Between classes, I carry her books from the library. She pretends to protest, but I can see the way her fingers brush against mine when I take them, how her eyes linger on me before she looks away.
I kiss her before she walks into her classroom, slow enough that her lip gloss smudges onto my mouth. It earns her a few jealous glances from other students, and I can’t help but enjoy that. The world should see that she’s mine.
I used to think romance was weakness. That caring about someone meant losing control. But Callista has made me realize that loneliness isn’t strength. It’s emptiness.
And I’ve been empty for too long.
I used to think I felt alone because people didn’t understand me. Now I know it was because I didn’t have anyone to give my love to. Someone to take care of. Someone who made me want to be gentle.
With her, I finally understand what peace feels like.
The business side of my life is flourishing, too. The new recruits from the finance gala are working well. The laundering operations are smooth again, and I’ve started exploring other ventures to expand our influence—cryptocurrency trading fronts, shell corporations, even property investments. Leo will be pleased.
But as I watch Callista leave her last class of the day, walking toward me in her skirt and cardigan, all that matters is her.
She spots me and smiles. That shy, sweet smile that makes everything else fade away.
“Hi,” she says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I slip an arm around her waist, pulling her close. My thumb strokes her stomach through her sweater. It’s flat now, but sometimes I let myself imagine what it would look like rounded with my child. The thought makes something deep inside me ache.
She leans against me. “I have to write an essay tonight,” she says, frowning a little. “You?”
“I have work,” I admit. “We can do it together. In the library.”
Her smile returns. “Deal.”
The library is quiet at this hour, the low hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of turning pages filling the space. We take our usual spot at the far corner near the tall windows. She sets down her laptop and a notebook filled with colorful pens and sticky notes.
I open my laptop beside her, running numbers and reviewing reports.
For a few minutes, she distracts me completely. The way she chews her pen when she’s thinking. The tiny crease between her brows. The faint scent of her shampoo.
“Stop staring,” she whispers without looking up.
“I wasn’t,” I say.
“You were,” she says, glancing at me from under her lashes. “I could feel it.”
I smirk. “Maybe I just like watching you think.”
She rolls her eyes but her lips curve into a small smile. “Then you’re easily entertained.”
“I am, when it’s you.”
She shakes her head, pretending to focus on her essay, but I see the blush rising on her cheeks.
We fall into a comfortable rhythm after that. She types, I run figures, and somehow, the quiet between us feels warm instead of empty.
Every so often, she reaches for her coffee and our fingers brush. Every time, I have to stop myself from leaning in to kiss her again.
I used to think I could never balance my two lives—the bratva and the boy. But when she looks at me like that, I start to believe I can.
It’sclose to midnight when I finally close my laptop. The library is quiet except for the rustle of pages and the soft hum of fluorescent lights.
Across from me, Callista yawns, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes flutter. She blinks a few times, trying to stay awake, then rubs her eyes with the back of her hand like a sleepy child.
She looks adorable.
