“Hi…” I took her hand.
She squeezed my hand tightly and it felt like she was squeezing my heart instead. My plans, everything I wanted to do, all seemed so perfect and attainable in my head, but what could I do when my heart made me want to stop all of this and just take them back home with me? Take Giovanna and her mother before I lost them.
Lost them? I wasn’t sure how that thought had come to mind. I could never lose my daughter, she was mine. But her mother...Was that what this feeling was? Was I losing her? How? We’d been doing everything as we planned.
Just like that, my thoughts were clear…and it did nothing ease my fears.
That’s what I was feeling. Fear and dread.
Kissing her once more, I got up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. I heard the low hum of a blender as I walked back into the kitchen. She stood there making what I could only guess was breakfast for Giovanna. She didn’t acknowledge me. It was she like she was thousands of miles from me.
“I slept with Klarissa last night.” She froze for only a second before going on back to cutting the tomatoes in front of her.
“According to plan, I know.”
I moved to her side. “You’re hurt by it.”
“I’m not that fragile. I understand the mission.” She picked up the cutting board and tried to move, but I grabbed her arm. She glanced down at my hand and then to me, and I preferred the annoyance in her eyes to the emptiness.
“You mean you don’t want to be that fragile,” I explained, “and you want me to be just another mission, but I’m not. I am the father of your daughter, your future husband, someone you love. And while you were taking care of our daughter, I was in bed with another woman. You know she means nothing to me. You know that the moment I can, I will kill her, because the only woman I want or need is you. You know all of that, but you’re still hurt.”
“Are you done? The pan is getting hot.” She yanked her hand from my grip and walked away.
You’re losing her.
The thought angered me…hurt me. I turned off the stove, snatching the board from her hands and tossing it on to the counter.
“What are you doing–”
I kissed her, and it didn’t last a second before her fist collided with the side of my face. I had reached out to brace myself but because I was confused, or just an idiot, I ended up touching the damn stove.
“Ah!” I hissed, my jaw tight.
“What fuck is wrong with you?” she snapped, grabbing my wrist and moving me over to the sink to run cold water over it.
“You! You are what’s wrong with me!” Couldn’t she see that? I thought it was obvious.
CALLIOPE – AGE 24
Rome, Italy
Friday, April 25th
I’d just finished dealing with one child and now I was dealing with him. When did this become my life?
“I’ll get my first aid—” He held onto my wrist with his good hand. This again? “Ethan, I’m warning you stop—”
“We have a plan,” he whispered, and I wish I didn’t, but I looked into his eyes. It was as if they were begging me. “We have a plan. It is logical, it is vicious, it is calculating…and it would be impossible for any other people to achieve because it requires us to not only sacrifice our own happiness, but to hurt ourselves and each other. We are prepared for the physical pain, but the emotional agony? We couldn’t have prepared no matter how hard we tried.”
“Ethan, I’m fine.”
“Do not lie to me. I can see it.” He squeezed my wrist. “I can see and feel you retreating.”
“I’m right here.” I tried to shake free of his grip. “What you’re seeing is just exhaustion—”
“Calliope!” he snapped again and shook his head. “I have seen you push yourself beyond human comprehension. Don’t make me feel as if I’m the crazy one for speaking up here.”
“What the fuck do you want from me, Ethan?”
“Your honesty, your love, and your loyalty.”
“You have it. I’m not the one screwing other people!” The moment the words came out of my mouth, my eyes widened. I didn’t mean that second part. No, I’m not that woman. “I mean—”
“I think you said what you meant,” he whispered, releasing my wrist.
“Don’t tell me what you fucking think I meant. I am not that woman. I am not that fragile. We came up with a plan. I agreed to it knowing everything because I, unlike most people, understand that the ends justify the means. I wouldn’t go back on my word nor what we agreed to years ago—”
“Because it hurts now?” he interrupted, and I stopped speaking. I really wanted to hold his face to the stovetop this time. “Logically we understand what needs to be done. Emotionally we don’t and it hurts.”
“I’m going to get the first aid kit before I hurt you,” I muttered, heading to the bathroom.
I said nothing to him. Walking into the bathroom, I shut the door behind me. The moment I got inside I had to rest against the door. He hadn’t done anything wrong—correction— he hadn’t done anything I didn’t know about and agree to. I had no right to be upset. Normally I wouldn’t be upset, but this wasn’t normal. The only thing normal about jealousy was that people experienced it.
“What is wrong with you, Calliope?” I asked myself, staring at my reflection for a second. In that second, I thought of how he looked while talking to Giovanna. I couldn’t help but watch on my camera. He looked so…happy, in love, relaxed, and sad. He was right. When we started this, we had thought about it in an impartial and logical manner. It was what made us so attracted to each other. This ability we had to plot and scheme. However, now that we were in the thick of it, now that we had a daughter, we didn’t know how to align our hearts with our minds. I didn’t think it was possible.
