Page 126 of The Mafia Heir's Obsession

The one I didn’t even have to fight for.

“So can you.”

“I have a cat.” He gestures to the pack he’s wearing and he turns his back to me. Clawzilla just stares, then flops down, apparently enjoying the bounce of his little world.

“You’re an idiot,” I mutter, slowing to a stop as we approach the cottage. “Should I check out London?”

“Why?”

I look at Declan as he and Arnold stop running. It’s a cool morning, but I’m hot and sweaty and need a shower. “BecauseI can’t stay here. Your brother has what he wants and I need to move on.”

He nods. “Cal had a reason to kill de Rosa. I didn’t bring you here because he pulled the trigger; I brought you here so you could see the truth.”

“What truth?”

“How you really feel about him.”

For a moment I don’t say anything, and Arnold’s cold nose butts my hand. “My feelings aren’t in question. Callahan’s are. Or actually aren’t. It’s been over three weeks and I’m the one person he hasn’t spoken to. I think he’s made it clear how he feels about me.”

He sighs. “Cal doesn’t do shit without a reason. Wait, no, that’s not exactly true. There’s you. That first time he met you, rescued you,” he says, “that made no sense. Normally, Cal would have dragged you into the party limo—not that we always travel by party limo, by the way. We definitely should because they’re cool as shit, but we don’t. Anyhow, normally, he’d have taken you, questioned you, maybe threatened you. But he didn’t. He let you go.”

Then Declan starts laughing.

“Oh, shit,” he says. “I’m wrong. He did have a reason.”

“Like what?” I snap.

“He liked you.”

I want to believe him, I do, but how? I need to hold the resentment, build up something like hate for Callahan because all of that will never hurt like loving him does.

“No, that’s not true.”

“It is.”

“Where is he, then?” I ask.

But of course, Declan doesn’t have an answer. “Give him time.”

“Seriously? He’s had three weeks and it’s pretty clear whathis intentions are. He’s too busy ruling New York to bother with me.”

With that, I stalk ahead and open the front door of the house, the soles of my sneakers slapping against the hardwood floor.

Screw it all, I’ll leave tonight. I’ll go where nobody can ever find me again. Maybe then I will finally be able to move on with my damn life.

Alone.

I head for the stairs when a shiver whispers over my perspiration-pebbled skin.

My hand freezes on the wooden banister, my heart clenching.

I turn around slowly, finding a pair of steely indigo eyes staring back at me.

“Hello, Lucie Joy.”

THIRTY-FIVE

callahan

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