Hard Up: A Military Mafia Romance Read online

“Uh… no,” she lied. She wasn’t even sure why she lied about the suitcase, only that obscuring her past was second nature to her now.

  He glanced around her room. “You don’t have much, but what you got is pretty nice. Where are you from?”

  “New York,” she said.

  “City?”

  “No, Montauk,” she lied.

  “Fancy phone, fancy watch, fancy dresses in your closet…”

  Vi’s jaw dropped. “You looked through my things?”

  “Just trying to figure out who you are, before I risk my neck to save you. Have to tell you, though. Your panties are not up to par. Seriously, you’re lucky you’re so hot that guys can overlook those cotton granny panties.”

  “They are not granny panties!!” she protested, then growled. “And fuck you for looking through my underwear drawer, you pervert!”

  He smiled. “In your dreams, sweetheart.”

  She was speechless for the second time in as many minutes. She wanted to yell at him, tell him she already knew he was interested, or rant some more about the invasion of her privacy. All the words twisted around in her head though, and she ended up just muttering under her breath.

  “Why don’t you have more stuff?” he asked, looking around.

  Vi shrugged. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t stay in one place for long.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face, as though he were trying to decide if she was being truthful or not. After a moment, he shrugged, and she felt some of the tension in her chest ease.

  Only to ratchet right back up when Callum stepped closer to her. One step, then two, then… he was right in her face, only inches away. She stepped away from him instinctively, only to feel her back hit the wall.

  Damn her tiny apartment. She was trapped by him, this hulking gangster who very well might decide that she was too much trouble. Callum could do anything to her right now, wipe down the room for his prints, and vanish forever.

  His bright green gaze seared her, pinned her in place as he spoke, low and harsh.

  “The other guys in my crew, Cor and Dec and whoever you meet in the next few days,” he said, his gaze dropping to her lips. “You can’t fuck any of them.”

  Vi’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  Callum seemed unperturbed by her shock.

  “And you can’t tell any of them that we fucked, either.”

  “Why would I tell anyone?” Vi asked, growing angry. “And you can’t tell me who I can or can’t sleep with, thank you very much.”

  Callum glared at her. “Consider it a condition of me saving your ass. Or would you rather I leave you here, let the Valetti family hunt you down in the street like a dog?”

  Valetti. Vi’s heart dropped to her feet.

  “That’s who… the guy I shot, he was a Valetti soldier?” she asked.

  “Underboss. And what the fuck do you know about mafia soldiers?” Callum demanded to know.

  The Valettis were a prominent New York crime family, one of the infamous five mafia families. She did not want to be caught by the Valettis.

  Vi sucked in a breath, summoning the lie she desperately needed.

  “Nothing. Just… The Sopranos, you know?”

  He stared her down for a few hard seconds. She just stood there, feeling trapped.

  Callum seemed to lose interest after that. He dragged the suitcase off the bed, rolling it toward the door. “Come on.”

  “Where?”

  He stopped, turning to give her a frustrated look. “You can’t stay here. And unless you’re going to blow town today and never come back, you’ll need somewhere to stay. Somewhere with no paper trail.”

  “I… I don’t want to go,” she blurted out. The name Valetti was still ringing in her ears. She wanted nothing more than to pack her car and drive off into the sunset.

  San Diego was supposed to be nice this time of year…

  “Do you want to die?” Callum asked.

  “N-no…” she stuttered. “But I can leave on my own. I can be out of town by nightfall.”

  “You stay here, you’ll be dead by nightfall,” he said, his matter-of-fact tone giving her chills. He had that quality that all made men had, that level of comfort with brutality and death.

  It was completely unnerving.

  “Besides,” Callum continued. “If they find you, they’ll make you talk. Ask you about me. I can’t have that.”

  “So, what? I just slum in some roadside motel until you eventually settle your beef with the Valettis?” she growled.

  The rise of his brows told her that she’d said too much. A layperson wouldn’t know how witnesses were usually hidden. She needed to play it cool, pretend she was totally unwitting.

