The mat is trampled now. It should be replaced. The porch, too, looks run down, the once bright yellow paint peeling off the wooden railing, weeds growing through the floorboards.But that's not why Callahan gave me these.I flip through, I see their faces. I don't recognize the younger ones but the older ones I know. Uncles and others who worked for my father. The ones who left when Vincent and Gregory took over."How did you get these?""Drone. You recognize them?""Some."“Keep going."I do, my heartbeat picking up because I'm sure things are about to get worse. And they do. Fast.It's when I see the small cabin high in the mountains that my heart sinks. It's where my father held his most important meetings. Complete privacy. I don't want to know what else he did up there, but I do know if you were in real trouble with him, that's where you went. Some never came back. The ones who did were in bad shape.But now I see it's one of my paternal cousins, well, the husband of a cousin. O

PortiaThe first thing I see when I get upstairs is the veil. It's folded and set on the foot of the single bed I slept on last night.Picking it up, I smell detergent and see how much whiter the lace looks. I didn't have a chance to wash it before the wedding day. The stains are gone too. No blood. Like it never ever happened.I'm glad.Keeping it on my lap, I sit on the edge of the bed and look around. This is Elizabeth Scarfoni's room. Callahan's little sister. She was five when she was killed. She'd have been fifteen now. Same age as Nathan. And her little friend, what was her name?Mara. She disappeared. Seems strange if they took someone that they'd take Mara and not the daughter of their enemy.And after all this time, I wonder if Callahan is still searching for her. It makes me a little sad to think of it.But then the door opens, and I leap to my feet. No knock, but I'm not surprised.Callahan stands in the doorway taking up the whole of it. He looks around the room and I wond

Portia"Look at me."“No,"“No?" He smacks again and tears sting my eyes. Then he starts rubbing my butt in lazy circles and my wires must cross because all I should feel is pain. Pain and humiliation and brutal injustice. But his hand on me right now, him holding me like he is, that's not all I feel."Look at me," he repeats. I do, a tear sliding down the side of my face.“What did you think you'd do with a nail file strapped to your thigh like you're some warrior woman?""What do you expect me to do? Not fight? Not try to defend myself? I was twelve when I started fighting. I don't know any other way to be. Don't expect me to roll over for you in a day. It's not how I'm wired. I know I'm not a warrior woman. I know you're stronger than me and that you'll probably beat me every time, but I have to try."“I don't want to hurt you, Portia.”"Yeah right, that's obvious. I fucking hate you."He shakes his head and raises his arm.I struggle, wriggle to get free, and that's when I feel hi

PortiaI'm surprised about the things for Nathan but true to his word, bags of clothes were waiting for my approval at the next shop. Although if he truly is keeping him on the island, I'm sure he doesn't want him wearing the same clothes that are stained with Vincent and Gregory's blood, so this isn't exactly selfless of Callahan.It's late afternoon by the time we get to Callahan's uncle's house, on the edge of the city. And house isn't quite the word. It's a mansion, a proper Italian mansion set well back from the beautiful stone pillars cradling ornate iron gates that open to let us in. The grounds are elegantly manicured and before a servant opens the front door, I can hear the sounds of someone playing piano inside.Alec enters behind me. I take a moment to look around, take in the elegant, monied feel of the place. Our home in Mexico was always more cozy than elegant. We lived in that house, played in every room.The sounds of children and the smells of cooking constant. This p

CallahanI take a step towards Portia and my uncle, blocking Heathcliff's view of her, not wanting him to look at her any longer. I can't stand the thought that even his eyes should fall on her.I was twelve when I started fighting. I don't know any other way to be. Her words kept resounding in my brain.At least I was an adult."Callahan." My uncle nods in greeting and walks past me to the bar. I don't give two fucks about him.“You look beautiful," I tell her, part of me wanting to put my jacket over her shoulders to hide her from her uncle. From the other ogling, shameless men.She looks up at me like she has a hundred things to say. Like she wants to curse me to hell and fall into my arms all at once.“Why is he here? Why are you talking to him?” she asks, eyes just flashing to Heathcliff momentarily.I put my hand at her lower back, turn her away, walking at an angle to shield her from him."He's an asshole, Portia. I know that. You don't have to worry about him.""An asshole li