Page 46 of Stolen Hearts

“But you could’ve just let the alternative happen.”

“Meaning?”

She makes a face. “Let Callie marry Massimo Carveli.”

“I couldn’t let that happen.”

I would NOT let that happen.

“I know,” she grins. “Because you’re Captain freaking America.”

Like I said, she thinks I’m a superhero. Eilish does, too. Fuck, theyalldo.

But I’m not. Maybe I used to be. Maybe I was for Kelly, when I avenged her death. But I haven’t been Superman or Captain America since the night I lost three of my brothers because of my own recklessness.

I’m nobody’s hero now.

Not even close.

And they all have no fucking idea.

11

CALLIE

Once again,dark circles under my eyes greet me in the mirror. I haven’t been sleeping well recently in general. But last night? Last night, I slept like absoluteshit. And now I’m groggy, grumpy, and anxious.

Wonderful. Just how every bride wants to feel on her wedding day.

Yeah, today’s the day. But instead of fitful dreams like I would imaginerealbrides-to-be have, about seating arrangements or bloating when trying to put the dress on or whatever, my pre-wedding-day dream was an actual nightmare.

A nightmare of watching Luca die all over again. Of seeing his blood spilling onto me while he screamed that I killed him.

It’s hardly the first time I’ve had it, either.

I know he was a monster and a piece of shit. I know what my fate would have been if I’d actually married him, or, God forbid, if Castle hadn’t come that night.

But still. Not only is the recurring dream utterly terrifying, but after I have it, I always wake up feeling guilty. Like I’m a condemned soul. A murderer. Castle may have yanked him off me and broken his neck. But I know all that did was hasten an inevitable end I set in motion when I shoved him into that mirror.

He was losinga lotof blood. From his neck. There’s no way he was leaving that hotel room alive.

And that was my fault.

I shudder, swallowing back the terrible guilt—which is made worse because I feel badfor feeling bad, considering who the deceased was.

God, I wouldkillfor anxiety about stupid seating arrangements right now.

Later in the morning, Eilish and Neve come over to help me get ready. If I had it my way—and I’m one-hundred-percent sure Castle feels the same—the wedding would be at the courthouse, with a single witness each, and zero fanfare.

But of course Dimitra has other plans.

Ya-ya is no stranger to arranged marriages. She and my grandfather had such an arrangement, and they were always incredibly happy together.

They’re who I think of, in fact, when I think of the poster couple for a happy, healthy marriage. Not my own parents. Like Neve and Eilish, I lost my mom young, really young: I was two when she died. We spent another few years here in New York after that happened, at this very house, with Ya-ya and Papou.

But Grandpa Jonas was the glue that kept things together, especially between Ya-ya and my father, who was a real bastard. When Grandpa died, the glue fell apart. Dimitra tried—hard, and with everything she had—to keep the family together. But our father was determined to get away from here, and took us all to London.

Then he died at our bother Atlas’ hand, who then himself died right after. And it wasn’t long afterthatthat our uncle Vasilis died here in New York—alongside Declan Kildare. That’s when we all came back home to the States.

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