Chapter 8
And the greatest thing he ever did was become someone worthy of being chosen again.
The first year after Rosalie returned was the strangest year of Callum Moretti’s life.
Not because of enemies.
Not because of business.
Because happiness required a skill he had never learned.
Peace.
For most of his life, Callum had been prepared for disasters.
He knew how to react when someone betrayed him.
He knew how to negotiate when two families wanted blood.
He knew how to enter a room full of dangerous men and make every person understand exactly who was in control.
But he had never known what to do with ordinary mornings.
With Rosalie sitting across from him drinking coffee while reading the newspaper.
With Baxter sleeping between them like he owned the entire apartment.
With silence that did not mean danger.
At first, he did not trust it.
Rosalie noticed.
She always noticed.
“You’re doing it again.”
Callum looked up from his phone.
“Doing what?”
“Waiting for something terrible to happen.”
He frowned.
“I’m not.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You checked the security cameras six times before breakfast.”
“Five.”
“Callum.”
He sighed.
“Five.”
Rosalie smiled.
The smile that used to destroy his defenses.
“You know normal husbands bring flowers.”
“I bring security.”
“That’s not romantic.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s terrifying.”
He leaned back.
“You married a mafia boss.”
She looked at him.
“No.”
A pause.
“I married a man who happened to be a mafia boss.”
That sentence stayed with him.
Because that was exactly what she had taught him.
He was not his reputation.
He was not his empire.
He was not the fear attached to his name.
He was simply Callum.
The man who still folded her sweaters incorrectly.
The man who secretly learned how to make her grandmother’s soup because he remembered she missed it.
The man who knocked before entering rooms.
Especially hers.
***
The peace lasted eighteen months.
Then Elena Moretti called.
Callum knew something was wrong the second he answered.
His younger sister never sounded afraid.
Not when their father died.
Not when the family nearly collapsed.
Not when enemies surrounded their properties.
But now her voice was quiet.
“Callum.”
He stood immediately.
“What happened?”
“There was a message.”
His expression changed.
“From who?”
A pause.
Then:
“Sebastian Vale.”
The room became cold.
Rosalie looked up from the couch.
She saw his face.
She knew.
“What is it?”