Page 8 of Dirty Delivery

My phone buzzes again, and this time, it’s not Declan. It’s Sam. I yank the phone up to my ear, his no-nonsense tone cutting straight to the point.

“Rylan,” he says. “We’ve got a problem. Someone’s been poking around that house you sent me to the other night. Neighbor reported seeing unfamiliar cars parked near the house last night.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “Castillos?”

“Most likely,” Sam replies. “They’re not being subtle either. If they’re casing the place, it’s only a matter of time before they start asking questions.”

“Keep them off her trail,” I order, my voice cold. “Make it clear that going near her isn’t an option.”

Sam hesitates. “You sure about this, Rylan? This kind of heat—it’s going to bring attention.”

“Just handle it,” I snap, ending the call before he can argue. My head throbs, the weight of every decision bearing down on me.

Savannah may not trust me right now, but that doesn’t change a damn thing. She’s mine to protect. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if it means tearing the entire Castillo family apart.

Chapter Seven

Savannah

I already hate this house. It’s too quiet, too big, and too . . . perfect. The kind of place where everything has a place, and nothing ever feels lived in. But here I am, wandering its endless hallways because Rylan won’t let me leave. As soon as I have a chance, I am getting the hell out of here.

It’s not like I can just sit around and wait for answers. Not with the way he’s clearly keeping things from me. Though, to be fair, what do I really know about him? Aside from the occasional flirtatious chats when he drops off my packages, he’s practically a stranger. I don’t know where he comes from, what he’s hiding, or why he’s working as a delivery driver when he clearly doesn’tneed to. Maybe I shouldn’t expect answers, but that doesn’t make it any less maddening.

The hallway I’ve stumbled into looks like something out of a movie. Polished wood floors gleam under the soft glow of recessed lighting and the walls are lined with paintings that probably cost more than my entire apartment. I pass door after door, most of them closed. The open doors reveal rooms that look like showpieces: a library with shelves so tall you’d need a ladder to reach the top, a sitting room with a grand piano, and even a billiards room that screams “rich guy hobby.”

And then I’m lost.

I take another turn, but it only leads to more doors. The place feels like a maze, and I’m too stubborn to backtrack. My phone is still at my house, and even if I wanted to call Rylan for help, I couldn't because I don't have his number. If I called Sarah to come get me, she would probably tell me this sounds like one of those smutty romance books she's always reading and tell me to go with it.

I’m mid-eye-roll at the thought of how she would react when I hear a soft humming of music drifting from one of the open doors up ahead. The sound is faint, tugging at my curiosity and drawing me closer. Peeking inside, I’m surprised to see an older woman standing by a window, arranging flowers in a vase with the kind of care that makes it seem like an art form.

Her silver hair is swept into a tidy bun, not a strand out of place, giving her an air of graceful precision. She wears a simple, floral-printed dress beneath a pristine white apron tied snugly around her waist, adding to the timeless, homely charm she exudes. The soft wrinkles around her eyes deepen as she hums, hinting at a life filled with laughter and countless smiles, each line etched by memories of joy. Her presence feels like a warm embrace, inviting yet quietly commanding respect.

The humming stops as she turns toward me, her sharp blue eyes lighting up with surprise.

“Ah, there you are, love,” she says, her voice thick with an Irish lilt. “You’re Rylan’s guest, then?”

I nod, unsure of what to say. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

She wipes her hands on her apron and steps closer, giving me a warm smile. “You look a bit lost. This house can do that to you, especially on your first go.”

“I’m definitely lost,” I admit, relaxing slightly at her kind demeanor. “It’s like a labyrinth.”

She chuckles and nods toward a chair near the window. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it? Sit down a moment, love. You look like you’ve got a lot rattling around in that head of yours.”

I hesitate but take the seat. “You’re not wrong about that.”

She pulls up a stool, sitting across from me. “I’m Noreen. Been keeping this place in order since before Rylan was old enough to run circles ‘round me.”

“Savannah,” I reply. “Nice to meet you, Noreen.”

“Ah, the infamous Savannah,” she says, her blue eyes twinkling. “I wondered what kind of woman could make that boy bring her here. He doesn’t do that lightly, you know.”

“Bring me here? He didn’t exactly give me a choice,” I say, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

Noreen tilts her head, considering me for a moment. “Aye, that sounds like him. Stubborn as a mule, that one. But he’s got his reasons. Always does.”

I scoff. “I wouldn’t know. He barely tells me anything. It’s infuriating.”

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