Chapter 15
Callahan
I WATCHED HER RESOLVE flicker. She looked shaken, her fingers twitching as if she were looking for a crochet hook or a knife to ground her.
Seeing her like this was uncomfortable for me.
She was too exposed and questioning the only life she’d ever known.
It made me want to help her piece it back together even if she was pissed at me.
But then she squared her shoulders, because if Jasmina was anything, it was strong.
“Fine.” She snatched up the phone and dialed a number, sitting down with a terrifying, cold purpose. She looked at me, her chin tilted up. “I’m keeping this laptop for planning.”
“Of course you are.” I motioned to the phone Jas was holding. “Speaker.”
She rolled her eyes and pressed a button before setting it down. “I also need a new credit card.”
“Sounds about right,” I grumbled, but there was no heat in it. I pulled out my wallet and tossed it onto the desk. “Do your worst, Viper.”
She didn’t hesitate. She rifled through my wallet with clinical efficiency, pulling out a black card as the call connected. “Maribel? Yes, I’m fine. I need to talk to Perla. Put her on.”
I watched her face as she waited. And it was almost like watching a wall of protection be built. She took deep breaths and her eyes turned stonier and stonier. There wasn’t even a smile there when Perla picked up. Jasmina didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
“Tía,” Jasmina said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. “I need the truth. Paolo … the girls he brought in. The ones who never left the warehouse. Did you know?”
The silence on the other end was long enough that I could hear the static. Then came Perla’s voice, sounding small and hollow. “Mija … who have you been talking to?”
“Me,” I announced for Jasmina. “Evidence is in her hands now, Perla.”
More silence ballooned before Perla responded, “Mija, Paolo handled the logistics. He said they were just workers. Migrants looking for a start. Why?”
“The precinct’s files, Tía. Those files say that they weren’t workers. They were girls. Like Maribel. Like Annarose.” Jasmina’s voice broke for a split second before she hammered it back into iron. “Did you know he was trafficking them?”
“No,” Perla whispered, and for once, she sounded genuinely devastated. “I … I knew he wasn’t a good man, Jasmina. I knew there was blood. But that? Never.”
“Monte?”
“Your tío would never, mija.”
Jasmina waited and waited like she wanted to make sure Perla wouldn’t crack and admit something more. “Okay.” Jasmina closed her eyes, a single shuddering breath escaping her. “We’ll have to make it right.”
“Of course,” Perla responded a bit too quickly for my liking, but Jasmina seemed to believe her. “I know nothing of it today. What year is this—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I cut in, because I trusted myself more than I ever would trust Perla and Monte.
Maybe Jasmina didn’t see the conflict of interest, but they’d made money trafficking for as long as Paolo had lived.
“I want to help,” Jasmina said softly to me. “Any way I can.”
I nodded, sure I wasn’t going to let her do a damn thing with how soft and vulnerable she looked staring at me now, but I was still willing to let her believe she would nonetheless. I waved her on to continue the conversation with her aunt.
“Tía, I’m going to move money around to start to right this wrong, but I’ll make sure it’s fine.”
Perla agreed and then asked, “How are you doing?”
“I’m settling in,” Jas said cautiously, “We’re … we’re moving forward with the arrangements.”
“How is he?” Perla asked tentatively. “The Knight?”
Jasmina glanced at me, her eyes raking over my face with a look I couldn’t decipher. “He’s okay.”
Didn’t feel especially okay when she said I was only okay.
I was used to women fucking fawning over me, and now my future wife was barely interested.
At one point she had been. At one point she’d screamed my name in a penthouse like she was as feral for me as I was for her.
It’d been one night. One night I’d have to forget until our wedding, I guess. Then, I’d prove to her again that I could be better than fucking okay.
At least we finally were moving forward with getting the invites out for Fitzpatrick and Fuerte Firearms to see.
Small win for the day, I guess. I got up to open her door and murmured to one of the men outside of it, “Bring my work bag. I’ll set up here for the time being.
You all can go back to normal posts for the night.
” They were throughout the house, extra security now with Jasmina here.
Archer, when he was available, would stay at her door.
I wanted him there always, but the bastard was flying in and out of the country, claiming he had other obligations.
When I got my work laptop, I waved for Jasmina to take her cousins off speaker because they were going on and on about flowers. The two of them talked a mile a minute, my God.
Jasmina took them off speaker but gave me a disgusted look like I should have sat through the conversation too.
She acted like I was supposed to plan for all this, like I was supposed to cater to her every want and need.
Hadn’t I done enough by buying her the whole menu at a restaurant and forcing police evidence to be shown to her?
And then there was Romeo. His icy eyes pinned me with a glare from the floor, and he didn’t come anywhere near enough so that I could pet him like Mia and Franny had. “I don’t like you either, Romeo.”
“What do you mean no one caters into Paradise Grove?” She waited, and then she turned in her chair to curl her lip at me.
“I see. I guess I’ll work on that too. Can you let Tía Perla know we need a priest who she respects …
No, I don’t care about how the priest will look up on the altar with us.
Just—” Another pause. “I highly doubt it will be in magazines.”
Her eyes widened, and I figured her cousin was telling her exactly how many magazines would cover the wedding. Jasmina wasn’t as good at hiding her emotions across her face as she thought. I felt the consternation building there before I saw her wrinkle her nose in what appeared to be disgust.
What the fuck was her cousin saying?
“Speaker, Jas,” I commanded now because I was curious again.
She flipped me off.
Of course she did.
She then answered in Spanish rapidly, “Sí, lo odio, pero aun así quiero que la boda cuente con la bendición de la tía Perla y de mis padres.” (Yes, I still hate him, but I want the wedding to have the blessing of Aunt Perla and my parents.)
I wondered if she realized I spoke Spanish fluently.
“Si, estoy bien. Dile que me estoy recuperando bien.” (Yes, I’m fine. I’m recovering well.)
And wasn’t that an interesting tidbit as she rubbed a hand over her lip again.
I guess I could add to the list that Jasmina was stubborn in her lies too.
She’d been hurt in some way if her aunt was asking about her well-being.
Glad I had Jameson working on that. Yet, when she hung up with her cousin, she pinned me with an accusatory glare rather than that of any sort of vulnerability.
“I want the businesses that Paolo trafficked women under. And I can’t cater into Paradise Grove.”
“There’s a list of those businesses … and of caterers we use within the community.”
“You’ll get me both?” she said, no waver in her voice.
Interesting that Jasmina felt she needed to handle all the fallout from Paolo on her own. “What’s your intention with these companies Paolo was working with? I said I would handle it.”
“I … I have to make it right too. I need to help.”
“Then, let me look into it first.”
“No.”
“No?”
“It was my family’s doing—”
“And you’re about to be my family, Jasmina,” I told her. “You’re about to be my wife. Do you know what that means?”
She chewed her cheek, not saying anything right away, so I answered for her.
“It means my bank accounts, my businesses, my name, my syndicate are at your disposal.”
“But this isn’t real—”
“You’ll be my wife. I don’t intend to fake that at all, Jasmina. Not at all.”
“Okay,” she whispered. And then she nodded like she finally might accept help from me in the way she never asked for it from anybody else.
Then she smiled softly and murmured, “Since I’m going to be your wife, you know I should be able to have the food I want at the wedding too.
” Her eyes almost twinkled as she fell back into giving me a hard time.
“And you’re going to make that happen even if it’s not catered in from Paradise Grove, Cally baby. ”
That fucking nickname. There was the viper.