Chapter 8 - THE LONG NIGHT
I couldn't sleep.
Back at the Callahan estate, the hours dragged on with agonizing slowness.
I paced back and forth across the polished hardwood floors of the grand library, checking my phone every five minutes. It was 3:00 AM. Sophie was sleeping peacefully upstairs in the nursery, guarded by two armed men stationed in the hallway.
Mrs. Gable sat quietly on the leather sofa, holding a tray of hot tea she had prepared for me hours ago.
“You should try to rest, Miss Morales,” Mrs. Gable said gently. “Mr. Callahan has handled situations like this a hundred times before.”
“He went out there alone,” I whispered, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows into the dark garden. “Those men... they looked dangerous.”
“They are dangerous,” Mrs. Gable agreed softly. “But Ethan Callahan is the man dangerous men pray they never meet in the dark.”
Just as the grandfather clock in the hall struck 3:30 AM, the heavy front doors of the mansion groaned open.
I ran out of the library and into the grand foyer.
Ethan stepped inside. His tuxedo jacket was missing, his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing the dark ink on his skin. A faint smear of dark blood was visible near his left cuff, but he moved with effortless, fluid grace.
Vance followed close behind him, carrying Ethan’s folded jacket.
When Ethan’s eyes landed on me standing at the top of the marble staircase, his sharp features softened instantly.
“You’re still awake,” he said softly, walking toward the stairs.
I didn't think. I didn't care about propriety or boundaries. I ran down the stairs and threw my arms around his broad chest, burying my face in his shoulder.
Ethan froze in surprise for a brief second before his heavy arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tight against his warm, solid frame. The scent of rain, leather, and faint gunpowder clung to his shirt.
“You’re okay,” I breathed, tears of relief burning my eyes. “You’re okay.”
“I told you I would return, Rachel,” Ethan murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion. He rested his chin against the top of my head, his large hand gently cradling the back of my neck. “I always keep my promises to you.”
I pulled back slightly to look up at his face. “Are you hurt?”
“It isn't my blood,” he replied simply, his dark eyes searching my face with overwhelming intensity. “The Moretti family understands now that Chicago remains under my control. They will not bother us again.”
He reached up, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear from my cheek. His touch was so tender, so impossibly soft for a man who commanded a criminal empire.
“Why do you care so much about protecting me, Ethan?” I whispered, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. “It can’t just be about what happened three years ago in L.A.”
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Ethan stared down at me, his dark eyes burning with raw, unadulterated passion.
“It started as a debt, Rachel,” he admitted quietly, his hand cupping my cheek. “But the moment I held your daughter in my arms on that plane, the moment I saw you fighting so fiercely for her... I realized I never want to let either of you go.”
