Page 3 of Call You Mine

A dazzling con artist in his day now a loathsome crook who’s unable to accept responsibility for his actions. Finding someone to blame was always his forte. At one point, I entertained the idea of us being more than what we were, but finding out he worked alongside Wesley and practically worshiped the bastard, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him the same.

Still as gorgeous as he was then, yet there’s something different about him. However, I can’t be stupid enough to brush off his alliance with Enzo, regardless of his reasons, and suddenly trust him. Even if every part of me wants to.

Familiarity breeds contempt, but it also kills you slowly. Guilty is the hand that helps you up only to stab you in the back, yet the only one to truly blame is the hand that accepted the help.

Luke leans in closer, as if reading my mind. He tenderly kisses my forehead, running his fingers through my windblown hair—the ends stiff and coated in dried blood, yet the roots are now soaked from the rain. I involuntarily lean into his palm, his fingers gently caressing my wet cheek.

Despite what he’s said, it feels good to see a familiar face amidst the chaos I’ve endured in the past twenty-four hours. “I’m so sorry, Wynnie,” he whispers against my cheek. “I should have come to you, should have told you sooner, but I need you to trust me now. I’ll get you out.”

Betrayal stings, as his false apology only makes it all worse. He could have been my one confidant here, the friend I so desperately needed in New York. My savior, who could have risked it all for me. Instead, he stayed hidden and watched as Enzo made my life a living hell.

I push further away from him, trying to steady myself on my feet while I struggle to keep my balance in these goddamn heels. “I don’t need your pity, Luke. Now that my life hangs on a fucking tightrope, you decide to man up and help me. Where were you the last three years? When he tortured me like one of his prisoners? When he had me locked in his tower like an animal, only letting me out when he saw fit?”

Pain stains his sad eyes, but he stands there like a dog with his tail between his legs, knowing damn right it’s true. He was a fucking coward.

“I was weak, a pathetic coward who wasn’t brave enough to stand up against him, but I won’t stand back anymore. I’ll help you escape.”

A snide chuckle leaves my lips at the irony of his response.

Bright lights gleam in the distance, illuminating him in a heavenly glow as the city prepares to awaken. The sky is once again still. “Easy for you to say now that he’s fucking dead.” I close my eyes in fear I may have just made things worse for myself.

It hurts that he didn’t protect me, but deep down, I know I shouldn't be so hard on him.What choice did he really have, standing up against one of the most dangerous men in existence?He had a code to follow once he became part of Enzo’s crew. It’s my life or his and I’m not so sure I’m worthy of that kind of sacrifice.

Luke takes two steps toward me, and if I wasn’t already at the edge of the roof, I’d take two steps back to keep my distance. “I’ll cover this up, make it look like it was a hit. Enzo has plenty of enemies. They can drive themselves mad trying to figure out which Famiglia it was.”

I shake my head hesitantly. His plan is too dangerous. “That would start a war, Luke. They’d all come after you.”

For the first time in three years, I feel something other than despair.

Hope. My escape is just out of reach, yet I’d be a fool to think it would come so easily and without consequence.

Luke’s hand interlocks with mine as his thumb runs circles along my palm. “We all deserve much worse for all we’ve done to you.”

It’s too bad what they say about hope—it breeds eternal misery.Only thinking left to find out, will it be my salvation or punishment?

Chapter One

WYNTER

Hillcrest Hills - Hours later

“Ms. Servite. Excuse me,” the flight attendant quietly calls out, gently tapping me on my shoulder and startling me from my sleep. “Miss, I apologize for waking you, but we’ve landed.”

Forcing my groggy eyes open, I try to focus my vision as I look around the small charter plane I took from New York back to California, a plane that is now disturbingly empty.

My stomach clenches, anxiety crippling me as bile rises in my throat from the nightmare I just awoke from. I guess it wasn’t a nightmare, more a replay of what took place just a mere six hours ago—a conjuring of sorts.

My memory comes rushing back to me, flooding me with the agony I felt as my world came crumbling. I notice the handful of passengers aboard when we took off from a private landing strip outside of John F. Kennedy airport are no longer here. It’s a habit I’ve developed—to make sure I’m always acutely aware ofmy surroundings. You learn to be incredibly vigilant when you’re always in the line of danger, never knowing who might hurt you.

Words Enzo once meant as a warning are now crucial to my current situation. At least that’s a valuable lesson he’d taught me.

“Our enemies are many, Snow. Always sleep with one eye open and a finger on the trigger, carina. You never know when they’ll come for you.”

It’s funny how the only advice he ever gave me is what I used against him. The last words I uttered to a dead man were those he threw at me every chance he had.

In the plane there were two suspicious men in expensive suits, each carrying a silver portfolio surely full of cash or drugs, a couple wearing matching beachwear who looked to be going to a five-star beach resort for their honeymoon, and another faceless couple with an infant daughter. I only remember the baby girl because she had the same dark hair and blue eyes as my niece Caeli, who was about the same age last time I saw her. Now, she’s surely a toddler wreaking havoc around her house with her cousins.

It’s the little things that made me miss home. The insignificant moments I never imagined I’d crave because I’d never experienced them. A family, real friends. Peace. Never having to look over my shoulder in fear.

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