Callahan
Blood. Me on the cold, white marble floor. No. Not cold. But dark. Slippery like that night. Slipping in my own blood.
Someone calls my name but it’s an echo.
“David sends his regards.”
My uncle did this. My uncle slaughtered my family. Our family.
“Your wife is a dirty whore.”
Not a virgin.
“Your wife is a dirty whore. I may never have fucked her but let me tell you something. After seeing her take her Uncle Heathcliff’s filthy dick, I really couldn’t get it up for her anymore. That’s some nasty shit.”
No, not a virgin.
I punished her for it.
She paid for it.
“It won’t hurt as much.”
It was her uncle who’d hurt her. What had my father said?
“You’re blood. Never forget that blood matters, boys. ”
Blood massacred my family.
Blood massacred hers. Blood violated her.
Our blood is corrupted.
Commotion around me. I open my eyes and see Fernando Mancini’s face. His eyes are open, too. Looking at me. But they’re empty. Dead. The knife still sticking out the side of his neck.
I reach for it. I want to dig it deeper. I need to. I want to sever his head from his body.
But as the room fades again, I realize I have what I always wanted. The voices become echoes in the background. I have exactly what I asked for.
I know what Fernando said to my mother that horrified her.
I know that he’s dead by my hand.
There wasn’t anything else. I never planned for anything after this. I can let go. I can leave it. Leave the betrayal. Leave the constant pain of life.
Just go.
But then there’s Portia.
–
Portia
“Where were you?” Antonio asks. “And where’s your piece of shit cousin of yours?”
A soldier appears at the door. “Not up here,” he says.
“Find the fucker.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He uncocks the gun and shifts his grip to look at it.
I exhale, touch my hand to my pocket, grateful my passport wasn’t under the pillow. I look around to find Cerberus is gone.
“What’s going on?” I ask again, wondering if he can hear the panic in my voice. “Where’s Callahan?”
He opens the chamber of the pistol and drops the bullets into the palm of his hand, pocketing them and tucking the gun into the back of his jeans before turning back to me.
He studies me for a long minute, and it takes all I have to not back away when he closes the space between us.
“Where did you get the gun?”
“Callahan gave it to me. Give it back.”
He snorts. “Right.” With the flat of his hand against my belly nudges me to the wall. “You’re a liar, Portia Esmeralda. Just like the rest of your family.” He stands just inches from me and I stare up into eyes just a few shades darker than Callahan’s. My heart is racing but I need to keep my face impassive, unreadable.
“I doubt your brother would like to hear how you put your hands on me.”
His expression changes, something sad passing through his eyes before they harden again.
“Callahan should have killed you on day one.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
The pressure of his hand on my belly intensifies.
“Don’t act innocent. That may have worked on my brother, but it won’t work on me,” he says, his jaw tight. He’s stronger than me. And he wants to hurt me. I see it and I need to be careful with him. He shifts his grip to my arms squeezing hard enough that I know there will be bruises. “Where is your cousin, Portia?” he spits my name.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Am I?” He spins me around, grips a handful of my hair and tugs it back so tightly I let out a cry. “How’s this, then? Better?”
I have one hand locked around his forearm but the way I’m twisted, it’s no use. I can’t budge him.
“I’m your brother’s wife,” I remind him. “Let me go!”
“He did what he had to do for the family. That’s the only reason you’re his wife. Don’t read too much into him fucking you. You’re a piece of ass. That is all you are. All you ever were.” He takes my other arm and twists it behind my back. I don’t think it’ll take much to snap the bone. “Where’s your cousin?”
Where did you two disappear to?”
“You’re going to break my arm.” It hurts so much. “Please.”
“How did you do it?” His voice breaks. “How did he get to him?”
My heart drops to my belly. Who got to him? “Antonio.” I turn my head as much as I can. “Please tell me where he is. Where’s Callahan?”
“I was starting to think I was wrong about you, you know that? I was starting to think maybe you really did care about my brother. That was my bad.”
“I do care.”
He spins me around and slams me so hard against the wall that my vision blurs. I have to grab hold of him to steady myself.
“I should kill you.” He wraps his hand around my throat.
“Where is he?” I ask as he squeezes.
“Fuck my promise. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. I should kill you here and now.”
“Where is he?” I manage, clawing at his forearm as his grip tightens.
He hauls me up by my throat, forcing me onto my tip toes as he dips his head lower, so we’re nose to nose.
“Where is he?” he asks, spitting the words.
My nails dig into his forearm but it’s no use. I can’t get enough air.
“He’s dead, Portia. He’s fucking dead.”