Chapter 16
CALLUM
I change my mind as soon as I reach the house.
It’s not wise to follow him inside and get involved in some story that might blow up in my face.
Reaching the top stairs, I pull to a halt and run a tense hand through my hair, a strained breath flowing into my lungs.
Fuck it.
My chest is tight, my frame dense. Of all nights, why does it have to be tonight?
It was my idea to invite Paxton to her party.
I’ve always enjoyed the veneer of legitimacy his presence confers me.
So much for that.
Slowly, I turn around and scan the crowd. The guests are clustered around the food tables or at the bar.
The music plays in the background, soft and mellow like a lazy Sunday morning in a beach house.
Nothing in the house hints at something nefarious happening, yet I can’t suppress the foreboding feeling pulsing in my chest.
I doubt they’ve reached a deal tonight.
None of the men they had invited to her party seemed interested in getting hitched, and, more importantly, in having Giorgio Gallo as their father-in-law.
If anything, my own experience might have served as a fair warning to them.
Under different circumstances, Bianca would’ve been quite a catch for the right man, which wasn’t me.
Her looks weren’t her problem. The streak of madness was.
I don’t know what it is with these Gallo women.
They’re easy on the eyes, but hard to control.
And believe me, I’m not in the controlling business, especially when it comes to women, but in this kind of life, controlling them is quintessential to keeping people alive.
Point in case: Bianca’s death.
One of my men notices my wandering stare and makes a beeline for me.
Cosimo saved my life more than once, so I consider him one of my most loyal men.
“Things all right, Boss?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He notices my stern eyes moving over the crowd.
“Who are we looking for?”
He’s older than me and has seen a lot in his life, his experience written in the dull, faded scars crisscrossing his face.
Bloody battles, family wars, people who’ve lost their lives over nothing.
His dark eyes glide over the crowd like mine.
As he’s scanning the faces for general information, I’m trying not to think about the woman inside the house.
Truthfully, I’m hoping to see her step outside, or at least to spot Paxton walk through that door with the slimy fingers of rejection and disappointment on his face.
There’s no way he hasn’t found her.
Where else can he be if not in a room with her somewhere?
I look up at the house. A few rooms are dipped in darkness. I can’t imagine he’s followed her upstairs.
Where are the Gallos when you need them?
Where is Sylvia Gallo?
That woman with her evil, beady eyes should watch her granddaughter like a hawk.
I shouldn’t rely on her, though. She might be inside, plotting with her husband, while Paxton and that little heap of trouble could be on the other side of the house.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, hard.
“We're looking for Bianca’s daughter,” I eventually say, when the edge of his stare feels uncomfortable on my face.
I tilt my eyes to meet his.
“She’s inside,” I say.
“Why are you looking for her outside?”
A tense smile moves fleetingly across my lips.
“Long story. She might be doing something with Maclean inside the house, and that might not bode well with my in-laws. They just pitched her to a few suitors.”
He cracks a knowing smile.
“No way. She’s going to become someone else’s problem soon?”
“What do you mean by someone else’s?”
“I was thinking about your in-laws.”
“Right.”
I’m not convinced that’s what he meant by that.
“She’s not my problem.”
“It looks like she is.”
“I don’t want Maclean to lose his head over this, and her to truly become my problem.”
Cosimo has eyes and ears. He knows what happened in New York. He knows what an entitled brat Leilani Gallo is, but we’ve never talked about it.
We never talk about stuff like that. It’s not fitting.
Well, that might change, since now I have that itch again to walk in and search for them.
“Do me a favor. Go inside and check the back of the house. I don’t want them to end up in a bedroom upstairs. She might create a scandal that threatens more than her good morals.”
“Sure, Boss.”
Moving his burly frame with ease, he vanishes inside the house before I look for familiar faces in the crowd.
It’s mostly locals. Socialites and men who’ve done well for themselves. Some retirees. The Gallos want to keep up appearances like everyone else.
A few moments pass, and a gust of wind sweeps my face, making me tilt my gaze up to the sky.
Stars flicker back at me, wrapped in eternal coldness, when a presence makes me shift my head and glance over my shoulder.
Cosimo’s touch is soft but urgent.
“I think you need to see this, Boss.”
I read his eyes for a second before I set myself in motion, convinced I’ll be walking into a monstrous disaster soon.
I signal to the rest of my men to stay put outside––you can never be too careful. This wouldn’t be the first time a man was lured into a room by a hot woman and then ambushed and killed.
Trust no one, my father said, and I learned that lesson well. Even without having that weakness, I still got tricked into a bad situation, from which the old Gallo conveniently ‘saved’ me.
Call me suspicious. I don’t care.
Too many coincidences happened that night to be believable. Plus, Giorgio Gallo has a reputation for playing both sides.
The house becomes increasingly quiet as we stride deep into the long corridor connecting the front and the back, with fewer and fewer staff, and more and more freedom to hear your thoughts.
My thoughts stink like gunpowder and sound like shells striking the ground.
The man walking beside me says nothing to disperse the tension, which makes me think nothing has changed.
Things are just as dire as they were when he had touched my sleeve outside.
Eventually, he pushes a door open, and we walk into a large patio with flowers adorning the handrails and a canopy of trees nearby.
A couple of stairs descend to a flat, smooth concrete platform that gives way to a pool.
Faint light flutters through the shadows as the live music in the front barely reaches us.
The sweet sound of trickling water echoes in the air, along with her crystalline laughter.
I stop, as if struck by a thunderbolt, and take her in for a few seconds.
A few men watch the show from the terrace.
They’re either guests who have a keen sense of direction and somehow found their way to this spot, or they’re lucky.
The other men are bodyguards, so basically warm bodies paid to keep their mouths shut.
I push a quick, inquisitive gaze over the guests’ faces.
They’re random guys, people who came here alone or have their significant other in the front while they’re talking about money with their friends.
Sure.
My blood simmers at the scene in front of me.
Propped back against a lounge chair, Paxton soaks in the woman in front of him.
Who allowed this woman to drink so much?
It must be the alcohol in her blood that makes her do these stupid things. What else?
Her cheeks are flushed, her lips looking like moon slivers, her eyes liquid like the rain.
She lifts her arms up, and her chest moves as she moves, the globes of flesh barely contained in her dress.
Fucking dress.
She kicks the skirt to the side as she’s seemingly dancing for him, rolling her hips in a tease, showing him what no man should ever see outside the walls of a bedroom.
Her long legs make tension coil in my chest and ignite fire below my waist.
My fists clench.
What is she doing?
With a glint of lust in her eyes, and obscene promises dripping from her lips, her skin smooth like the stars, she moves as if she wants sex from him.
I wish there were a more elegant way to put it.
Her spine arches in a sophisticated tease as she beckons him to her, an irresistible smile on her lips.
She seems oblivious to her audience and has no clue that I’m standing here, watching her offering herself to Maclean.
Enthralled, he doesn’t give a fuck that she has the other men's eyes on her, crawling up and down, from the tips of her heels to the satin shorts, which barely cover her pussy.
What was she thinking when she picked up that dress?
A cold spilling of moonlight trickles down her chest, highlighting the smooth valley between her breasts, her navel, the waist made for grabbing, and the flush plane merging into the heated triangle between her legs that gives her so much trouble.
And then she presses herself into him.
My blood lurches through my veins, simmering up my chest, darkening my mind.
“Maclean,” I bark, heading in that direction, but not before I signal to my man to clear the patio and leave the premises.
They’ve all seen enough for the evening.