Chapter 4 Choices And Consequences

Oh no. Oh no, no, no–

He was here again.

He was goddamn here again!

This time Calista's brain didn't need any push to go into a panic mood. The panic was instant, crushing. She opened her mouth to scream for Cynthia but the man–Jaxon spoke before her.

"Calm down, Miss Calloway," he said calmly, but unlike that night, there was an edge to his voice. "You asked me to book an appointment like a normal person and here I am. I won't harm you in your office, where anyone could just enter. That will be stupid."

True. That was true. Calista's panicked brain just needed to understand that. He couldn't hurt her. Yeah. He couldn't.

Her breathing slowed, and the tension in her body ever so slowly started to melt away. But she didn't sit. She didn't relax. She remained standing, watching like a prey watching its predator.

"Would you mind if I sit?" he asked gently, gesturing towards the chair in front of her desk.

It was better than standing. He was intimidating when he was standing, tall, and packed with muscles, he was the definition of a predator. "By all means." She pointed at the chair.

He sat down slowly, adjusting his suit, and giving her a small smile. He looked up at her while she looked down her nose, but that changed nothing about who held the power. Even sitting, he still looked like a crime god.

With his three-piece suit, tailored to perfection to match him like a second skin, his jet black perfectly styled back and some falling into his eyes, and his eyes-those damn eyes-black, like a void, yet they were... soft. Soft, not hard, and empty like how it was supposed to be.

His eyes made him look... kind. But Calista wouldn't be fooled by looks. It has long since been established that looks could be madly deceiving. So she wasn't falling for his eyes, even as they continued to stare at her in that not-so-uncomfortable way he was doing now.

"I want to apologize for that night," he began, his deep voice soft. "I shouldn't have just entered your home uninvited. I should have approached you like how a normal person would. And for that, I'm sorry. Deeply. I'm embarrassed by my actions."

And he did look embarrassed. There was a slight pink color in his eyes, barely noticeable in his tanned skin, but it was there, alright.

Calista slowly sat down, her eyes never leaving his. His eyes brightened as he watched her relax. Goodness, was she wrong about him? Wasn't he a part of the mafia? He had the looks, had the aura, but... those black, bottomless eyes. They were so expressive. You could see his soul through them.

She inhaled as she looked into his eyes and said, "Now that we've passed the point of you trying to kill me with a heart attack, what do you want from me, Mr. Castillo?"

Castillo's smile didn't waver. If anything, it only sharpened, a flicker of something amused-pleased-crossing his features.

"Straight to the point," he murmured. "I admire that."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk between them. It was subtle, but the movement shifted the air, shrinking the space between them, forcing her to remain right there, under his unwavering gaze.

"I need a doctor, Miss Calloway," he said.

Calista blinked. "A doctor?"

"You," he clarified softly. "Your skills. Your hands."

Something in his voice made her chest tighten. It wasn't a request-it was a decision he already made.

Calista straightens, fighting the urge to recoil. "I work at a hospital, as you already know, Mr. Castillo. If you need medical attention, there are plenty of places you can go to."

A quiet sigh left him, as if he expected her to say that. "You misunderstand," he murmured. "I can't go to the hospital. My people can't. My men brought me here because they had no other chance."

Calista's fingers curled slightly on her desk. "Why?"

She already knew why. But he didn't need to know that she knew. The less he knew about the things she knew, the better.

He studied her for a moment, his gaze steady. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice as smooth as velvet, "Because I am at war, Miss Calloway."

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

She tried to maintain that steady beat of her heart, she tried to school her expression to remain calm.

"War?" The word left a foul taste in her mouth.

He nodded, slow and deliberate. "It's not something you need to bother yourself with. But what you need to know is this-I have men who are hurt, men who will continue to get hurt. And I need someone I can trust to take care of them. Taking them to the hospital will attract attention we do not need."

Trust. Coming from a man she had only just met. Coming from a don. Since when did dons trust anyone but themselves?

Calista wet her dry lips and Castillo's eyes dropped to them before he looked back at her eyes sharply. "You trust me?" she asked, skeptical lacing her voice.

"No," he answered honestly without missing a beat. "But I'm willing to trust you."

Calista inhaled sharply, suddenly dizzy.

Trust. Trust. Trust.

That word was dangerous, a double-edged sword. It could be the best thing when someone trusts you, and it could be the worst thing ever. Knowing you had someone to trust was comforting, and it also hurt more than anything when that trust was broken.

She had never experienced something like that before, but her father had. He had someone break his trust so badly, it had left him broken. It had left all of them broken. And dead. Her family died in the flesh, while she was dead on the inside.

Calista blinked, her eyes going wide when she felt tears on her lashes. She was on the verge of tears and Castillo was watching her, his eyes slightly narrowed. She turned away from him, blinking rapidly, clearing her throat.

"I'm not sure I'm the first person for this," she said and cleared her throat again when her voice came out hoarse.

Castillo smiled gently. "You are."

"How do you know?"

His eyes softened. "It's all in your eyes, Calista."

Calista didn't know what he meant by that, and she didn't want to know. But what she wanted to know was why the sound of her name on his lips, the way he said each syllabus with such care, made something in her chest tighten.

"I don't want to force you into anything, Miss Calloway," Castillo said after a moment, his voice gentle, careful. "I simply want you to consider it."

That was almost worse than an outright demand. Because now, the choice-and the consequences-were her decision to make. And they have already established-they, as in the demons in her head-that she was terrible at making decisions.

And something tells her if she said no-truly refused-he wouldn't push. He wouldn't threaten. He would simply leave.

She met his gaze one last time, not even bothering with a fake smile. "Have a nice day, Mr. Castillo."

There. She made a decision. And in record time also.