Walls of Built of Ice
Callum
The crack of bone against bone is loud, echoing off the bare concrete walls of the basement. The man in the chair groans, his head lolling forward as blood drips from his busted lip, staining the front of his sweat-drenched shirt.
I step back, shaking out my hand. My knuckles are raw, but the sting of split skin barely registers.
A single light bulb hangs eerily over him in the room, and he squints as he opens his eyes after being thrashed.
Fucking Armadas filth!
He’s tougher than he looks. Most break after the second or third punch, spilling everything we need just to make the pain stop. But this one has been holding out for ten minutes, thinking he can play tough.
“Ready to talk yet?” I ask calmly, but it’s enough to send shivers down the spines of my men.
He lifts his head slowly; his eyes are defiant. “Go to hell,” he rasps.
I sigh, rolling my shoulders back as I pick up a wrench from the nearby table. The weight of it feels good in my hand, solid and reliable.
“I’ve been there, mate,” I say, stepping closer. “Trust me—you don’t want to see what I brought back.”
The fear in his eyes flickers just for a moment, and I know I’ve got him. I crouch down, my face level with his, and tap the wrench lightly against his knee.
“Here’s how this goes,” I continue, my tone casual, as if we’re discussing the weather. “You give me what I want, and you walk out of here with a few bruises and maybe a limp. You keep being difficult, and I’ll make sure you leave here in a drum can.”
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he cracks.
“Fine,” he mutters, his voice shaking. “What the fuck do you want to know?”
I straighten, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Good choice. We can work on the language, though.”
I throw the wrench to one of my men and he catches it.
“Alright, dipshit. I want to know how you idiots got the tracking details of our shipments coming in and what other ports you’ve been scouting.” I snap my fingers in front of his face.
He starts talking, giving away the details that I need.
James brought this guy back yesterday when they had an encounter at the port. He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, so I usually do this kind of work. I don’t mind it—in fact, it’s the perfect outlet for my frustration.
But by the time he finishes talking, he passes out due to the blood loss.
“Clean this up,” I order and proceed to leave the room and clean myself up.
Our men handle the rest—patch him up, dump him somewhere he can’t cause trouble. My job is done.
As I step out of the room and into the hallway, I take a deep breath, rolling my shoulders to release the tension. My hands are still smeared with blood, but it’s not mine, so I don’t care.
This is the work. This is what I’m good at.
I reach the staircase, but as I begin walking, I look up, the sound of footsteps pulls me from my thoughts. I glance up and freeze.
It’s the little kitten who snuck her way down. Lina.
She’s standing a few feet away up on the staircase, her hazel eyes wide, her face pale. She wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to see this side of things.
“What are you doing down here? This isn’t a garden where you can waltz wherever you want,” I ask harshly.
Her gaze flickers to my hands, and I see the exact moment she realizes what the blood means. She swallows hard, her throat bobbing.
“I heard something—screaming,” she murmurs. “I thought I should come see if everything was okay. I didn’t know—”
“Exactly,” I say flatly, stepping toward her. She doesn’t move, her posture stiff and guarded, like she’s ready to bolt, but too afraid to do it. “You don’t know anything. And the basement is not for you. So, I mean when I say, I never want to see you down here again.”
She gulps, and I watch as she swallows the lump in her throat, her eyes fearful yet curious.
“What were you doing in there? Your hands…” she asks, her eyes now coming to my hands.
“Work,” I reply, my tone clipped. “And none of your business.”
Her lips part as if she’s about to argue, but I cut her off before she can.
“Stay out of our way,” I say, my voice low and cold. “This isn’t your world, Moretti. The sooner you remember that, the better.”
Her eyes flash with something—anger maybe, or defiance.
“I didn’t ask to be here. You people are the ones who brought me here,” she snaps, her voice gaining strength.
“Hunter, not me!” I counter, crossing my arms. “Do yourself a favor. Keep your head down, stay out of trouble, and leave the second you’re able to walk out that door.”
Her mouth opens again, but this time she doesn’t say anything. She looks at me like she’s trying to figure something out, like she’s searching for something in my expression that isn’t there.
“I don’t need you to tell me how to handle myself,” she says firmly.
A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You don’t even know what you’ve stepped into, sweetheart. Trust me—handling yourself won’t mean much when the wolves come knocking.”
