Page 17 of His Obsession (Mafia Masters #1)

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CALLUM

T he air around the gallery erupted in chaos as the flashbangs Padraig had planted earlier in the day triggered in unison, each explosion a blinding burst of light and sound that sent screams and confusion rippling through the crowd. Callum’s ears rang from the shockwaves as attendees stumbled into the rain-soaked streets, their panicked cries mingling with the wail of car alarms and the distant hum of sirens. Smoke curled through the air, acrid and choking, stinging his eyes and burning his lungs. He welcomed the pain. It sharpened his focus.

“Move,” he barked into his earpiece, his voice low and deadly. “Clear the way to the office. Tiernan, take the west corridor. Quinn, cover the exits.”

“Copy,” Quinn replied, his voice steady despite the pandemonium. “Explosions were clean. No casualties, just chaos. You’ve got a straight shot—if you can get past the remaining guards.”

The remaining guards. Callum smiled malevolently, the weight of his Glock heavy and familiar in his hand.

He moved like a wraith through the gallery’s smoke-filled halls, his every step deliberate, every movement calculated. As he rounded a corner, he was confronted by a black panther he didn’t recognize. She snarled at him.

“I’m don’t know who you are, but I mean you no harm. My mate is in danger, and I must get to her.”

He moved past the beautiful shifter, and as he turned into the hallway leading to the office, he heard from behind him. “Go to your love, Callum Kavanaugh, and remind her that I told her stories of our kind.”

He turned back, but the shifter had vanished into the smoke. He whirled around as gunfire erupted ahead, flashes of light illuminating the twisted shadows. His tactical mind worked on overdrive, cataloging threats and opportunities. The chaos played to his advantage, forcing Bradford’s security into defensive positions that left gaps he could exploit.

Isolde’s image burned in his mind. The thought of her trapped in that office, surrounded by enemies, was the only thing that mattered. The primal need to reach her consumed him, sharper than the pain in his muscles. She wasn’t just a pawn in this game anymore—she was the queen he would protect at all costs.

Callum took cover behind a marble pillar as two guards advanced, their voices muffled by the smoke and their rifles trained on the hallway. He moved quickly, firing off two precise shots. Both men dropped soundlessly, their weapons clattering to the floor. He pressed forward without hesitation, his boots crunching on shattered glass.

“Deirdre’s in position,” Tiernan’s voice crackled through his earpiece. “But we have a couple of complications.”

“What complications?” Callum growled, his tone icy.

“Bradford has slipped away, and it doesn’t appear as if Deirdre is playing for Lynch anymore,” Tiernan said.

Callum’s jaw clenched as understanding dawned. Deirdre’s every move suddenly made sense—the whispers, the double- crosses, the calculated alliances. She wasn’t working for Eoin Lynch. She was working against him.

“Understood,” Callum said curtly. “Stay sharp. This isn’t over.”

The sound of a gunshot sliced through the air, freezing Callum in his tracks. His heart thundered in his chest, and for a split second, the world fell away. The office was only meters ahead. He forced his body into motion, crashing through the door with his gun raised.

The scene before him sent a surge of emotions—relief, fury, and something far darker—coursing through his veins.

Deirdre Lynch stood over her husband’s lifeless body, her fiery hair disheveled, her breathing ragged. The gun in her hand trembled slightly, but her expression was resolute. Blood pooled beneath Eoin’s twisted form, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Isolde was backed into a corner, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the scene, her wide eyes flicking between Deirdre and Callum. Her dress was torn at the hem, a bruise blooming on her cheek, but she was alive.

“You’re late,” Deirdre said, her voice tinged with bitter amusement.

Callum ignored her, his gaze locking onto Isolde. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice sharp but laced with concern.

Isolde shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

“Fine,” Callum repeated, his lips pressing into a thin line. His fury at the situation threatened to boil over, but he tamped it down. He crossed the room in two strides, his free hand brushing against Isolde’s arm as if to reassure himself that she was real, that she was safe. She didn’t flinch, though her body trembled beneath his touch.

Deirdre cleared her throat, drawing his attention. “He was going to kill her,” she said simply, gesturing to Eoin’s body. “So I killed him first.”

Callum’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the Glock at his side. “And what’s your play now, Deirdre?”

Deirdre’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes held no humor. “I think we both know I’m done playing games, Callum. Eoin was a monster. My loyalty died with him.”

The energy in the room was suffocating, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of chaos outside. Callum’s mind raced, assessing the risks, the angles. Deirdre had removed one threat, but her motives were far from altruistic. Still, for the moment, she wasn’t his enemy.

He turned back to Isolde, his voice softening just a fraction. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Isolde hesitated, her gaze flicking to Deirdre. “What about?—”

“She can take care of herself,” Callum interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re my priority.”

Deirdre stepped aside, her expression unreadable. “Go, Callum. Before Bradford’s men regroup. This isn’t over, and you know it.”

Callum didn’t respond. He wrapped an arm around Isolde’s waist, guiding her out of the office and into the hallway where Tiernan and Padraig were already waiting.

As they moved through the smoke and chaos, Isolde glanced up at him, her voice trembling. “Callum…”

“Not now,” he said gruffly, his focus on getting her to safety.

Callum wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring but one thing was for certain: Isolde was worth every risk. Every drop of blood. Every goddamn bullet. And he would burn the world to keep her safe.

ISOLDE

Callum crushed her body to his and kissed her brutally. Despite everything she’d just been through and his rough treatment, her body lit up like a flash of lightning across a midnight sky. The kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun, and he turned, dragging her out the back exit of the building.

