Page 18 of Captive Mafia Wife

“Aye. One and the same.” The disappointment in his gaze causes me physical pain. Sure, I worry him from time to time. Piss him off daily. But I’ve never let him down like this.

“And I represented him.” My voice comes out strange, sounding far away.

Callum nods, confirming the fear he can read creeping into my face. “And now everyone thinks you’re one ofthem.”

“No…” My words are swallowed by a desperate moan echoing in my ears. It’s coming from me. Desperate, I grab each of his arms in my hands. “I had NO idea Jack was with them. Please! Tell me you believe me.”

He stares at me with pain. “Freya…”

No. Not Callum. It KILLS me that anyone from the island would think this of me, but my own flesh and blood? My baby brother? It’s too much.

“You believe me, right?” I grip him tighter, trying to shake him, but he’s a marble statue. “Tell me you believe me.”

He stares down at the ground between us. My pulse is racing; he waits a beat too long. Finally, he says, “Aye. I believe you.” A rush of relief fills me. It’s gone as quickly as it came with what he says next. He drags his sad gaze back up to meet mine. “But how could ye not know, Freya?”

Standing in front of O’Malley’s, my brother’s question hanging between us, a part of me dies.

Chapter Six

Fredrick

Callum didhis best to keep tabs on Freya, but his dedicated team would be stretched thin if they investigated every case she took. The Maclean clan made their request at the last minute, only after their lawyer pulled out.

Freya’s got Jack Maclean off. He’s a recently initiated member of the Hoax. Too recent for Freya to know about unless she investigated him thoroughly.

Rumors have begun swirling all over Scotland that the sibling power duo of Callum and Freya Burnes has split their allegiances. Falsehoods that Callum is still co-running the Kings with Cailean Baynes. Lies that Freya is now casting her lot with the lowlife of Glasgow, the Hoax.

The misinformation couldn’t be further from the truth.

Callum and Freya are as strong as ever, loyal only to the Kings. However, when Freya finds out about Callum’s hand in her future, there will be strain between the green-eyed siblings. But Callum says he’d “take her rage over her harm any day.”

He says the Burnes are quick to anger but forgive quickly.

Let’s hope that's true for the sake of their relationship. I’m in the Great Hall at Norse Garden to finalize the details of our agreement. The Viking of a man is waiting for me, a tray with a French press between us. The aroma of rich coffee made the correct way gives me a pang for home. I take a seat.

Callum fills my cup. “Thanks for coming as quickly as you could.”

We start with the smaller topics, and I tell him what my employees have heard.

I share the most essential information to begin with. “Tavish Wilson, the bartender at Level Z, remember him?”

He casts his mind back briefly before saying, “The good-looking one that all the bartenders work harder for. The one the younger female servers get distracted by?”

“That’s the one. We’ve had to monitor the waitresses’ times to pick up drinks for the customers in the VIP room and make them place their orders with all the bartenders equally, not just with Tavish.”

Callum lists off what he knows of Tavish. “Newer recruit, eager, loyal, moving up quickly.” His tone drops. “Lost a younger sister to the Hoax’s people-trafficking ring.”

“Hence his enthusiasm for our work. He’s anoutstanding young man. And he is proving to be quick on his feet. He had some interesting news for me,” I say. “About Freya.”

“Pray tell.” He sighs, leaning his large frame back in his tall wooden chair. “Or don’t.” He drums his fingertips against the tabletop. “I’m worried sick about that girl. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

I press on, knowing he needs this information. “Tavish was working the bar Thursday night at Level Z. Around nine o’clock, Freya and a group of her female co-workers came into the club”—turning heads and drawing attention as beautiful, well-dressed women tend to do—“just after one of Jack Maclean’s mates. He goes by Ross Macdonald?—”

His thick brow furrows. “The one with the light blue eyes?”

“Yes.” I nod. “The same.”

He asks, “We’ve had surveillance on him for a while now, aye?”

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