Indebted to the Mafia King

*Heidi*

I wasn't planning on barging through the bar door across the street when I left my aunt's apartment this morning. My initial goal was to stop by the bookstore and see if there was anything I could do to make the insurance company just give us the money faster so we can start rebuilding it as soon as possible, or at the very least, relocate.

They are taking so long to get back to us, to let us know what can and will be done to help us rebuild the store. I don't even know if they will pay us or not. I know that the end of the year is slow and bad to get things done, and no one is really making an effort to solve things quickly. Not to mention that getting someone to rebuild an entire establishment during the holidays won't be easy. If possible at all.

That's why I'm getting so worked up and anxious.novelbin

Other than the fact that I lost everything.

That's why, as soon as my eyes fell on what used to be my grandfather's biggest achievement in life, an anger I've never felt before washed over me. He's been trying to pretend he isn't as upset as I am, but I know my grandparents like the palms of my hands. Grandpa is just trying to make me feel less guilty.

And that is killing me.

My determination had already been renewed while I was still in the hospital and had promised myself I'd be the one fixing this mess, but when I got to see the real damages that were done by the fire, my mind went numb. I saw red as I crossed the street with only one thought in my head.

To make the stupid owner of the bar pay for everything that was done to me and my family. I have no idea how I can prove he is directly responsible, but I can only hope he has some kindness in his heart to realize none of this is my fault, and therefore, I can't be expected to deal with it by myself.

As soon as I storm inside, the first person I see is the bartender behind the counter, wiping a glass, unbothered.

"I want to talk to your boss right now," I demanded, pointing my finger at his chest.

"I'm sorry, lass. May I ask who is looking for him?" he replies.

I might be imagining things, but he seems to be enjoying this more than he should. And that only makes me angrier than before.

"Just tell him he owes me a fucking new store. I don't care what he says, I'm not leaving this place until I see him," I bite back, crossing my arms determinedly.

He chuckles slightly and then his eyes dart to the corner of the bar where I see a man getting up from his chair and walking toward us.

Until now, I had no idea someone else was in the room with us. My eyes widen slightly as I realize I should've thought this through. The man coming in my direction doesn't seem to be a sweet and loving human being. If anything, he looks intimidating, gloomy, and scary in a way that has my angry, shattered heart skipping several beats.

He's wearing black pants, combat boots, and a leather jacket, his hands nonchalantly in his pockets as he stops in front of me and looks down at me.

"Anything I can help you with, sweetheart?" he asks with a thick accent.

Is he Irish? I've never realized it by seeing him from a distance before, but now it all makes sense. I've heard some of whom I assume are his men chatting on the sidewalk in the past, and most of them had the same accent. However, I don't dwell too long on this because something else catches my attention.

He called me sweetheart. That is the only thing I remember hearing at the bookstore on Christmas Eve before I passed out.

Was he the angel who rescued me?

It can't be...

He looks so...so fine.

First of all, he is so tall that I need to look up to face him in a way that almost makes my neck hurt. He has curly, shoulder-length, dark red hair that's tied back into a loose, almost effortless, half-bun. Some strands hang free around his face, brushing his sharp jawline that is covered with a short, scruffy beard.

His nose is regal and straight with freckles scattered across it; his eyes are light brown, but they're so intense and honed on me that it makes me swallow hard.

Everything about him screams trouble. He looks dangerous and confident, and I swear there's this dark aura around him that I can't quite put my finger on, but instead of making me scared, it only makes me more curious about who this man

is.

I've seen him before, sometimes even staring at the store, but never so close. I never got to realize how handsome and masculine he really is.

"Are you the owner?" I ask, ignoring the way my insides are turning with his proximity.

"I can be." He shrugs nonchalantly, his eyes hard on me. "If you calm yourself and explain to me what you need, I might be the person you're looking for."

"I'm not in the mood for riddles. Are you the owner of this place or not?" I press, gritting my teeth.

His eyes sparkle, not moving away from my face as he answers, "Yes, I am. Cal Duncan. Now, what can you tell me your name and what I can do for you, lass?"

"I'm Heidi Sullivan, from Sullivan Books," I inform him, pointing at my store across the street. "But I'm sure you already know that."

Cal raises his brows at me as if what I'm saying it's amusing to him.

"Does this sound funny to you?" I snarl, losing the grip on my patience. Why does he have to look so sarcastic?

"No, I'm just waiting for you to calm down and explain what you need. Also, you were a bit rude to my employee, so don't you think you owe him an apology?" he suggests, gesturing at the man behind the counter. Shame washes over me, so abrupt and intense that I can feel my cheeks reddening.

I was rude to him. I barged in this place and yelled at him, even though he has nothing to do with my problems. If anyone does, it's his boss. Not him.

"I am truly sorry." I turn to him.

The man dismisses me with a hand gesture, but smiles softly at me. "Don't worry, lass. I'm used to way worse than that."

"Still, there's no excuse for my behavior. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," I add, still embarrassed by my behavior. "Likewise. I'm Ian, by the way. Can I get you anything, lass?" he offers.

I fell Cal's eyes on me, but I choose to keep my focus on Ian for now. I'm still feeling a bit uneasy with how my body is reacting to Cal's commanding presence.

"No, I'm fine, thank you. I don't intend to stay long," I reply, finally looking at Cal with what I hope it's a determined expression. "I just came to settle the issue with my shop being blown up. I hope your boss can fix it without causing too much problem."

Ian doesn't say anything else, and with my side vision, I see him fading into the background, quietly getting back to his tasks, leaving me and his boss to talk privately.

"I am truly sorry for what happened to your store, Mrs. Sulivan," Cal finally says.

"Miss," I correct.

His eyes darken, and I look away, my gaze falling on the bookstore. It is a distraction, but I can't say it's a good one. I wish I didn't have to come here in the first place. I have no idea of what happened, I don't even know if I'm being fair to Cal, but I need to find the person responsible for this.

I need to hold onto anything that gives me hope because, right now, I have nothing.

In my mind, having someone to put the blame on will lessen my pain and my guilt. Even if it's not fair.

"Miss Sullivan," Cal continues. "Do you want to take a seat so we can have a polite conversation? I am all ears, and if there's anything I can do to help, I'll gladly do it."

He gestures for a table at the back of the bar, away from the windows and more reserved than all of the others.

I ponder not accepting his offer to talk. I am not even sure what I came here for. Do I want him to cover all the expenses? Do I simply want him to admit he is to blame? What is it that I actually expect from him?

"It's just that...I...I lost everything," I blurt, unable to hold my emotions back. "I-I don't know what to do."

Tears prickle at my eyes, and I shake them away, wiping them aggressively with the back of my hand.

But one more look at Cal's intense eyes and all of my defenses collapse.