If we gave into our hearts, we’d abandon our plans, and our minds would never let us have peace. If we followed our minds, our hearts ached. Which path could we chose at this point but to follow our minds, which meant we’d have to accept the pain? We’d come too far. We’d sacrificed so much, been in so much pain, we couldn’t just change course now. I had to remember the Ethan outside of us, outside of Giovanna and I, was not the real Ethan. He was actor, a liar, a villain…just like me.
I reached under the sink, taking out the first aid kid before I opened the door again. He was still standing where I left him at the kitchen sink, running cold water on his hand. He looked lost in thought again. When I reached his side, I turned off the water. His green eyes shifted to me and I could see he was torn.
“Is it a curse or blessing that we think alike?” I put the kit on the table. I fished around for the burn cream and gently applied some to his hand. “After all, opposites attract.”
“Opposites may attract, but the like-minded last.” He watched my hands as I cared for him. “And you know that too; you just wanted to hear me say it.”
“You knew that too and still answered.” He didn’t say anything. I smirked, letting him off the hook and changing the subject. “You really are selfish. I was up all night taking care of her, and now I have to take care of you too.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“Of course you will. You don’t have a choice in the matter.” I pulled a bandage from the kit.
“All of this isn’t necessary—”
“Shut up and let me do it anyway,” I muttered, wrapping his hand. “I don’t get to play cute girlfriend often.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Do you see a ring on my finger?”
“Do you want a ring?”
“If I wanted a ring, I would already have one.”
He sighed and spoke in Italian. “When the Grim Reaper asks for nothing now it’s because she will be collecting everything in the future.”
I rolled my eyes, finished with his hand, but he just held on to mine. “I hate that nickname.”
“We don’t choose what we are called,” he said with small grin.
“Fine, but why do you get to be the one who chooses? I am not a pet.”
“No, you’re the commander of death.”
I nodded vigorously. “That! That would have been a better name.”
“Calliope, the commander of death? What are you, a video game character? It sounds almost sarcastic. You don’t want to be a joke, do you?”
My eyes narrowed as I glared at him. “You are very fucking annoying sometimes, you know that? Why don’t you just stick with calling me la mia anima?”
“Yes. I know I annoy you. The feeling is often mutual.” He touched his forehead to mine. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “Anyone else who calls you La mia anima, I will kill. Don’t let go of me. No matter how far over the line I go…don’t. What I told you before still stands. The moment you want to end this, I will.”
“Look at you. Under those layers of ice and stone is such a sweetheart,” I teased, knowing it would annoy him. He rolled his eyes and flexed the bandage on his hand. “Don’t you dare.”
I taunted him and he tried to think of something sly to say back, but I wasn’t having it.
“You can dish it but can’t handle it?”
“Nothing to handle, I’m absolutely perfect. Haven’t you noticed?”
He shook his head, not even bothering to fight me on it and he looked down the hall to where Giovanna was sleeping.
“Was she in a lot of pain?”
“She was,” I admitted. There was no point in lying, he had to have realized it. “She cried a lot, but after her medicine and a hug, she was fine. She’s going to be all right.”
“That’s why you called last night…and I was—”
“Pimping yourself out?” I asked.
One eyebrow raised, and the corner of his lip turned up. “Yes. But now I feel like I’ve admitted to being a whore.”
“Your words, not mine.” I closed the first aid kit. “I was emotional, she was in pain, and when I knew what was going to happen, I reacted out of anger and jealousy. I won’t apologize, but I’ll be more mindful in the future.”
“We are very odd people.”
“It’s a trait that comes with power,” I reminded him, turning and leaning against the sink. “My grandfather used to say no one wants to be normal; they want to be us, but they can’t so they label us odd.”
“I think he stole that from my mother,” he replied, and I rolled my eyes.
“Or your mother stole it from him, jeez. Has anyone ever told you have one hell of a mother complex?”
He crossed his arms, turning to me. “Oh, do go on.”
“You love and hate her. Just like your sister. I think Wyatt is the only one who doesn’t hold the same grudge against her.” I went back to the food I was preparing.
“Wyatt doesn’t know they’re alive, of course he doesn’t have a grudge…he doesn’t know he should yet.”
“No, I don’t think he’ll have one even if he found out. He’s not the type and you know it.” I sliced the tomatoes quickly. He took one and ate it, ignoring my comment. So I went on. “Donatella, she loves her but hates the pressure of living up to her. You? You know she’s alive. And now you—we—are dedicated to finding her and your father. You want revenge, but at the same time, you admire her…it’s why you have a thing for brunettes.”
He grimaced like he was kid who just found out his parents had sex and it made me laugh. “Obviously, you don’t think of her like that. But despite your anger, your rage, you still regard her as what a woman should be.”
“If so, how do you think you measure up against her?” He reached for another slice, but I spun the knife and stabbed into the wooden chopping board right before his fingers reached it, so close I sliced the tip of his index finger. His wide eyes shifted to me and I faced him.