  And somehow not get killed in the process…

  “Not a motel. You’re coming to my place to lie low. I don’t know what the fuck else to do with you.”

  She snorted. “Nice. Great way to talk to the person who saved your life.”

  He scowled. “No more resisting. Get a move on.”

  “Wait. I can’t go anywhere with you unless I know your last name.”

  He raised an eyebrow, probably because they’d already had sex and she hadn’t known his last name. Hell, she’d shot someone without it.

  “Connor. Callum Seamus Connor.”

  She stuck out her hand. “Viola Rose Walker.”

  He gave her an odd look but shook it, then motioned that they should continue.

  They made it to the darkened downstairs bar, where Callum parked her suitcase by the door. He unbolted it with a grunt, making her wonder just how bad the pain in his shoulder was.

  Any normal person would be bedbound for a few days at least, right?

  He twisted the keys in the lock and opened the door a few inches, light pouring in across his face. He squinted outside.

  “Is that your Audi outside?” he asked, going a little tense.

  “Yeah,” she said, twisting her fingers together.

  He relaxed a little, but shot her a speculative glance. “Don’t suppose that’s a knockoff, huh?”

  “It’s a few years old,” she said. A truth, before the lie. “I got a deal on it.”

  He looked away, rolling his eyes. She could see the calculation on his face. Let him think some rich boyfriend bought it for her. So what?

  “Ah, here we go,” he said, opening the door wider.

  A huge black SUV pulled up, sat idling. Grabbing her bag and the keys out of the door, she paused to lock the door.

  Then, not knowing what to do with the keys, she stuck them in the pocket of her jeans and followed Callum to the car.

  He’d already tossed her suitcase inside, and now stood with the door to the back seat open, waiting impatiently.

  Staring at the open door, she froze up for a second.

  If I get in this car, my whole life is going to change, she thought.

  A note of certainty sounded in her heart as she thought the words, along with a shiver of fear.

  Callum might protect her from the Valettis, but if he found out who she really was…

  She opened her mouth, preparing to back away, to apologize and run to her car.

  Callum gave her an impatient look, reaching out and grabbing her arm. He yanked her toward the car, shoved her inside.

  “Callum, no!” she cried. “I don’t—”

  Callum's rough hand closed over her mouth, muffling her protests. He slid his other arm around her waist and picked her up, forcing her inside the SUV.

  His lips found her ear. “Shut the fuck up, Viola. Not a fucking word. Don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”

  Icy fingers of fear squeezed at Vi’s heart as Callum released her. He pushed her across the SUV’s back seat, up against her suitcase, before he slammed the car door behind them.

  The SUV took off with a squeal of tires. In the front seat, she saw Dec and Cor exchange glances, though neither said anything.

  Dead silence fell in the car as it sped away from Snake’s Bar, a simmering and angry tension seemingly shared by all the passengers.

  Vi glanced out the window as Savannah’s waterfront whipped by, wondering just what the hell she’d got herself into.

  7

  The silent car ride to his apartment gave Callum time to brood. Mostly, over what a terrible idea it was to bring Viola home with him.

  Cormac was in the driver’s seat, doing precautionary maneuvers like circling the block extra times, making sure they didn’t have a tail. It turned a ten minute drive into thirty minutes.

  All the while, Callum stared out the window, pointedly not looking at her. Already this morning he’d bickered with her enough, over everything from her pop culture knowledge of the mafia to her panties, for fuck’s sake.

  The problem was, he kind of liked to fuck with her. Her cheeks turning red, her eyes flashing… chest rising and falling a little faster, drawing his gaze down to her amazing tits…

  Correction. The real problem was that Viola was hot as hell. A fact he knew all too well, seeing as how he’d already fucked her.

  So why the hangup on his part? He usually forgot about chicks the second he slipped out of their beds. Viola… if Callum was honest with himself, he’d certainly planned to fuck her again.

  He groaned internally. She’s one hot girl in a fucking whole sea of hot girls. Get the hell over it.

