Chapter 2 - The Sanctum in Lake ForestThe front doors swung open to reveal a soaring foyer lined with dark walnut paneling, marble flooring, and a broad staircase winding up to a mezzanine balcony. A fire crackled in a massive stone hearth at the far end of the hall, casting warm, dancing shadows across oil paintings that Sadie recognized immediately—priceless Dutch masters that hadn't been seen in public galleries for fifty years.
An elderly man in a sharp gray suit approached immediately, holding a warm blanket and a medical kit.
"Mr. Russo," the butler said calmly, showing no surprise whatsoever at the sight of his employer carrying a dripping, bloodied woman into the house. "Doctor Vance is in the library. He arrived ten minutes ago."
"Good," Callum said, carrying Sadie past the hearth and setting her down gently onto a deep leather sofa in a private study off the main hall. "Bring hot tea. And clear the perimeter teams. Nobody leaves the grounds without my personal authorization."
"At once, sir."
Callum knelt on the oriental rug in front of the sofa, ignoring the water dripping from his tailored coat onto the antique fibers. He reached down and gently lifted her left foot, placing it on his knee. His fingers were remarkably light as he unbuckled the ruined strap of her remaining shoe and pulled it free, tossing it onto the floor.
Sadie winced as the cold air struck the open laceration on her calf.
"It looks worse than it is," she said softly, staring down at the top of his head. Up close, she could see silver threads woven through his thick, dark hair at the temples. He was thirty-eight, ten years older than her, carrying the weight of an empire that had been built on blood long before he took the wheel.
"It's deep," Callum muttered, his eyes dark as he inspected the wound. "And Varga’s fingers left deep tissue bruising on your wrist and leg. He’s a big man. He didn't hold back."
A tall, grey-haired man with a medical bag stepped into the study. "Out of the way, Callum. Let a professional look at her."
Dr. Vance worked quickly and efficiently. He cleaned the wound with an antiseptic that made Sadie grip the arm of the sofa until her knuckles turned white, administered a local anesthetic, and placed six neat stitches across her calf before wrapping it in sterile gauze. Through it all, Callum remained standing by the mantelpiece, watching every movement of the doctor’s hands with an intensity that made the room feel pressurized.
"She needs sleep," Dr. Vance said, snapping his bag shut and wiping his hands with a towel. "The anesthetic will keep the pain down for a few hours. The wrist isn't broken, just badly sprained. Keep ice on it."
"Thank you, Arthur," Callum said, nodding to Lev, who escorted the physician out.
When the room was quiet again, save for the crackle of the fire, Callum walked over to the small bar in the corner, poured a glass of warm water, and dropped two pain relief tablets into it. He handed it to her.
"Drink these."
Sadie accepted the glass, swallowing the pills without argument. She pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders, feeling the deep heat of the hearth finally starting to melt the chill in her bones.
"You don't have to keep me here," she said quietly, her voice sounding small in the vast, wood-paneled room. "I can take a train out of the city. I have family in Indiana—"
"No," Callum cut her off sharply. He sat in the armchair opposite her, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees. "Moretti’s men monitor the stations. The moment you purchase a ticket, you give them a location. You stay here, where I can see you."
Sadie looked at him, her gray eyes searching his dark, impenetrable face. "Why do you care, Callum? I’m an appraiser. I’m a vendor. You could hire three more like me by tomorrow morning."
Callum’s expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "Competence is rare, Sadie. Courage is rarer. You protected my property at the expense of your own skin. I don't abandon people who bleed for my interests."
"Is that all I am? An interest?"
The question hung between them, delicate and heavy. For three years, their relationship had been strictly transactional—short meetings in private rooms, quiet exchanges of thick folders for banker's drafts, brief moments where her sharp wit had brought a faint, rare smile to his grim lips. But tonight, the boundary line had been washed away by rain and blood.
Callum stood up slowly. He walked over to the sofa, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. The heat off him was intoxicating, mixing with the scent of cedar and rain.
"If you were just an interest," Callum whispered, his voice dangerously low, "Varga would already be dead. But because you are here, and because I intend to keep you safe, I have to be precise about how I tear his world apart."
May you like
He reached down, taking her uninjured hand in his. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles, his gray eyes locked onto hers the entire time.
"Rest, Sadie," he murmured against her skin. "Tomorrow, the war begins."
