Chapter 2 - The Wife He Married Only to Protect Became the One Woman He Couldn't Lose—Then She Discovered Her Own Father Had Sold Her Marriage to Start a Mafia WarThe bullet had carved a four-inch path across Declan's side.
He refused the hospital.
Of course he did.
“You need stitches.”
“I have a doctor coming.”
“You're bleeding on a twelve-thousand-dollar rug.”
“I never liked the rug.”
“I picked it.”
He looked down.
“Then I love the rug.”
I stared.
Donovan turned away to hide a smile.
“Sit.”
“Nora—”
“Sit down.”
Declan sat.
That was when everyone in the room learned something important.
Chicago might fear Declan Hayes.
Declan Hayes apparently feared disappointing his wife.
Dr. Salazar arrived fifteen minutes later.
While he cleaned the wound, Donovan explained what they'd discovered.
The shooter's SUV had been registered through a shell corporation.
That corporation had received payments from Callahan Maritime.
My father's company.
I shook my head.
“He wouldn't try to kill me.”
Declan said nothing.
“Say it.”
“We don't know who the target was.”
“You.”
“Possibly.”
“Then why use my father's company?”
“To frame him.”
“Or?”
Declan looked at me.
I hated the second possibility.
“Or my father was involved.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“I'm going to see him.”
“No.”
Every head turned toward Declan.
I stared.
He exhaled.
“Let me rephrase.”
“Please do.”
“Going tonight would be dangerous.”
“Better.”
“I'd prefer you wait.”
“Much better.”
Donovan muttered:
“Remarkable.”
Declan glared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then my phone rang.
Dad.
I answered.
“Nora?”
“Dad.”
“Are you hurt?”
I looked at Declan.
“How do you know something happened?”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
“Dad?”
“Come to the docks.”
“No.”
“Alone.”
Declan stood.
I raised one finger.
He stopped.
“Why?”
“Because if Hayes comes, people die.”
“Who?”
“Please.”
My father's voice cracked.
I'd never heard that before.
“Nora, there are things you don't understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“Not over the phone.”
The line disconnected.
Declan was already reaching for his jacket.
“You're not going.”
“We discussed orders.”
“This isn't breakfast.”
“He's my father.”
“And somebody just fired through our window.”
“Our?”
Declan stopped.
I shouldn't have noticed that word.
I did.
Our window.
Our home.
Our marriage.
I put my ring back on.
Declan watched.
“This isn't forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“It's temporary.”
“I know.”
“I still might divorce you.”
His mouth tightened.
“I know.”
“But if someone is attacking this family, I want the truth before I decide whether there is still a family to save.”
Declan held my gaze.
Then nodded.
“Together.”
That was the first decision we made as husband and wife.
My father's warehouse sat near the Calumet River.
We arrived with Donovan and six men.
Dad stood alone beneath fluorescent lights.
He looked tired.
Older than sixty-three.
“Send them out.”
“No,” Declan said.
Dad's eyes hardened.
“You've already taken enough from me.”
Declan became still.
I stepped forward.
“What does that mean?”
Dad looked at me.
“Nora—”
“No more protecting me with lies.”
His face changed.
I sounded like Declan.
“Tell me.”
Dad sat.
Twenty-nine years earlier, my father had been partners with a man named Vincent Bellucci.
Together they'd controlled several smuggling routes through Chicago.
Then Vincent discovered Dad was secretly cooperating with federal investigators to protect his family from an escalating gang war.
Vincent considered it betrayal.
Their partnership ended violently.
Vincent disappeared.
Dad believed him dead.
He wasn't.
Years later, Bellucci's son, Gabriel, began rebuilding the organization.
Quietly.
And he wanted everything the Callahans possessed.
Including revenge.
“Why me?”
Dad looked ashamed.
“Because of your mother.”
My mother had died when I was eleven.
Dad continued.
“She was Vincent's sister.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Your mother was a Bellucci.”
The floor seemed to shift.
“You never told me.”
“She left that family.”
“I'm part Bellucci?”
“Yes.”
“Which means?”
Declan answered.
“You have a claim.”
