Page 25 of Captive Mafia Wife

“Oh my gosh! What is this?”

Inside sits a tiny red-and-orange hot air balloon made of thin, colorful paper pasted over a grid of delicate metal forming the balloon—a perfect replica of the one I hired to float above our home two All Hallows Eves ago, tethered to the ground and rising so you could overlook the sparkling lights of the city with one of my themed cocktails in your hand.

Callum said there were no hot air balloons this year. It’s a security issue. He said he can only keep what’s inside our stone walls safe, which is precisely why he never wants Fiona to leave Norse Garden.

I hold the delicate object by its tiny straw basket, which looks to have been handwoven, admiring the artist’s attention to detail. A darling miniature of Champers sits in the basket, complete with her ginger-colored fur. Her cute little face is a replica, and she’s even wearing a pink collar with an itty-bitty silver bell.

“This is unreal.” I scour my mind, thinking of the local artists I know, wondering who could have created such a piece.

I can’t think of anyone.

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement, but coming from my snake-tongued fast-fingered arch-nemesis, I can’t admit what a wonderful creation he’sproduced.

A note flutters out of the box. An invitation? As I read the paper, I realize the words aren’t so much a polite request as a demand.

Join me at my estate in Inverness

Wear wedding attire.

“Ha ha! As if!” Letting the paper slip from my fingers, I sigh, watching it flutter to the floor. I’ve clarified to all parties involved that I will NOT be leaving Norse Garden Estates. “So funny I forgot to laugh, Freddie.”

The hot air balloon, on the other hand, I nestle lovingly back into its box. No matter the sender, the little work of art is a treasure.

I’m just getting into the part when Sherri, wrapped in chains, flags down a truck driver on the side of the road to save her from her captors when there’s a SECOND knock on our front door.

Holding in a groan, I text Callum AGAIN.

Me:another knock

who is THAT

C:Fredricks man again

Me:The weird little mustached man

what does he want NOW

C:he needs to pick something up

answer the door

Me:you didn’t say please

C:ANSWER THE DOOR FREYA

“Geeze,oh man, Callum. Keep your pants on.”

Despite my better judgment, I pad my way back over to the door. Stachio is waiting on the stoop. Leaning against the doorframe, I ask breezily, “Can I help you? Callum said you’re here to collect something?”

A look of confusion is on his face. “I’m here to collect you,” he announces matter-of-factly.

“Collect me?” I gape at his audacity. “Like a suitcase or a bag of old clothes to be donated? What on Earth do you mean by ‘collect me?’”

“You’ve been invited to the Frisque estate in Inverness.”

“The note in the box? I thought that was a JOKE.”

His caterpillar brow folds. “So, youhavereceived Mr. Frisque’s invitation.”

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