“It is very easy to forget who I am and what I can do while I’m waiting in your shadow. It is even easier now that we have a daughter and I’m in the kitchen cooking like a good little wife. But I’d advise you to very careful and not ask me such a stupid question. I don’t waste my time on foolish things. Wondering whether I live up to your mother or not is foolish. She didn’t give birth to me. She’s never saved me. I owe her nothing. I am not Melody Callahan. I am Calliope Orsini. When I become Calliope Callahan, people will abide by my way and if they don’t, they will learn the painful consequences. I didn’t come all this way to hear anyone else’s fucking opinions on anything.”
“You—”
“That applies to you too.” I cut him off. “I will do things my way. That may go against how your mother did things. I don’t fucking care and unless I ask, I don’t want to fucking know. What I want, what I demand, is what I have given you: undying, unwavering support. You are on my side and no one else’s. Not even your fucking mother’s. I will not compete for what I deserve. Am I clear?”
“Understood…Mrs. Callahan.” He licked the blood from the small cut I’d given him.
“Move.” I pushed him back, tossing the knife in the sink, washing it and my hands before taking another one from the block.
He stood behind me and kissed the side of my neck.
“Your daughter needs food.” I reminded him. He exhaled and remained at my back for a moment before stepping away. “You should get back to your…work friend. I’ll call you and update you on Giovanna.”
“How about you call just to talk to me?”
I smirked. “No point risking it, don’t you think?”
“I wonder what you’re going to do when you actually become Mrs. Callahan and come home.”
“No need to wonder, I’ll tell you.” I lifted a slice of tomato to my lips with the knife. “I plan on burning the place down and rebuilding it for me. Your mother’s time is over. I thank her for building the foundation, but when I step out from your shadow, I’m not going to hold back, and they will get used to who runs shit now.”
I bit into the fruit, winking at him.
“I have a monster in my shadow.”
“It keeps your monster company.”
He pulled me to him and even with the knife in my hand now poised at his throat he leaned in and whispered, “Everyone one talked about my parents like they were gods. I want to see their faces when they realize they have nothing on us.”
His lips were on mine and I pulled the knife back, kissing him just hard as he kissed me. Our time was coming, and then nothing would stop us.
Until then…
“I don’t like that your plaything looks a little like me,” I whispered, breaking away from him.
“What?” He frowned. “You look nothing like that idiot.”
“She has brown hair.”
“That’s the similarity?”
“I don’t like it. Tell her to dye her hair red or shave it off,” I demanded. “Or whatever the hell else.”
He looked at me as if I was insane but nodded.
“Good. Now go, I’m going to feed our child.”
Chapter 13
“Graveyards are full of indispensable men.”
~Charles De Gaulle
ETHAN - AGE 27
Chicago, Illinois
Saturday, November 11th
Idiots.
This world was full of idiots.
I knew this, but I often wondered—were they idiots at birth, as in God just forgot to give them a brain, or were they dropped on their heads as children and never recovered?
“It will never happen again Mr. Callahan.” The two men, my men, stood shivering, clenching their balls, in the middle of Ms. McGlinchy’s ice and ice cream factory. Men and women would cut massive blocks of ice and wheel them to another machine, which smashed it into perfect pieces before funneling it into McGlinchy Ice bags. Everyone was on holiday today, which left us some space to talk.
I stared at the red-haired men, twins it looked like. They looked identical but there was not a single brain cell between them.
“It was our fault—”
“Of course, it was your fault. Who else�
��s fault could it have been?” I asked them, leaning back in my chair. “It couldn’t have been my fault, I’m not idiot.”
“Right, sir, I mean—”
“Then why tell me it’s your fault? I already know that.” I stared at them. “You should be telling me how you plan on making up for this.”
They got on their knees.
“Mr. Callahan, forgive us, please. It was for family—”
“I’m supposed to be your family, aren’t I?” I snapped, getting to my feet. “You stole from me, your family, to give to your other family, the Finnegan brothers you say, and now you want me to forgive you?”
“We didn’t know they were going to take—”
“BECAUSE YOU’RE FUCKING IDIOTS!” I roared. “You’re not supposed to think! I THINK! You follow me so you don’t end up freezing your fucking balls off in a goddamn ice cream factory, you fucking dipshits!”
“Sir—”
“Tobias!” I yelled, ignoring them, and when he came closer it took all my strength not to smash his face in. What good was he when he only gave me information after the fucking act? “I want to know everything about the Finnegan brothers, every fucking thing, am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
I inhaled and looked back to the ginger fucking pieces of shit. “Greyson, tell our gingers to have a little time out in the box. Ten minutes and they will come out much wiser.”
Greyson as well as three other guards circled, having to beat on them a little before dragging them over to the steel box. Opening it, they threw their bodies inside and I looked away only to find Ms. McGlinchy standing there. Everyone else in the community called her Grams. She was a short Irish woman with grey hair that she kept in a bun and a face with more wrinkles than tree bark. She handed me a cup of ice cream.
“Take a quick gander in there after five minutes, they’re not going to be the full shilling, a bad dose of cold like that will have them banjaxed.” She spoke in a deep Irish accent. Which in translation of her slang meant after five minutes in the box they’d be broken…dead. After all, no human being could survive that cold.
Vicious Minds: Part 1: Children of Vice #4 Page 18