I turned.
“To what?”
Dad looked down.
“Land.”
Of course.
In families like ours, murder usually began with property.
My mother had inherited several parcels along the river.
After her death, they passed to me through a trust.
I had never known.
The land was now worth nearly eighty million dollars.
More importantly, it connected two shipping terminals.
Whoever controlled it could create a private logistics corridor across the South Docks.
Gabriel Bellucci wanted it.
“He couldn't take the land while you were alive,” Dad said. “And he couldn't pressure me without exposing himself.”
“So you married me to Declan.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody would touch Declan Hayes's wife.”
I laughed bitterly.
“They just shot through his window.”
Dad looked destroyed.
“I was desperate.”
“You sold me.”
“I protected you.”
“You sold me!”
Declan stepped toward me.
Then stopped himself.
He remembered.
He waited.
I looked at him.
This time I crossed the distance.
His hand settled carefully at my back.
Dad saw.
Something like relief passed through his face.
Then Declan asked:
“Why was your company used for the vehicle?”
Dad's expression changed.
“I think I know.”
He walked to a filing cabinet.
Inside were financial records.
Someone had been moving money through Callahan Maritime for seven months.
His chief financial officer.
Martin Vale.
Martin had worked for my father twenty-two years.
He had attended my wedding.
He had hugged me after my mother died.
And he'd secretly been working for Gabriel Bellucci.
“Where is he?” Declan asked.
“Missing since this afternoon.”
Donovan's phone rang.
He answered.
His face hardened.
“We have another problem.”
“What?”
“Mercer.”
My stomach tightened.
“Colin?”
Donovan looked at me.
“He wants a meeting.”
Declan's jaw flexed.
“Absolutely not.”
“He says he knows where Bellucci is.”
That changed everything.
We met Colin the next afternoon in an empty restaurant.
When he saw Declan's bandaged side, he smiled.
“Heard someone redecorated your study.”
Declan sat.
“I heard nobody likes you.”
“Plenty of women like me.”
Declan's eyes became cold.
Colin laughed.
“Relax. I'm done touching your wife.”
I sat between them.
“Are we twelve?”
Neither answered.
“Excellent.”
I looked at Colin.
“Talk.”
He slid photographs across the table.
Gabriel Bellucci.
Fifty-one.
Silver hair.
Expensive coat.
Photographed entering warehouses, clubs and a private hangar.
Then another photograph.
Martin Vale beside him.
“Where did you get these?”
“Bellucci tried recruiting me.”
“For what?”
“War.”
Colin looked at Declan.
“He wants Hayes territory.”
Then at me.
“And he wants your land.”
“Why were you at the gallery?”
Colin smiled.
“To meet you.”
Declan's chair moved.
I put my hand on his knee beneath the table.
He froze.
Interesting.
I kept it there.
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel wanted to know whether your marriage was real.”
My stomach turned.
“What did you tell him?”
“That it wasn't.”
Declan stared at Colin.
Colin's expression lost its humor.
“I was wrong.”
I looked between them.
“Did you work for Bellucci?”
“I let him believe I might.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted information.”
Declan spoke.
“You wanted my territory.”
“Also true.”
At least he was honest.
Colin leaned back.
“But Bellucci isn't building an organization, Hayes. He's building a graveyard.”
He revealed the plan.
Gabriel intended to trigger war between the Hayes, Callahan and Mercer organizations.
Once enough leadership was dead, he'd move into the vacuum.
The gallery had been a test.
If Declan didn't care about me, Gabriel could kidnap me quietly.
If Declan did care—
“He'd use Nora to make me irrational,” Declan said.
Colin nodded.
“And it worked.”
I looked at my husband.
“Did it?”
Declan didn't hesitate.
“Yes.”
For eighteen months he'd barely acknowledged my existence.
Now he admitted in front of a rival boss that I could make him irrational.
I didn't know whether to kiss him or strangle him.
Possibly both.
Colin gave us an address.
An abandoned cold-storage facility near the river.
Gabriel's temporary base.
Declan stood.
“We're done.”
Colin looked at me.
