She Apologized for Being Late—Then the Mafia Boss Noticed Her Limp and Knew Something Was Wrong

Stefan Varga, his left eyebrow stitched closed and his face bruised purple from Sadie’s umbrella, stumbled into the gallery. His coat was torn, his eyes wild with the frantic, cornered madness of a man who knew he was already dead. In his right hand, he held a heavy nickel-plated revolver.

"Russo!" Varga roared, his voice echoing off the marble walls like a gunshot.

Guests screamed, scattering toward the main exits as Lev and the plainclothes security guards drew their weapons instantly.

Callum didn't flinch. In a single, fluid motion, he pulled Sadie behind his broad back, shielding her completely with his body, his own weapon clearing his armpit holster with terrifying speed.

"Stand down, Varga!" Lev shouted, his rifle trained on the intruder’s chest. "It's over!"

"It's not over!" Varga spat, his revolver shaking as he pointed it directly at Callum’s chest. "Moretti sold me out! He gave my name to the feds! If I’m going to prison for the rest of my life, I’m taking your appraiser with me!"

Varga shifted his barrel, trying to aim around Callum’s broad frame toward Sadie.

Sadie felt the icy cold spike of terror in her chest, but she didn't scream. She reached out, gripping the back of Callum’s coat with both hands, trusting him completely.

"You made a mistake, Varga," Callum said, his voice dropping into a register so cold, so utterly lacking in human mercy, that even Varga hesitated for a fraction of a second. "You touched her once. I let you live through the night so I could ruin your boss. But you came here... in front of my eyes."

"Die, you bastard!" Varga screamed, pulling the trigger.

BANG!

The deafening roar of the gunshot shattered the gallery’s silence.

Callum didn't move an inch. He took the bullet squarely in his left shoulder, the force of the impact rocking him back half a step, but he didn't fall. He didn't even grunt.

Before Varga could cock the hammer again, Callum raised his own pistol and fired twice.

BANG! BANG!

Two clean shots struck Varga in the center of his chest. The giant hit the marble floor with a heavy, wet thud, his revolver skittering across the polished stone until it bumped against the velvet rope.

Silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating, broken only by the smell of cordite and the distant wail of sirens approaching Michigan Avenue.

Sadie rushed around Callum’s side, her eyes wide with terror as she saw the bright red stain spreading quickly across the dark gray fabric of his left shoulder.

"Callum!" she cried, her hands flying to his chest, trying to press against the wound to stop the bleeding. "You're hit! Oh God, Callum!"

Callum dropped his gun onto a side table and looked down at her. Despite the blood pouring through his fingers, his expression was completely calm. In fact, a faint, breathtaking smile touched his lips as he saw the pure, desperate love burning in her gray eyes.

"I’m fine, Sadie," he grunted, wincing slightly as she pressed down hard on the wound. "It missed the artery. I’ve had worse from my own cousins at Christmas."

"Don't joke!" she sobbed, tears finally breaking through her composure as she held him up with all her strength. "You took a bullet for me!"

"I would take a hundred for you, Sadie," Callum murmured, reaching up with his uninjured right hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, his thumb leaving a faint smudge of copper-smelling blood against her fair skin. "Now... tell me your answer. Before the paramedics get here and ruin the moment."