WYATT
Metathesiophobia.
The fear of change.
There are many different names for the phobia of new things but Metathesiophobia was specifically about the ability to control one’s environment and unwillingness to move, to progress or to change anything from routine. Children who moved a lot or parents who had lost their children often are diagnosed with this phobia, making them unable to change their kids’ rooms after they died.
I was now beyond certain… No-one in my fucking family feared changing shit!
“I’m going to kill them,” I muttered to myself, ripping the last goddamn cat poster from my wall and shoving it into the empty box before opening the door and throwing it out into the motherfucking bloody hall! “FUCK ALL OF YOU!” I yelled before slamming the door. I didn’t give a shit if they were sleeping! If I couldn’t fuckin’ sleep, they shouldn’t fuckin’ sleep!
“Bunch of cunts…” I muttered, looking around my room, finally able to relax…when I saw it….one last item of cat paraphernalia - a pair of slippers by the dresser.
I balled my fist, trying to stay calm.
But I was at my limit.
Let us replay the last twelve hours, I thought. I had been in Boston, saving my shitty, stick-up-the-ass, know-it-all elder brother from bleeding out on the floor of what looked like a 1980s-porno set before going out and getting revenge on the man who had left him to bleed out on said porno set… Only to find out my fucking asshole of brother allowed himself and his wife to nearly die just to bring me back to Chicago… Where I had a gun pointed in my face by a rat-faced bastard who had the nerve to get his blood on my favorite pair of pure alligator-skin House of Testoni shoes after my twin sister shot him through the skull.
All of that I could take.
In fact, for my family…that was pretty much a normal Thursday.
Which is why I decided to rest. Simply go to my room, close my eyes, and mentally prepare myself for the long years of normal Callahan days that were to come now that I was back… I should have known. Why I let my guard down for even a second was beyond me… Everyone thought Ethan was nothing but a serious, cold, glaring, murdering, manipulating genius…he was…but above all that, he was my older brother. And like all older brother’s, he missed no opportunity to fuck me with me.
Which is why when I walked into my room… Instead of seeing my room exactly as I’d left it, I walked into a fucking cat-lady’s paradise.
Cat bedsheets.
Cat pillows.
Cat rug.
Cat bathmats.
And fucking…cat slippers!
Why?
Why?
Because first… I fucking hated cats.
Second… He wanted to call me pussy.
And third… He just wanted to torture me before I could sleep. This was the side of my shite-faced brother that no-one else saw.
“Oh…fuck you,” I said once more, just in case I had the power to curse him, grabbing the damn slippers, marching to the windows and yanking them open before throwing the slippers towards the trees.
Taking a deep breath, I moved back to my empty bed, not at all caring about the sheets… I wasn’t going to sleep in that damn cat nirvana, but I wasn’t going to lose any more sleep trying to set up my room. There were people in this house for that, and they were going to do it once I woke up. How very Callahan, I thought, tossing my arms behind my back. But I was a Callahan… I didn’t wake up to that fact only because of Ethan or what had happened in Boston. Ethan didn’t force me to come back, he manipulated me into remembering who I was under the well-mannered mask I put on, the real reason I’d become a doctor… I enjoyed the feeling of having someone’s life in my hands. They lived because of me…some died because of me…the rapists, child molesters, abusers, even one serial killer and the son of a dictator. Doctors weren’t supposed to judge; they weren’t supposed to care who their patients were… I didn’t subscribe to that kind of bullshit. If a monster crossed my path, I’d hunt it down and kill it. I didn’t think I was a hero. I didn’t have some code. They disgusted me.
When I left Chicago, I couldn’t see the difference between my family and them. In all honesty, the line was slim. No one had ever raped or molested anyone…but had children died because of us? Yes. Did we harm others? Yes. But the difference was we didn’t seek to. The blood on our hands came from those who sought to cut us first.
Seeing Ethan bleeding and Ivy weeping reminded me that I didn’t need to be a doctor to have control over someone’s life… As a Callahan, everyone else’s life was already at our discretion. We had that type of power in our blood.
Rolling on to my side I closed my eyes for all of one moment when all of sudden—
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
Are you bloody shitting me?
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
“Sir—”
“If you knock on or open that door, I will throw you from my window, order someone to pick you up and throw out one more time, and you will then be buried with cat slippers on your feet… NOTHING ELSE, JUST CAT SLIPPERS!”
I was going insane. I was back here not even a full day, and I was losing my mind.
I waited a moment, but luckily someone was still sane and left me the fuck alone—
RING!
My eyes snapped open and I rolled over, looking at my cellphone as it flashed on the bedside table. Doing my best to stay calm, I reached over and picked up, answering as un-murderous as possible.