She flinches at the venom in my words, but she doesn’t back down. I have to give her credit for that, even if I think it’s stupid.
“You’re not a wolf,” she says, and the certainty in her voice throws me.
“What the hell do you know about me?” I snap, the frustration bubbling to the surface.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she takes a small step back, her gaze flicking to the door behind me. “I’ll stay out of your way, and you stay out of mine,” she says finally.
The words hit harder than I expect, and before I can respond, she walks away.
I stand there for a long moment, staring after her, biting my lip. I should feel relieved that she’s gone, that she’s out of my space. But instead, there’s a knot in my chest that won’t go away.
She’s not wrong.
I am afraid. Not of her, exactly, but of what her presence means.
I shake my head, shoving the thought aside as I head upstairs. This isn’t about her, I tell myself. It’s about keeping the Dragona safe and thriving, keeping our world intact.
I head to my room, ready to wash this day off myself. James, Hunter and I all have our rooms downstairs on the same floor. But Lina’s room and James’ office are on the floor above. Hunter, of course, gave her one of the best guest rooms we have in this mansion.
No one even spared a glance at me or the conditions my hands were in. This is the norm, the usual way of life for us.
So, who the hell was she to say anything?
Regardless of the rage, I head into the bathroom and let the cold water wash over me. The blood washes off, almost as if nothing happened.
I throw on a new shirt and make my way toward James' office.
My head is clearer now, though my hands still itch from the work downstairs.
Lina… she’s bothering me to lengths I couldn’t have imagined. She lingers in my thoughts like a splinter I can’t quite dig out.
I make my way up to James’ office, push the door open without knocking, and find James standing by his desk with a tissue pressed against his nose. The sight stops me in my tracks for a moment, and I give a small smirk.
“What the hell happened to you, bossman?” I ask, plopping on the seat in front of him.
James glares at me, his golden-brown eyes narrowing. “The Armadas and I had a... disagreement.”
I let out a low chuckle, stepping further into the room. “And by ‘disagreement’ you mean you tripped over something and broke your nose?”
“I didn’t trip, I just lost my balance because I was drunk,” James mutters, wincing as he dabs at the dried blood on his upper lip. “It was a strategic miscalculation.”
I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”
James tosses the tissue into the wastebasket with more force than necessary, clearly unimpressed with my amusement. “What do you want, Callum?”
“Just thought you’d like an update on our friend downstairs,” I say, taking a seat across from him.
He raises an eyebrow. “Did he talk?”
“Oh, he sang like a canary,” I reply, a hint of satisfaction in my voice. “Said the Armadas have been sniffing around the west docks for weeks. They’re trying to cut into our shipments—probably to cripple our leverage with the DeLuca deal.”
James nods as his expression turns grim. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Word is, they’ve got eyes on our guards. They know the schedule and the rotations. It’s why they’ve been so quiet—they’re waiting for the right time to hit.”
James exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Well, then I guess the tussle from yesterday should have taught them a lesson.”
“No kidding,” I mutter. “But how long will that hold? You just beat up a couple of men of theirs.”
Before James can answer, the door swings open again, and Hunter strides in.
I glare at him and don’t say anything. He and I haven’t been on the best terms in the past couple of days.
Hunter looks at me before turning his attention to James. “You wanted to see me?”
James sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes. The western docks are becoming a problem. You and Callum are going to handle it. I want all the moles cleared out, but reroute all incoming transactions to the East side.”
“Together?” Hunter asks, his voice laced with skepticism.
“Yes, together,” James says firmly. “You’re both capable, and this needs to be resolved quickly and quietly. Just get it done.”
I glance at Hunter, a slow grin spreading across my face. “Looks like we’re partners, big guy. Try not to slow me down.”
Hunter’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t take the bait. Not yet, anyway.
As James starts detailing the plan, I can’t resist sneaking in a jab. “Maybe we can bring your new pet along,” I say casually. “She can bark at the Armadas and scare them off.”
Hunter’s head snaps toward me, his steel-blue eyes blazing. “Say that again, Callum. I dare you.”
I shrug, feigning innocence.
Hunter takes a step closer, his fists clenching at his sides. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”
“Oh, come on,” I scoff, standing to meet his glare. “You really think she’s going to last in our world? She’s a liability, unless you’re too dumb to understand.”