I have to step back to see the man’s face. He’s so tall his head would hit the doorframe if he tried to enter.
“C-can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Callum McAllister.” No pleasantries. No smile. A grunt of a statement. I should’ve figured my deadbeat uncle would be hanging out with equally rude assholes.
I inhale deeply, hating the fact I have to speak again with that vile man in the living room.
“Callum!” I call out over my shoulder before returning my gaze to the very large man. “Can I ask who’s calling?”
The man looks back at me blankly, then a tiny muscle twitches on the side of his face. “Sure. Enzo Agostini. I work for the Di Santo’s.”
The hallway tips and I have to rest a hand against the wall to find balance.
“The… the Di Santo’s?”
There’s a glimmer of darkness in his features that gives me his answer.
“What is it,sweeth?—”
Callum stops in the hallway behind me and I can hear his breaths shorten.
I don’t take my eyes off the man. Terror has frozen me in place. This man works for the Di Santo’s—the New York mob.
Themafia.
Surely Callum doesn’t work for these people? He’s had a chip on his shoulder about any kind of mob for as long as I can remember. None of them would have him. So, why is a member of the Di Santo family standing on my father’s doorstep?
Callum mutters a curse under his breath then makes a run for my father’s room. The window opens onto the yard below, though it’s quite a drop.
“Go,” the man barks, and another person bolts from behind him.
Enzo Agostini ducks beneath the door frame. “May I come in?”
I take a step back, looking over my shoulder to make sure Dad is still in the living room. “Um sure. Come into the kitchen.”
“Who is it, Fi?” my father calls out.
I blink up at the man, silently pleading with him to not give his identity away.
“Just a friend of Callum’s, Dad. Nothing to worry about.”
I gesture to a seat at the kitchen table, half expecting it to snap in two under the weight of the man, and I back up against the sink.
I focus on breathing steadily and not swallowing too much as we wait. Agostini scrolls through his phone like this is what he does all the time—bursts unannounced into innocent peoples’ apartments.
A few minutes later, the second man drags Callum through the apartment by his collar, hands tied behind his back, and shoves him into another chair.
As much as it pleases me to see these huge men manhandling my pathetic uncle, having two members of the Di Santo family in my dad’s kitchen is making my entire body tremble.
“Where’s our money, McAllister?” The large one barks.
Callumshrivelsunder the man’s calm watchful eye.
“I told you I’d get it,” Callum rushes out. “I just need a couple more days.”
“What money?” I ask.
“None of your business,” Callum snaps, but the smaller of the two large men smacks him around the head, shutting him up.