“Dr. Callahan speaking,” I said out of habit.
“Your sister requested that a maid deliver your clothes for the day—”
“As I have not yet slept, my day has not yet started. So tell my sister, O’Phelan, I am not in need of—”
“With all due respect, Sir,” he cut me off, not sounding like he had any motherfucking respect, “your sister made it clear that this was non-negotiable. She said to tell you that if you refused to cooperate, she’d set your room on fire…again. She also said I should remind you that if you think of leaving, she will find you and set that place on fire, but only if Ethan does not find you first.”
“Funny how you managed to say that so eloquently, without hesitation, and with all due respect to me,” I sneered, gripping on to the phone tighter.
Unnerved, he replied, “I am simply the messenger, Sir.”
“Don’t you know it’s usually the messengers that die first? That’s where the saying ‘don’t shoot the messenger,’ comes from…the fact they were often shot.”
“So the warning is not for the messenger, but the person doing the shooting… After all, how well did it turn out for those that didn’t have anyone to bring them important information?” He didn’t say that…Dona did, suddenly appearing on the line.
“Sister dearest,” I said sweetly.
“Yes, brother dear,” she said, even more sweetly, her voice rising to an annoyingly high pitch.
“Do you know what I’ve been doing since I returned home?” I asked her, already getting up out of bed.
“De-catting your room while you cursed our brother?”
I bit my lip, nodding to myself before speaking, “Are you the perpetrator or the accomplice?”
“I’m the innocent bystander. After all, it’s not my room…and I’m not a snitch.”
Thou shall not murder thy siblings.
Thou shall not murder thy siblings.
Thou shall NOT murder thy siblings! But harm and maim should be allowed, right?
I had to repeat it three times as I reached the door, opening it to see a dark green, House of Kiton suit, a new pair of brown Calfskin Wingtip House of Testoni shoes to match the Rockefeller brown tie and dress shirt, along with a Jean Dunand Shabaka watch.
She’s got to be kidding me? “Please explain to me what is so damn important that not only must I forsake sleep but I must also drape myself in over two-million-dollars’ worth of clothing to attend?”
“Your welcome home party, of course,” she replied without missing a beat.
“Oh, of course,” I mocked, this time much more serious than I had been before… I paused for a moment, staring at the suit hanging outside my doorway. “Just whatever you’re planning on using my return to cover up, sister dearest… Don’t put me between you and Ethan.”
I knew she was grinning on the other end of the phone as she said, “Is that physically or metaphorically?”
“Both.”
“Brunch is at ten,” she told me, changing the subject and adding, “and stop threatening the help. The last thing this family needs is rumors of you throwing maids out your window.”
“You’re sounding more and more like Nana by the minute.”
“Fuck you and goodbye.”
I smiled when she hung up and looked up, finally noticing the red haired, blue eyed maid standing and waiting patiently behind the trolley my clothes hung on.
“Can I bring them in, Sir?” she asked, and I moved aside allowing her to enter. I tilted my head to see her ass as she came in… She was slender, but the uniform made it hard to see her figure, her red hair stopping only a little bit past her shoulders.
“Do you need anything else, Sir?” she asked, turning around to face me.
Again, I looked her over, making sure she knew I was looking, before meeting her gaze; “Yes, I need a pretty maid; not too pretty, but pretty enough that she can hold my interest for short time; who simply wants have to fun and forget she’s a maid for an hour…or two…but not lose her mind thinking it’s more than what it is afterwards.” I smirked at that, she swallowed. “If you know someone like that, please send her my way.”
I opened the door for her to step out then waited for a moment before asking, “Aren’t you leaving?”
“I…I know someone like that,” she said quickly.
Closing the door, I turned back to her, walking up close and lifting her chin up so she could look me in the eyes.
“Are you sure you know someone like that? I hate women who lie, but I hate women who overestimate themselves even more,” I whispered, placing my thumb on her bottom lip. “The last thing I want to do to an obsessive maid clinging on to me.”
“You…won’t have to… I’ll…I’ll be good.”
The grin that passed my lips made her shiver, I saw it. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I leaned in, whispering directly into her ear, “Be good later, sweetheart, take me into your mouth and show me how bad you can be right now.”
Gently, I pushed down on her shoulder and she got down onto her knees. As she grabbed hold of me, all I could think was…
It’s good to be home.
ETHAN
Placing my hand on her cheek, I brushed back her blond hair, and she smiled, rolling to her side as she muttered, “Five more minutes.”
“Five minutes for you is another five hours,” I replied, lifting my hand from her.
