Page 89 of The Strength Of A Woman

“You said we’d eat outside,” I say.

“It’s probably too early for that.”

Again, I don’t know what that means.

We sit across from each other and start eating, barely taking the first sip of wine, when the stairs creak again.

It must be one of his men. Maybe two. They’re talking to each other.

Callum has looked preoccupied these past few moments, so his men approaching us doesn’t come as a surprise.

The man in front of me sets the napkin to the side, still chewing, ready to rise.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says and pushes to his feet, just as Cosimo enters the room, followed by another man.

“We need you downstairs, Boss.”

Cosimo is usually more relaxed than he appears to be now, and seeing a frown on his face, so similar to Callum’s, makes me shudder.

This can’t be good.

“Don’t move,” Callum says to me on his way out, picking up his jacket and sliding it on, tense and dark, so different from the man I kissed before.

Sighing, I look at the food, no longer in the mood to eat, the silence growing thicker.

I won’t move.

Where could I really go?

CALLUM

“I was right, wasn’t I?”I say, pacing down the stairs.

“Yes, you were. They picked him up.”

I knew someone was watching us.

Couldn’t point to the exact person, and frankly, no one in particular had caught my attention, but I knew something didn’t feel right.

“He says he doesn’t know the man who paid him to give you the message.”

“He might be right,” I say, deftly smoothing my collar and checking my holstered gun.

“Who did he say he was?”

“The son of a fisherman.”

“Does he look like one?”

“He does.”

“How old is he?”

“Nineteen.”

“He’s most likely only the messenger.”

We reach the first floor, exit the main house, and enter the adjacent one.