time with a bag of groceries and a small kid.
A strap of the paper bag slips off her hand, and a couple of mandarines roll out and hit the pavement.
She spends a second transferring the bag from one hand to another while trying to convince her kid to stay still when I reach down and collect the fruit for her.
“Thank you,” she says.
I put them back into her grocery bag. She thanks me again, and I move closer to the window.
Mackenzie is no longer in my line of sight, and I peer around the store, annoyed. About a dozen people are in the store, shopping.
I still can’t see her.
Maybe I should go back and forget about her. Yeah, maybe… If there is a moment to make a stupid decision, this probably is.
Still undecided, I move to the side so I’m not creating hazardous conditions for moms with little kids.
Mackenzie is still out of my sight.
Has she gone out?
No, there’s no way.
I should’ve seen her.
She would’ve seen me.
What if she saw me and got away faster than I could spot her?
As ridiculous as it sounds, that thought makes me shudder.
That wouldn’t be good, would it?
I suck in a short breath and scan the area.
As far as I can see, no one qualifies as a suspect.
I notice the mom and the kid. A couple of teenagers holding hands. And an elderly man with a checkered cap and a small dog on a long leash, wearing a matching coat.
So far so good.
No one has snatched her up. That would surely be weird and prompt me to burn half of the city down.
I run nervous fingers through my hair and suck in another breath, getting ready to come up with a lie for her if she is, in fact, in the store, before looking at the entrance.
MACKENZIE
Moments earlier
The storm of emotions comes to a swift end when I realize I need to buy food before throwing myself a self-pity party.
And so, I quickly get irritated.
I don’t want to go out again.
I could order food, but I have to be careful with how I spend my money.
I won’t be working for him again any time soon.
I don’t think so.
Of course not.
The realization stirs me up, a cloud of dark energy hovering over me.
He may be gone, but my problems aren’t.
I pull on a new pair of pants, a long-sleeved top, and new socks before picking up my winter jacket.
From a kitchen drawer, I retrieve some money before snatching up my phone and collecting my keys.
Moments later, I’m out in the street, heading to an Italian grocery store around the corner.
I rarely go to this store. Not because I don’t like it or the food is not good––it’s great, by the way––but because it’s a little more expensive.
It’s getting dark outside when I enter the place and straightly go to the fresh produce aisle.
I’ve only walked once into this store before. There’s also a bakery and a section of freshly prepared food.
Lucky me.
I peruse the fresh veggies and put stuff in my shopping basket. Red bell pepper, tomatoes, apples, and grapes.
I pick up a loaf of bread, cheese, smoked fish, olives, and pickles.
At the bakery, I ask for a hazelnut cake.
My mouth waters as I check everything I’ve placed into my shopping basket. At the freshly cooked food section, I buy a cup of basil tomato soups and croutons.
I somewhat forget about what happened this afternoon as I lift my shopping basket and try to make my way to the register.
My eyes still move over a large variety of dome-shaped boxes of panettone sitting on a shelf when a nagging feeling jabs at my awareness.
I drag my eyes around the store, checking the people inside.
An older lady, a father and a son, and two women about my age catch my attention, but none of them make me suspicious.
Following the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans, I move away from the aisle and head to the front of the store.
The pitter-pattering of my heart stubbornly persists.
A few people are clumped together at the cash registers.
Luckily, both of them are open, and when the people in front of me step away and a man becomes visible, my jaw falls.
How could I not recognize him?
He wears the coat he had on an hour ago when we made the trip back from Long Island.
Busy paying for his coffee, he doesn’t notice me until he exchanges a few words with the woman across the counter, and picks up his drink.
My heart beats fast.
What is Callan doing here?
Obviously, he’s buying a cup of coffee, but what are the fucking chances?
I thought he’d go back to his home. Or someone else’s place.
Panicked, I look over my shoulder.
It’s too late to move away without drawing his eyes to me.
Plus, a man and a woman are in line behind me, waiting.
I sweat.
How do I make myself scarce?
And will this be one of those awkward moments when two people bump into each other and would rather be anywhere but in the space they’re sadly sharing?
Or, worse.
What if he gives me a suspicious look, thinking I have followed him here?
Although, he wasn’t in the store when I walked in.
He couldn’t be here, right?
Rivulets of sweat trickle down my neck, damping my hair.
The unavoidable moment of meeting each other’s eyes hovers over us, and I cringe inside at the thought that he would look at me with coldness, maybe grappling with displeasure.
Desperately, I look at the exit, making a quick calculation in my head.
If I left my shopping basket here and made a beeline for the exit, he’d still see me.