Surrounded by his men, they headed back to his penthouse. Once upstairs, his men took positions down in the lobby and just outside the door.

Once inside, Callum towered over her, his sharp gaze calculating and dangerous. But despite the danger he exuded, she couldn't help but feel drawn to him like a moth to a flame. She met his challenge with defiance, her stance unwavering as she stared back at him. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, mixing with the heady scent of arousal that hung in the air. In that moment, nothing else mattered except for the heat between their bodies.

His rough hand cupped her jaw as he leaned in to capture her lips in another searing kiss. She melted against him, her fear mingling with longing as his hands roamed over her skin. For a brief moment, they were lost in each other, seeking solace and salvation in the midst of chaos.

But even as they clung to each other, they knew their time was limited. Outside the walls of the penthouse awaited a harsh reality that threatened to tear them apart. And yet, in that fleeting moment of intimacy, she found a sense of hope, a spark that promised both destruction and redemption in equal measure.

Callum ripped her dress from the neckline to the hem, tearing it from her body so she was clad only in expensive lingerie. He reached behind her and unfastened her bra, taking it off before snatching the wisp of lace that served as her panties, leaving her exposed and naked. Isolde gasped as he pressed her against the wall, his touch sending shivers down her spine as she arched into him. The urgency of their union fueled the flames of desire between them, igniting a passion that burned brighter with each fleeting moment.

“Callum,” she moaned against his lips. “We can’t do this, not here. Not like this.”

His mouth dropped to her collar bone, then lower until he sucked a hard nipple into his mouth. Raising his head, he growled “You and I are meant to be together. In my world there are some that are gifted with a fated mate.

“Fated mate?”

“One with whom we are destined to be together through many lifetimes.”

“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” she scoffed, secretly hoping he did and that they were indeed ‘fated mates.’ It would certainly explain her growing feelings for him.

“I do. I’ve known it from the beginning. That too is something I should have shared with you some time ago.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means you’re mine, and I’m not waiting any longer. I’m taking what belongs to me.”

When he dropped to his knees before her, he was confronted with her naked and wet pussy. His groan helped to steady her and rid her of shyness or hesitation. She wanted his mouth there. She wanted him to taste her.

Isolde quickly looked around the room and noticed two guards standing outside the balcony entrance into the penthouse. Did he really expect someone to rappel down from the roof to attack them? One was watching them, while the other had his back to them. Should she tell Callum? Before she could think any further his mouth closed around her clit, sucking hard, and rational thought became impossible.

“Callum,” she cried out. Her hands went to his hair, pulling.

The sound of her voice, raw and needy, reverberated through the room and seemed to awaken something primal in Callum. He knew what he wanted, what they both craved in that desperate moment, and he was more than willing to take it.

As his fingers probed her entrance, she quivered with anticipation. Her eyes locked onto the guards at the door, her mind racing with thoughts of what would happen if they were seen. The danger they’d been in and being watched by his men only heightened her passion, stoking the flames of her desire.

Ignoring the looming threat, Callum continued his relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. Her moans grew louder, her body arching towards him in response to his touch. The guards at the door seemed like mere shadows, distant and unimportant compared to the intensely focused world they had created together.

She gasped as Callum inserted one finger, then two, deep within her. His fingers worked in sync with his mouth, driving her closer and closer to the edge. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out everything but the man who seemed intent on possessing her. She forgot everything but Callum and the overwhelming pleasure he brought her.

Just as she felt herself on the brink, Callum stopped, withdrawing his fingers and his mouth. "Callum, please," she begged, her voice hoarse. "I need you."

He stood up, his eyes locked onto hers, filled with a burning intensity that made her heart race even faster. "Trust me," he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. "Trust me, Isolde, and you'll be all right."

With that, Callum lifted her onto the table that dominated the foyer, positioning her against its cool surface. She stared into his eyes, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. There was no turning back now.

Callum's hands were everywhere at once, exploring her body with fiery intensity. His fingers found her pussy again, rubbing, teasing, driving her wild with need. Her hips bucked against him, begging for more.

And then, without warning, Callum opened his fly, freed his cock, and drove inside her. The sensation was both shocking and exquisite, filling her completely in a way that she had never felt before. Her hands clutched the edges of the table, wanting to hold on to something, to ground herself in the midst of this overwhelming experience.

He moved inside her, slow and steady, his strokes deep and firm. His mouth found hers again, their kisses as passionate and intense as the rest of their encounter. She could feel the urgency in his movements, the fierce desire that threatened to consume them both.

And then, just when she thought she couldn't take any more, Callum began thrusting harder, his hips pounding into her with a force that sent shockwaves through her entire body. She cried out, her voice hoarse with pleasure, her body convulsing around him as she reached the peak of her ecstasy.

Callum continued to move inside her, his own release close at hand. The sound of their bodies mingling, the steady beat of their hearts, and the distant echo of gunfire created a symphony of desire and danger.

When Callum finally stilled, his body pressed against hers, she felt a sense of completion that she had never experienced before. It was as if they had become one, their hearts beating in unison, their souls intertwined in the most intimate of ways.

Neither of them moved—time seemed to stand still as they clung to each other, basking in the afterglow of their passion. But then, with a low groan, Callum pulled away, leaving her feeling cold and exposed as he put his cock away.

He shucked out of his shirt and draped it around her, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her to his bed.

“You will be one with me,” he growled.

Not knowing what to say, Isolde nodded, knowing she no longer cared what the consequences might bring as long as she would remain with Callum.