“For what it's worth, Mrs. Hayes, I enjoyed the gallery.”
Declan stopped.
I squeezed his hand.
“Keep walking.”
He did.
Barely.
Outside, I laughed.
Declan looked offended.
“Something funny?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“You wanted to kill him.”
“I still do.”
“He helped us.”
“I can be grateful at his funeral.”
I laughed harder.
Declan stared.
Then smiled.
It transformed him.
I realized how rarely I'd seen it.
“You should do that more.”
“What?”
“Smile.”
“Dangerous.”
“So is marrying me.”
His expression softened.
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
“Declan?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you come to the gallery personally?”
“Donovan called.”
“That isn't an answer.”
He looked away.
I waited.
Finally:
“He said Mercer was making you laugh.”
I blinked.
“You crossed Chicago because another man made me laugh?”
“When you phrase it that way, it sounds unreasonable.”
“It is unreasonable.”
“I was jealous.”
I smiled.
“Say that again.”
“No.”
“Declan.”
“Never.”
I touched his tie.
“Were you jealous?”
He caught my hand.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because I spent eighteen months thinking you felt nothing.”
His humor disappeared.
“Nora.”
“I need time.”
“I know.”
“But I'm not asking for distance.”
His fingers tightened gently around mine.
“What are you asking for?”
“A real marriage.”
He stared.
“No more opposite wings.”
His breathing changed.
“No more pretending.”
“Nora.”
“No more deciding that loving me is dangerous enough to justify making me lonely.”
Declan lifted my hand to his mouth.
He kissed my knuckles.
“I don't know how to do this.”
“Neither do I.”
“That doesn't worry you?”
“Terrifies me.”
His eyes met mine.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because now we're both scared.”
I smiled.
Then kissed him.
Our first real kiss.
Eighteen months after our wedding.
Declan froze for half a heartbeat.
Then his arms surrounded me.
The kiss deepened.
Everything restrained for five hundred and forty-eight nights broke loose at once.
When we separated, he rested his forehead against mine.
“I should have done that at the courthouse.”
“Yes.”
“I've wasted eighteen months.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to disagree with anything?”
“Not today.”
His phone rang.
Donovan.
Declan answered.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
I knew before he spoke.
Something had happened.
My father's warehouse had exploded.
We reached the docks twelve minutes later.
Fire swallowed half the building.
I ran.
Declan caught me.
“Dad!”
“Nora!”
“My father is inside!”
Firefighters blocked us.
Then two men emerged carrying someone.
Dad.
Alive.
Burned.
Bleeding.
But alive.
I dropped beside him.
His eyes opened.
“Nora.”
“I'm here.”
He struggled to speak.
“Bellucci.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He grabbed my wrist.
“He knows about tonight.”
“What tonight?”
Dad looked at Declan.
“The Hayes shipment.”
Declan went still.
“What shipment?”
“Lake Michigan.”
Donovan swore.
A legitimate Hayes cargo vessel was scheduled to leave at midnight carrying medical equipment.
Except someone had planted weapons aboard.
Illegal weapons.
If authorities intercepted it, Declan would appear responsible for international arms trafficking.
Bellucci didn't only want Declan dead.
He wanted him destroyed.
Declan stood.
“I have to go.”
Fear hit me.
“Declan.”
He looked at me.
Eighteen months earlier, he would have walked away.
This time he came back.
He took my face in both hands.
“I love you.”
The world stopped.
He looked almost angry saying it.
As though love itself had defeated him.
“I should have told you before.”
My eyes filled.
“Come back and tell me again.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
Declan kissed my forehead.
“I promise.”
Then he left.
At 12:17 a.m., gunfire erupted aboard the Hayes cargo vessel.
At 12:31, Donovan called me.
There had been an ambush.
At 12:36, they found Declan near the water.
He had been shot twice.
At 12:44, his heart stopped in the ambulance.
And at 12:46, while I stood beside my father's hospital bed, I learned two things.
Doctors had restarted my husband's heart.
May you like
And the nausea I'd blamed on eighteen months of stress wasn't stress at all.
I was pregnant.