  Then there was the fact that she’d shot a man to save Callum’s life…

  His lips thinned. Doesn’t matter. You can’t fuck her again now. Get that out of your head.

  By the time they pulled into the parking garage of Callum’s upscale condo building, he’d raked himself over the coals a dozen more times. The self-rebukes seemed to work, because he felt steadier, more in control of himself.
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  Cor parked the car and Callum climbed out first, checking that the garage was clear before helping Viola out of the car. Callum’s condo was one of dozens of the Cúram’s safe houses, but with all that was going on in Savannah today it paid to be extra cautious.

  They took the gilded elevator up from the basement level to the penthouse, a sprawling renovated warehouse loft. Callum could feel Viola’s curious gaze on him as he led her into the apartment, could imagine what she thought as she took it in.

  Two bedrooms, a home gym, and a huge open kitchen and living room area. Nice artwork on the walls, chic modern furniture, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, French doors that led out onto an expansive balcony.

  Expensive, but completely impersonal. Just how Callum preferred it.

  “Come on,” he said, grabbing Viola’s suitcase and heading toward the guest bedroom.

  He saw Viola glance at Cormac and Declan, as if seeking some kind of comfort. Cormac remained stone-faced as usual. Declan at least inclined his head, which seemed to give her little reassurance.

  Callum hustled her down the hallway that led to the identical bedrooms. He pointed to the guest bedroom door and followed her inside; the furniture was a little dusty, since no one ever stayed with him, but it had a big comfortable bed and those same beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Huh,” Viola said as she dumped her bag on the bed.

  “Bathroom’s in the hall, between the bedrooms,” he said, pointing at the adjoining door. “And a walk-in closet. Not that you need to get too settled in or anything.”

  Viola frowned. “Okay.”

  “Stay put,” he ordered, turning and closing the door behind him.

  He stilled for a second, exhaling a pent-up breath. Having her in his house was… strange.

  He moved to his bedroom and quickly changed out of his clothes, dumping them in his laundry hamper. He was still moving slow, but the pain in his shoulder was almost gone. The pain in his hip was… bearable.

  Callum headed back down the hall, finding Cormac and Declan waiting for him on the balcony. Or verandah, as Savannah locals might say.

  Callum had lived in the South for months now, taking care of the Cúram’s holdings in Savannah. He still didn’t quite get the Southern accent or slang, being Boston born and bred.

  He stepped out onto the balcony, frowning when Declan and Cormac went silent at his approach. He didn’t like being talked about, it was one of his pet peeves.

  “Go ahead,” he said to them.

  “Fucking A,” Cormac said, shaking his head and looking away. “What the hell have you got us into this time, Cal?”

  Callum didn’t react. Of course they were going to be mad that he’d brought a stranger into their midst. If he was in their shoes, he’d be pissed, too.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice,” he said slowly.

  Declan grunted. “Look, she’s a perfectly nice girl. Bad bartender, nice tits, all that. None of it explains why she’s here, compromising our whole fucking operation.”

  “I told you, she saved my damned life,” Callum said, leaning against the balcony’s wrought-iron railing and crossing his arms.

  “So why not just give her some money to get out of town?” Cormac asked.

  Callum squinted at him. “She shot one of the Valetti hitters, right as he stood over me with a gun leveled at my chest. Ordinary bystander, getting involved in Valetti family doings? They’d hunt her down and make an example out of her.”

  “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly the first time you’ve gotten involved with a female civilian, is it?” Cormac said.

  Callum flinched. “That’s unfair. What happened with Azara, that couldn’t have been guessed at.”

  “Well, maybe if you weren’t off making eyes at her, the whole day would’ve gone down differently and our unit would still be alive,” Cormac said, jabbing an accusing finger at Callum.

  “Fuck off with that,” Callum growled.

  “Hey, hey,” Declan said, ever the peacemaker. “Cormac, you fucking know that’s not true. We were set up from the beginning. None of that has anything to do with Callum’s… flirtation.”

