Page 95 of The Mafia Heir's Obsession

Whose letter I’m holding. It’s crumpled, still damp from being stuffed into the back pocket of Cal’s running shorts.

“Wait until now,” I say.

He looks at me then, a half smile that doesn’t reach his eyes on his face. He comes up, pets Arnold who growls but simultaneously wags his tail, making Callahan laugh and shake his head.

“Okay, boy, you’re in protection mode, but dude, she’s strong. Trust me.” Then he says to me, “I figured after you’d been on a run, you’d be more open to reading it. Besides, I only got it late yesterday. You were asleep.”

“She didn’t want to see me?”

“She probably didn’t dare think to try. Look, I don’t trust that Headley guy, but I don’t trust anyone. I do think he loves her, for what it’s worth. And it seems getting out from under your father’s reign is a process.”

I know that, and at that moment, I wonder what it would take to get away from Callahan. That time’s going to come. I want love, too. One day. I want freedom.

With a small, shaky smile, I smooth open the letter, knowing since the envelope is open that Cal’s read it, but… I don’t care right then. I just need to hear from my sister, probably the only person in the world who understands what I’m dealing with.

Viv’s handwriting’s unmistakable, as is her style of writing. I can hear the words coming from her mouth as I read them. She’s sorry she left me with the mess, but she knows how strong I am. She then gushes for two pages straight overHeadley. They’re running off together, but she doesn’t say where—Dad might get this, so she doesn’t want to give details. I get it. She’s happy, looking forward to her life, and she’ll be in touch as soon as she can. Properly in touch. And she’s sorry she didn’t turn up at our meeting, but Headley stopped her for her own sake.

Something inside me starts bubbling up.

I clutch the edge of the paper, crinkling it. It’s all about Viv. Every word, even the parts where she says she’s sorry, it’s all about her. She’s placating herself with my so-called strength.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Everything was always about her, anyway. I should be used to it by now, but dammit. It stings. She doesn’t care about me or what I’m going through after all.

I fold the letter, then crumple it into a ball, blinking hard because my eyes suddenly get blurry. “How?” I ask. “How did you get this?”

He mutters something, then looks at Arnold until the dog lifts his head to look at Callahan. Finally, Arnold scrambles up, claws clicking on the steel of the bench I’m on. He moves over so Cal can sit, and then Arnold collapses against him for tummy rubs and another lap to put his head on.

Ignoring my question, he says, “You and fucking Dec have ruined this dog. Arnold’s supposed to be growing into a big attack dog, and you’ve given him a rat that pretends it’s a cat and a soft little heart to call his own. Un-fucking-believable.”

I scoff. “You love this dog, Callahan.”

“Lies.”

But he does. I see it. He might not love anything else outside his family, but he loves this dog. No stray should turn so quickly into a well-adjusted dog in a couple of weeks, not even one as smart as Arnold.

I suspect that Callahan spent a long, long time winning thelittle dog over when he was on the street, befriending him, not pushing him, showing him that he could decide, if he wanted, to have a better life.

And it might have taken injury to cause Arnold to make that leap, but the fact Callahan did all the heavy lifting is eye-opening. Admirable.

The man I married has layers. He doesn’t love me, he never will. I’m his property, his stepping stone to power in New York, but he’s also good to me. And he’s gentle with Arnold. Even with Clawzilla, whom he pretends to hate.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Callahan?”

“Headley was following me. Guess it was easy enough to work out who you married. Maybe his government training paid off, I don’t fucking know. But he gave me this last night.”

I stiffen.

“You couldn’t have given it to me last night?”

“I was a little busy,” he says. “Dealing with getting shot at and trying to figure out who planted that bomb. Shit was crazy last night, Lucie.”

I don’t say a thing.

He slams his hand on the bench. “I’m also trying not to murder your boyfriend from the other night.”

“Who?”

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