She pouted, sticking her pink lip out and still not opening her eyes, “Five more hours then… It's not like I have job to get to; I married rich for a reason.”
I couldn't help but smirk at that. “And here I thought it was my charm, good looks, and your desperate desire to get out prison.”
She grinned, opening her blue eyes to look up at me. “The last one. And money helped, too.”
“You’re shameless.” That was why I loved her… The moment I thought it, I realized I still hadn’t said it. I opened my mouth to speak, however she interrupted me before I could.
“I love you,” she said, looking me in the eye…
Hearing those words from her made my heart ache and throat feel as if it were set on fire. Of course, she had to be the one to say it first. Shaking my head, I reached over to the bedside table and picked up her breakfast tray.
“This is very romantic,” she grinned, sitting up. She was completely awake at the sight of food, forgetting her earlier words.
“This isn’t from me,” I said, watching as she drank the soup right out of the bowl. “It’s from Dona. I’ve told you, I’m not romantic.”
She paused, the bowl stopping right at her lips. “Donatella sent me breakfast in bed?”
“Yes,” I said, lifting the tea bag out of her cup, “drink it, apparently it's a better alternative to the pills.”
“Says Dona?”
“Says the nurse Dona hired for you,” I said, taking the bowl from her hand and giving her the cup of tea instead. She took it but didn’t drink it. “I know you don’t like medicine, but at the very least—”
“It’s not that,” she interrupted, making a face I couldn’t read. “First, you should be in bed, you were shot and almost died. Second, why is your sister giving me herbal tea and breakfast in bed…and a damn nurse?”
I sighed, shifting back to lean on the bedpost opposite her.
“First, I’ve had worse. Second, because she’s…Dona.” I snickered, making her frown more.
“Can I get a cheat sheet or instruction manual for your family?” she asked.
I thought of the simplest way to explain this to her, but I wasn’t used to explaining anything to anyone for any reason. I simply did what I wanted, and everything fell into place soon or later. However, with her it was different… I wanted to walk through everything, step by step. I wanted to show her there was a method to the madness that was this family, even if it often didn’t look like from the outside. But doing so dragged her further into the madness along with us.
“You’re staring and not talking again,” she said ironically as she stared back.
I glanced down at her food and the cup in her hand. “Let’s compromise, you eat everything and listen to your nurse, and I’ll explain what is happening, as well as answer any questions you might have.”
“Deal. Win-win for me.” She grinned, leaning back against her pillow and sipping from her cup. “Go on.”
She’s crazy.
“While we were in Boston, Donatella ran things here in Chicago—”
“Drug things,” she interrupted, leaning forward eagerly.
I paused… In our family we made a rule to never speak of the business so blatantly, especially with people not part of the business. But as I looked at her, I remembered once again… I make the rules and break them at my own leisure.
“Yes,” I answered blatantly in return, “Drug and family things. She figured out that the Mexican cartels are trying to cut us out of product and sell on their own. Savino Moretti, Klarissa’s father, as well Tobias Valentino, one of my former men—”
“And Donatella’s lover,” once more she cut in, opening the yogurt in her hands.
I clenched my jaw, not wanting to even think of my sister like that, so I went on. “One of my former men, made a deal with the cartels for power on the southern drug trades. However, knowing I wouldn’t simply roll over, they decided to attack my family. They were the ones selling the bad drugs to the Finnegan brothers—”
“But you knew that before you went there and used it as a way to get Wyatt back,” she replied, excited as she stuffed another spoonful in her mouth.
“Ivy, would you like to tell the story?”
With the spoon still her mouth, she shook her head but smiled. “Sorry, go ahead.”
“They didn’t know I knew. They thought I’d be distracted and tried to further cripple my family’s influence back here in Chicago. After my mother’s death, the Irish and the Italians haven’t been…very close. They liked, trusted, and respect my father enough, and in honor of my mother, never stepped out of line. But when he passed and I took over, they were unsure of me…even more so now that I married you, a woman one hundred percent Irish-American.”
“I think my great-great-great grandmother was Scottish, though.”
The woman really can’t help herself, I thought, ignoring her comment. “They managed to spread a few rumors, and on top of that framed an Irish boy for the death of Italian boy.” Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but I gave her a look telling her that if she cut me off again I wasn’t going to move on. Frowning, she stuffed a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. “However, before the Italian boy was murdered, Donatella apparently made a big show of things. She managed to figure out something was off…” I still didn’t know how. My best guess was Tobias must have slipped up, let his guard down somehow.
“And then she herself killed Savino as well Tobias at the airport,” Ivy spoke again, and when I simply stared back at her, no longer speaking, she frowned so hard it looked like her lip was trying to escape off her face. “You weren’t saying anything; I was just trying push the conversation along before you disappeared to the dark corners of your mind again.”
