Chapter 4
LEILANI
I’m as certain of accomplishing this––having him–– as I’m sure that a hundred lemon trees are scattered around the property.
The estate that he thought would be the best place for me to recollect my thoughts.
After having that unexpected conversation with him that sent me into a tailspin two years ago after my mother’s funeral, he dared to argue in his riveting husky voice that I needed this house all for myself so I could grieve over Bianca’s passing and think about my future.
Coward.
There is no future without him.
I push up on an elbow, pick up my glass of lemonade, and bring it to my lips, my eyes glued to the horizon.
A sip travels down my throat.
What a memorable sunset. It’s the perfect gift for my special night––engulfed in fire before blending into the sky and becoming dark.
Like his eyes.
Ice mixed with fire encased in the darkest or the lightest gray, depending on the lighting, with a hint of moss green, sometimes.
I’ve never seen more beautiful eyes.
When he accidentally looked at me in the past, it felt like my soul had slipped out of my body and gone with him wherever he was headed, without the intention of ever coming back.
That’s how it felt, although he rarely looked at me. Except for that last night I spent in New York.
Other than that, our eyes had rarely connected, and when they did, unwavering indifference glistened in his stare.
I hated him as much as I loved him.
I like to believe he did it on purpose, in case someone had looked our way and gotten the wrong idea about our real connection. Hint––there was no connection.
I thought he must’ve fooled them into believing that nothing was there for them to see, not the volcano tucked beneath his mask, and nothing else a casual look could incidentally grasp.
The ploy was in place for me as well, since he’s never given in to my demands.
I could never tell why they’d sent me away, but as time had passed, his playing an instrumental role in pushing me away became more of a possibility.
I couldn’t think of a better motive than that he needed to stay away from me so he didn’t get in trouble.
Anyone would probably say I make no sense whatsoever, and I’m only a girl obsessed with a man she can never have.
That there’s an age gap between us, and I’m too young, and he’s too much of a man, not to mention the power he holds in our family.
I always knew he’d married my mother for a reason that had little to do with love or attraction, or producing an heir.
He was perhaps coerced into marrying her, yet ultimately, he must’ve learned he could get more out of this alliance if he played his cards right.
Giorgio Gallo was looking for someone like Callum O’Hara to run his empire after he stepped down.
That was a fact.
Bianca couldn’t be bothered with learning the ropes from her father or finding a real husband on her own who could fill his shoes.
Having the attention span of a famished squirrel, she never stayed focused on these matters long enough to understand my grandfather’s concerns.
Giorgio had lost hope that she would ever change, and he also knew the problem wouldn’t fix itself, so her third husband was their best bet.
Why else would he be here with us today?
Not here here. But here, as in him being part of the family. And why else would he insist that I needed to go away?
Thrusting himself between my legs at some point wouldn’t have played well with anyone besides me if he had bigger plans for himself than that.
The man is smart, but I’m no dummy either. I’m my mother’s daughter, after all.
She may not have been interested in running a bloody empire that came with questionable deeds, but she liked her privileged life and knew how to use what she had between her legs.
Too bad her choices weren’t that great.
On top of that, she felt powerless in Callum’s presence as she fell prey to his magnetism, which I totally understand, and she had no recourse.
Light ignites a devastating war in his thoughtful eyes, hinting at a seductive hell every time he brings them to a woman.
I’ve envisioned his eyes in front of me so many times while touching myself and coming undone like a wildling.
Too many times, I've tried to imagine them soft and warm, or lustful and filled with dirty thoughts for me.
Sadly, my imagination often failed me, but even so, I got off on those thoughts every single time. He is as sexy when he’s mad as he is sexy when he’s calm.
Although she had nothing to do with bringing him into our house, Bianca scored big with him.
Of all her men, he’s always been my favorite. It was dumb luck for her to get him.
Some whispering in the house made rumors swirl as soon as he arrived at our place. I learned later.
Word was it that he had only put a ring on her finger because his family owed mine a favor.
That’s common, not entirely unheard of, but who knows what these families consider owing someone else a favor? And how much of that was sheer blackmail is anyone’s guess.