I take a deep breath, bottling up my frustration and preparing myself for making this evening even worse.
He casually tosses a glance over the shoulder when, surprise, surprise, he notices me.
My eyes are pinned on his face as I gauge his reaction.
“Oh…” he murmurs, slightly amused and feigning surprise as if he’s run into an old friend he hasn’t seen in a while.
This smells like a setup to me.
I might not know everything about this man, but I know enough to tell he’s acting and not even putting a lot of effort into it.
Before I have the chance to say anything, he dips his eyes and speaks again.
“Ring this up for me as well,” he says, grabbing my shopping basket and putting it on the counter.
The woman at the register looks at me, waiting for confirmation.
“She’s with me,” he says, destroying the orb of uncertainty and the unease in my chest. “Do you want anything else?” he asks, looking straight at me like we’re about to go home and cook dinner together.
“No,” I say quietly. “I can pay for it,” I argue, reaching inside my pocket to pull out my wallet.
He stops me with a gesture, looking at the woman.
“Ring her stuff up and also add some scratch-off tickets.”
He moves his attention to the lottery tickets.
“Five for her and five for me.”
He’s very particular about it, and I let him do his thing.
I never believed in lottery tickets.
Never bought a winning one.
Never enjoyed buying one.
Somehow, I always thought the odds were gently stacked against me.
I might not have had it the worse out there, but things could’ve been better.
I don’t know what his plan is, so I’m watching the woman taking the stuff I bought and placing it in a grocery bag after ringing it up.
A few moments later, he pays for everything, lifts the grocery bag from the counter, and holds the scratch-off lottery tickets up.
“Pick yours,” he says as if we’ve come together, and now, we're leaving together.
“Do you really believe in this?” I ask skeptically as we walk out and stop a few feet from the store.
“I like to taunt fate once in a while. See if she wants to surprise me for once,” he says, smiling.
“Oh, so you’ve never won anything,” I say, looking at the tickets and plucking five like they were petals.
“I’ve won money here and there. It can be fun.”
I bite back a caustic reply, having a hard time concealing my distrust in his theory.
I’ve never been amused when losing money. Quite the opposite. I’m a sour loser.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he says, pointing to a small cafe.
“We’re not going inside. You’ve got your coffee,” I say, pointing to his drink. “And I’m not drinking coffee at this hour.”
“You wanna bet?” he says, flashing a grin.
He already pulls the door open for me, balancing the bag and his coffee and directing me inside.
The barista seems to know him as he rushes to take my bag and greets Callan with a smile.
“A table, sir?”
Callan looks at me.
“Do you wanna eat something?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer.
“Yeah. And bring us calamari, garlic aioli, and French fries for two.”
He looks at me.
“Is that good?”
“Yes,” I say, looking around.
The man nods and moves away before pointing to a table.
“I didn’t know they were serving food here. Is this a bistro?” I ask, moving to the table.
“Yes, it is.”
He sets my grocery bag on the window sill before we take our coats off, drape them over the back of our chairs, and sit across each other at the table.
A server arrives with two placemats, cutlery, and napkins.
She barely pulls away from the table, and our food arrives.
The smell makes my stomach growl.
“Enjoy,” the man says before asking us if we want anything to drink besides water.
“We’re good,” Callan says, answering for both of us.
I stare at him while the man leaves.
“What are you doing here?” I ask under my breath, still glancing around.
It’s only us in the bistro, yet the atmosphere is nice.
Decorated for the holidays, the place looks cozy with its warm lights.
“Here as in…?”
He grabs his fork and starts eating.
“I thought you’d go back. I didn’t expect to see you again tonight?”
He thoughtfully chews on his food.
“I didn’t expect to see you again either.”
I look at him suspiciously.
“Do you often buy coffee at that place?”
“Only when I happen to be in Brooklyn.”
“Where’s your car?”
“I parked it a few blocks away.”
A few moments pass while I read his eyes. I see nothing of significance. I can’t even find the man who fucked me last night or the one who said he’d miss me.
Frustrated, I let my shoulders sag.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I say quietly but firmly, pivoting in my seat to grab my coat and leave.
His hand finds mine, his grip hard and unrelenting. I push my eyes to him, asking for mercy.
“There’s nothing to do, Mackenzie,” he says sternly, keeping me in my seat. “I saw you walking away. I know how you feel. I feel the same. But I can’t do more than what I’m doing now for you. Do you understand?”
His eyes hold mine as I try to make sense of his words.
“Let’s eat,” he says impatiently, letting go of my hand.
He focuses on his food, and eventually, I do the same.