“It’s called thinking.”
“You think too much,” she muttered, leaning forward to stick a few grapes into my mouth. “It can’t be healthy.”
“It’s kept me alive this long,” I replied before chewing.
“So, what’s happening today?”
Today was Dona’s victory party. “Dona is hosting what she claims is Wyatt's welcome home brunch. However, that’s just a cover which serves multiple purposes. The first is to show all of us she succeeded in not only keeping peace in Chicago, but gained the respect of both the Irish and the Italians families. The second and most important purpose is to show the world we, the Callahans, are not only united and unbreakable, but also both Irish and Italian…hence her choice of attire,” I said nodding over to the clothes which were displayed just at the corner of our bed. “Each one of us dressed in some color of either the Irish or Italian flags.”
Myself in grey and Ivy in red.
“United, unbreakable, both Irish and Italian,” she whispered to herself. “She’s warning them…basically saying don’t fuck with the Callahan family—”
“Us,” I cut her off, just as she had done me. And when her eyes met mine, I reminded her. “You are Ivy Callahan.”
My wife.
“Don’t fuck with us.” She smiled, but it was only for an instant, before she looked back to the clothes.
“I know you’re tired but—”
“I'm not tired,” she said quickly, finally looking away from the clothes to me. “Your sister scares me a little.”
“That’s the reaction most people have when they get to know her. She prefers it that way.”
“This will sound awful and selfish,” she said slowly, and I nodded for her to continue. “After hearing about your mother from you and others and then getting her letter, I was a little relieved she wasn't here because I knew she'd think I wasn't good enough, and be the type of monster-in-law you see in movies."
It was a selfish thing to say, but I didn't fault her for her honesty. I didn't really think I could fault her for anything today.
Bloody shite… I sound like my father.
“But,” she went on, “after yesterday, I'm sure your mother would have been easier to deal with.”
No, she wouldn't have been. “Why do you think so?”
She sat up straighter on the bed as she spoke, “Yesterday, the look in her eyes… I didn't get it then, but it hit me just now. She killed her lover… She did it without hesitation, without shedding a single tear. She did it…because she is used to sacrificing for this family. It's second nature to her…so when I tried to step in front her, she put me in place… She was telling me I hadn't sacrificed enough, I hadn't suffered enough to stand in front of her and demand anything. I feel like I have to prove myself to her, get her respect…me, of all people! And I generally don’t give a shit about what other people think of me; isn't that scary?”
“Terrifying.” I smirked, watching as she went back to eating happily, but not telling her the real reason Dona was terrifying… How this celebration wasn’t just a warning to outsiders but to the rest of the family as well.
Today we’d wear what she wanted us to wear.
Eat what she wanted us to eat.
Say what she wanted us to say.
Because her message was clear… In an instant, if she wanted to, she could destroy us all.
If she tried to fight for the control, I’d kill her. It would shatter me; I’d hate myself, I’d hate everything and everyone and she’d haunt me to the grave, but at the end of the day I’d still kill her. At the airport, just in case, I’d had sniper waiting… I had forced myself to prepare to for the slim chance she wasn’t rational anymore. That she didn’t see the big picture and that she would force me to kill her. And had I done it, Wyatt…if he didn’t try to kill me in return…might have lost his mind… The whole family would have fallen faster than a stack of cards built on strings.
Growing up, I saw the family business like a chess match, and when Donatella came back from boarding school, I knew right then… If she couldn’t play the game, she’d take the players as hostages…take me as her hostage.
I ruled this family, this city, with a gun to my head.
She couldn’t shoot because we were family, and she loved this family…but her hunger for power wouldn’t let her put down the gun either…I couldn’t make her…not without…without chopping off her damn hand.
So she and I were at an impasse.
“Why are you smiling?” Ivy’s eyebrows furrowed together as she tried to read my expression, even though I hadn’t even realized I was smiling until she pointed it out.
“My greatest enemy…is my greatest weapon.”
“Huh?”
I shook my head, closing my eyes, resting against the bedpost… Donatella’s ambition, her desire to rule, forced her to protect the family. There was no point making her drop the gun, I was more than satisfied being her hostage. After all, I was only a hostage when no one else was around… When someone came close, she was my own personal body guard.
And now she knew it, too…
If she took over the family, she’d destroy it, and if she destroyed it, how she could rule it?
It’s why she punched me. Why she was so upset…she knew she couldn’t win.
But it wasn’t a draw. I wasn’t satisfied with sharing victory.
Wyatt and Dona had fallen perfectly into place. That was my doing.
Checkmate.