  Cormac muttered a curse and looked away again, this time with a tic in his jaw.

  “Chill the fuck out,” Declan warned them both. “We made a pact, coming into this. We promised not to bring up the past, said that we would only look forward from here out. Savannah is a fresh start for all of us.”

  He gave Cormac a meaningful look; Cormac’s own taboo romance had blown up in his face in Boston, and that was one of the main reasons they’d ended up stationed so far away from the rest of the Cúram.

  “You know what? Do whatever you want. Tell her everything, blow our cover, get us all fucking killed,” Cormac said, storming off into the house. “I’ll be in the fucking car.”

  Callum pinched the bridge of his nose. Declan sighed and shook his head.

  “He’s never going to forgive me,” Callum said.

  The same taboo love affair that had sent the Black Saints running from Boston had ended with the death of Cormac’s girlfriend. The girl was killed while she was with Callum, running a routine money drop between safe houses.

  Cormac was never the warmest soul, but the death of his girl had turned his heart to ice. Sometimes Callum actually, genuinely worried for his friend’s soul.

  “He’s still hurting. In time, he’ll come around,” Declan sighed.

  He cocked his head, prompting Callum to turn around. Viola had apparently not taken his command to stay put very seriously, because she was wandering around the kitchen with a curious expression.

  “She’s going to be a handful,” Callum sighed.

  “Cal…” Declan said.

  Callum glanced at his friend, cocking a brow.

  “You can’t get involved with her,” Declan said slowly.

  “I’m not going to.”

  Now it was Declan’s turn to arch a brow. “I’m just guessing here, but from the way she looked at you at the bar… I think you already fucked her.”

  Callum pulled a face.

  “So what?”

  “So, she’s fucking hot as hell and you’re a fucking manwhore who can’t keep it in his pants. Blonde, big tits, talks all soft and breathy? Just your goddamned type,” Declan uttered.

  Declan had him there. Viola was exactly Callum’s type.

  “Yeah, well. I figure I’ve learned one thing in the last few years,” Callum said. “And that’s the fact that I like being free of bullet holes more than I like getting my dick wet. I’ve already been shot once near her, she’s definitely bad fucking luck.”

  Declan winced. The Irish blood in their veins made the Black Saints take the concept of bad luck very, very seriously. Maybe the good behavior and obedience of Catholicism hadn’t stuck with them, but the superstitions sure as hell had.

  “You need to make things crystal fucking clear with her, the second I leave. Otherwise there’s gonna be baggage,” Declan said.

  “Baggage, huh?” Callum asked, eyeing Viola as she opened cabinets in the kitchen, seemingly unafraid to make herself at home.

  Declan reached out and snapped his fingers in front of Callum’s face. Callum gritted his teeth. He hated when people put their hands in his face. Anyone other than Declan or Cormac did that, they’d end up with broken fingers.

  “This is what I’m talking about, right here,” Declan said. “You fuck her, you dump her, she goes running to the Valettis or the Richetti familia or whoever the fuck. Next thing you know, you and me and Cor are all fucking riddled with those bullet holes you claim to be trying to avoid.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Callum said, pushing Declan’s hand away. “I get it.”

  “Look at me,” Declan insisted. “Do. Not. Fuck. Her.”

  “Okay, message received,” Callum groused.

  “I’m off to go calm Cor down, probably hear him bitch about you for a fucking hour,” Declan said, moving toward the French doors.

  “Good luck with that.”

  Declan shot him a look. “My job is easy. You’re the one who has to call your uncle and tell him how fucked we are.”

  Callum winced. His Uncle Fallon was notoriously mercurial, so there was no telling if Callum’s story would enrage or bore the head of the Cúram.

  “Yeah. Fuck,” Callum muttered.

  “And if I were you, I wouldn’t tell him about your passenger here,” Declan said, jerking his thumb toward Viola. “If you don’t want her to take a long walk to the Harbor, you need to get rid of her before Fallon even knows she’s here.”