Giorgio wouldn’t tell me.
All men in this family, although they’ve always pampered their women, perhaps even giving them too much freedom––I can attest to that; my late mother, too––never considered their women equal partners.
So our family business has never been something I need to think about, despite inheriting the Gallo Empire, with all the good and the bad, at some point in the future.
It’s my grandfather’s wish that I get everything.
Although my reign might be only a facade, as the true ruler will probably be the man they pick to be my husband.
Giorgio has also included Julian in his plans. He wants to take care of him, too.
Two years older than me, Julian is Everett York’s son. Everett was my mother’s second husband.
My grandfather wants to make sure Julian lives a comfortable life, keeps his mouth shut, and minds his own business. He’ll keep his privileges, but needs to remain loyal to us.
He’ll never truly be part of the family or have real power. And he’ll always lurk in the shadows, enjoying the protection my family offers.
The little weasel doesn’t care. Money is money. And in his case, it’s nothing to sniff at.
My mother’s second husband was all right, but nothing like her third husband.
Three times is a charm, and it surely was in her case.
She may have been lucky, but she never knew how to truly have him.
I’m sure she tried and gave up quickly.
Bianca lived too much in her head to trouble herself with all the details of a complicated plan, although she always came off strong and lived intently while destroying everything around her. I hated her for that, more than I hated her for anything else.
That’s how we lived.
And now that she’s gone and her childhood home has gone through a makeover and been entrusted solely to me at Callum’s suggestion, Bianca has even lost her privilege of being a ghost.
A ghost would spur a trickle of fear in me, which is definitely not happening. Not now, not ever.
I’ve felt no fear since she dragged me into her world and forced me to open my eyes to the most horrific things adults do.
I put the glass down and try to relax.
The night breeze rolls in through the open windows, sweeping over my body and softly caressing my legs while lifting up my skirt.
As much as I wanted to forget about him––I’m sure he wanted the same thing––nothing has changed since two years ago.
There’s no escape from him. He’s been my obsession since he stepped into our place in New York.
Handsome.
Reserved.
Proper.
A villain beneath a polished shell, wearing a sharp suit, altered to fall over his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and athletic body in sublime perfection, pointing to his enrapturing masculinity.
He looked scary to some people––we all heard about his bloody past––but he didn’t look scary to me.
I would’ve stepped naked into a lion’s den if that lion looked like him.
I would’ve packed my things and run away if the getaway driver looked like him.
I would’ve killed for him if he asked me to.
That first day, I couldn’t come to my senses while he acted as if I wasn’t even in the room.
Men accompanied him, and I knew even back then that he wasn’t a regular suitor, someone my mother would pick up at one of our fancy gatherings, some wealthy boy, or a mafioso eager to hold her purse to get into my grandfather’s good graces.
He didn’t speak to my mother that day.
Dinner was set in the big dining room. The lights were dim, and the flowers were fresh. Our most expensive silverware opulently glinted around the table.
Appetizers adorned porcelain trays, and we all sat around the table––my mother included––but the new men––our guests––were led straight to Giorgio’s normally off-limits, special meeting room.
We all knew to stay away from that room.
Conveniently located in the other part of the house, it served as a home office, a boardroom, a reading room, a cigar lounge, and, occasionally, a body disposal chamber when things got heated and arguments couldn’t be settled any other way.
It had a second exit in the back, where sometimes, as I snuck up to the alleyway leading there, I saw men dressed in black, speaking mostly Italian, carrying large packages––bodies––to their bulletproof cars.
That was the business we were in.
And it’s the business we have been in our entire life.
And the new man––Callum O’Hara–– was about to strike a deal with us and become one of us.
The meeting didn’t last long, but waiting for his return to the table felt like a lifetime.
That evening happened shortly after celebrating my eighteenth birthday, and I was convinced I was a grown-up woman, so I wore my best dress.
A long black sleeveless dress with a small ruffle at the neckline––the most demure dress Sylvia could find in my closet.
That dress might’ve been perfect for a funeral, but it served a higher purpose that day, so no one dared to critique it.
Strangely, Sylvia was more concerned with what I wore than what her daughter did.