No More His Callista

Once, Don Luca’s love surrounded me, though I was his brother’s wife.

Four years ago, with a gun pressed to his own temple, he forced me to save his bitch bastard son.

I did. But my tiny daughter has gone forever.

He watched my baby girl being a cloud of ash on the Brooklyn Bridge.

Now, he locks me in his mansion, showers me in diamonds, and begs for a fresh start.

He desecrated my niece’s grave and traded me to gangsters to protect his bitch son and mistress.

He didn't know, this time, it’ll be his last choice.

Long Island, New York, the sprawling Byers family mafia estate.

The deafening roar of a helicopter rips apart the quiet night sky. The cabin door gets kicked open violently, and a squad of gun-toting bodyguards march a frail woman down the steps at gunpoint.

“Let go of me! Don’t you dare touch me!”

I thrash wildly, silver handcuffs digging raw, bleeding gashes into my wrists.

“Callista. You ran off for four whole years. Did you honestly think you’d ever slip out of my reach?”

A low, vicious drawl echoes out from the shadows up ahead. Luca stands draped in a custom all-black overcoat, his polished leather shoes crunching over packed snow with every step.

He advances slow, a lone wolf zeroing in on its prey, then lunges forward and wraps a crushing hand around my throat. His grip’s brutal, nearly crushing my windpipe, yet his voice trembles beneath the rage.

“Four years. You’d rather scrub dishes in a rat-infested slum than come back to me. How much longer are you gonna keep punishing me like this?”

I tilt my chin upward, staring blankly at the mafia don who rules New York’s underground. Nothing but cold, dead emptiness lives in my eyes.

“Come back? Return to this hellhole soaked in Nancy’s blood?”

Luca freezes rigid, pupils blowing wide, his eyes instantly flooding red.

“It was nothing more than a horrible accident! I locked Sylvia away behind bars to atone for everything. What else do you want me to do?”

I jerk free of his chokehold with a bitter, hollow laugh that borders on hysterics.

“An accident? You forced me to sacrifice my own daughter for Sylvia’s brat, and you dare call that an accident?”

My mind snaps back to four years prior, the bitter wind whipping off the Brooklyn Bridge.

Rival gang the Vipers had strapped two masked kids to opposite sides of the span, each rigged with complex C4 explosive devices.

Back then, I was one of the military’s top EOD specialists. I bolted straight to the scene to assess the bombs.

The little girl’s countdown clock had just sixty seconds left. The boy’s had a full three minutes. By every professional rule, every logical instinct, I had to disarm her bomb first.

I’d barely grabbed my wire cutters when Sylvia drops to her knees, wailing at the top of her lungs.

“Luca, that’s Jasper! He’s your flesh and blood, your only son! You can’t let him die—save him first!”

My heart skips a beat, cold dread washing over me.

Luca recovers from his shock in an instant, presses the barrel of his handgun firm against his own temple, red-rimmed eyes locked hard on mine.

“I only just found out about him, I’ll explain everything later. Just save Jasper. I’m begging you. If you won’t, I’ll pull this trigger right now.”

My hands shake so bad I can barely hold my tools.

He’s my late husband’s little brother—the man I’d given every piece of my heart to after Marco died.

Against every fiber of my being, I spin around and shakily snip the wires securing Jasper’s bomb.

The second the device disarms, the gangster cackles and yanks the hood off the little girl across the bridge.

I recognize that small, tear-streaked face instantly. It’s Nancy—my baby girl, her mouth gagged tight as she sobs silently.

The gang leader roars with mocking laughter.

“Look at that! The niece you raised like your own means jack squat next to your so-called son, Luca! Hey Don—you wanna show your wife exactly what kind of monster you are?”

“Mommy—”

A tiny, broken cry carries across the wind.

A split second later, a deafening blast tears through the air, fire swallowing everything in sight.

I watch, helpless, as my four-year-old daughter dissolves into a cloud of blood and ash less than thirty feet away from me.

I yank myself back to the present, my stomach churning with violent nausea as I fix Luca with a murderous glare.

“It’s only been four years since Nancy died. How could I ever stop hating you? I wish I could tear you limb from limb.”

“Enough!” Luca snarls, cut deep by my words, rage boiling over. He heaves me over his shoulder in one rough motion and storms toward the mansion’s front doors.

“You’re mine for life—alive or dead. Lock her in the master bedroom, and nobody gets clearance to let her out, not under any circumstances.”

The estate’s massive iron front gate slams shut with a thunderous boom.