The man returns to our table and asks us again if we’ve reconsidered, and now we want something to drink.
I ask for wine.
Callan wants a bottle of water.
Water won’t do it for me.
My wine arrives, and things look better after gulping down half of it.
“So, are you checking your tickets or not?” he tosses at me in a lighter voice, erasing the animosity of our last piece of dialogue.
“Oh. The lottery tickets.”
I put my fork down and run a napkin over my lips.
“You first,” I say.
He shoots me a questioning look.
“Why?”
“If you win, my winning chances, statistically speaking, will drop.”
He laughs.
“I’m sure you’ll win. You do it first.”
“Okay. All right.”
A few seconds pass.
“Speaking of winning,” I say, using my nail to scratch off the panels. “I guess my chances of working for you have vanished?” I murmur, looking down.
My first ticket is a non-winning one, so I toss it to the side.
I lift my gaze to him.
His eyes are soft, harboring mixed feelings.
He rests his elbows on the table, his broad shoulders filling his soft top well.
“Yeah. I won’t be needing your services anymore.”
He tilts his gaze down, making me focus on the scratch-off tickets again, and also distracting me and pulling me away from the topic of working for him.
Who am I kidding?
That’s never been real work, but the money was great, and I had a knack for gathering information for him.
Sadly, no longer running chores for him is not good news. And now that I know that for sure, I’m positive the money that I’ve got will soon be gone.
Because of that, I’ll need to be more proactive about getting that job.
Maybe I should call that woman. Mrs. Goodman.
Follow up with her so she knows I’m still interested, and I’m not taking anything for granted.
I’m down to my last scratch off ticket.
“Enough. You do yours. I’m not holding out hope that I can still win,” I say, laying my hand flat on the lottery ticket.
“All right.”
He pulls out a coin and a one hundred bill from inside his jacket.
“You do it for me. And this is your pay.”
“You said you didn’t need my services anymore.”
“When it comes to gathering information for me,’ he says with humor.
I pick up his scratch-off tickets and go through them.
“This is bad,” I comment. “You’re not winning because of me.”
He flashes a smile.
“Don’t be so sure about it.”
I work on the fourth one, and my eyes slowly widen.
“No way.”
“What?” he asks, leaning closer, pretending to be interested in what I see.
He is such a fake.
This is only a game for him.
I finish scratching it off before flipping it over.
“One hundred dollars for you,” I say. “There go my chances to win.”
“You never know,” he says, collecting the winning ticket before nudging me to scratch off the last two. His and mine.
His last ticket is a non-winning one.
I can’t say I’m surprised.
Having one winning ticket already has greatly diminished the odds of winning again.
I take a sip of wine and start working on the last one.
A few moments pass, and I tense up.
“What?” he murmurs. “You’ve got good news.”
The last panel is revealed, and I move my gaze to him.
“Three hundred dollars,” I say, not believing my eyes.
I must look funny since he smiles at me, entertained.
“For real?” I ask, and he glances at my ticket.
“It looks that way.”
Despite how discretely he checks the time on his watch, I notice he is ready to leave.
“Let’s redeem the prize, and I’ll walk you back.”
“Yes. Sure,” I say, this time more prepared for an abrupt ending.
I collect my money. All the money. Four hundred dollars. And then we put our coats on, and he pays for the food and collects my bag of groceries before we exit the bistro.
The small increase in traffic I noticed an hour ago has dimmed to nothing.
Most people are back home, cooking dinner, gobbling up the last slice of cake from the fridge, and drinking wine, beer, or hard liquor. Watching that movie that they haven’t had the chance to watch before.
We walk in the direction of my home, wrapped in perfect silence.
Two blocks from my building, I stop and turn to him.
“I’ll walk alone from this point on. It’s better this way for both of us. Thank you for the food and lottery tickets and everything else.”
He hands me the groceries, his eyes locked to the bottom of my soul.
“Take care, Mackenzie.”
“You too, Callan.”
I grab my stuff, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice the lights turning green.
“Goodbye,” I say, rushed, no longer looking at him while pivoting to cross the street.
Before I can do that, he extends his arm and wraps it around me, making me fall into his hug.
And just like that, he brings me back and kisses me in the street.
His fingers splayed over my hair.
His lips burning into mine.
“You can never leave like that,” he says against my lips before he quickly glances at the streetlights.
The lights turn green again.
“Go,” he says in a clipped voice, scanning the street quickly with concerned eyes. “Go straight home,” he adds before popping his collar, tilting his chin in a quiet goodbye, and swiftly turning around and pulling away.
His eyes still bearing the high waves of a winter storm.