My Husband Saved Her Cat While My Father Bled to Death

The sirens didn’t stop. They just changed. They went from a high-pitched scream to a low, dying moan as the ambulance finally cut its engine. It was sitting twenty feet from the ER doors. Twenty feet of asphalt and a line of black SUVs stood between my father and the air he needed to breathe.

I ran to the back of the vehicle. My hands fumbled with the latch. When the doors swung open, the smell hit me. Copper. Bleach. The scent of a life leaking out.

“We lost him,” the paramedic said. He didn't look at me. He looked at his watch. He looked tired. “He coded three minutes ago. We couldn’t get the equipment through the blockade in time.”

I looked at the gurney. My father’s face was the color of a winter sky. His eyes were half-open, staring at the ceiling of the ambulance like he was looking for an exit. I reached out and touched his hand. It was still warm. That was the worst part. The heat was still there, but the man was gone.

“Dad?” I whispered.

Silence. Just the hum of the hospital’s industrial fans.

I turned around. The black SUVs were moving now. The ‘VIP procedure’ was over. The glass doors of the ER slid open, and Clyde stepped out. He looked immaculate. His charcoal suit was pressed. His tie was perfectly knotted. He was tucking his phone into his pocket, his expression calm and focused.

He saw me standing by the open ambulance. He saw the sheet being pulled over my father’s head. He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.

“Callie,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk. “You shouldn't be out here in the cold. You’ll get sick.”

I stared at him. I felt like my brain was melting. “He’s dead, Clyde. My father is dead because you wouldn't move the cars.”

Clyde walked toward me. He stopped a few feet away, close enough for me to smell his expensive cologne. “Estelle’s cat was in shock, Callie. It was a crisis. I had to ensure the specialists could work without interruption.”

“A cat,” I choked out. The word felt like a shard of glass in my throat. “You killed my father for a cat.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said. His voice sharpened. It was the tone he used with his underlings. “Your father was a convict who attempted suicide. His health was already failing. It was an unfortunate coincidence, nothing more.”

He reached for my arm. I flinched back so hard I hit the side of the ambulance.

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

His eyes darkened. The shadow of the man he used to be—the syndicate boss—flickered in his gaze. “Control yourself. We have a reputation to maintain. Go home. I’ll handle the arrangements.”

I didn't go home. I stayed until they wheeled the body away. I stayed until the sun came up and turned the city gray. Something inside me had died in that ambulance, too. The girl who loved Clyde Burke was gone. Only the ghost was left.

***

Two days later, the sky over Green-Wood Cemetery was the color of lead.

It wasn't a funeral. Clyde had made sure of that. No service. No flowers. Just a quick burial in a corner of the lot where the grass was thin and the mud was deep. I stood by the open grave, clutching the small wooden urn. It was heavy. It felt like it held the weight of the whole world.

I was alone until I heard the crunch of gravel.

Clyde appeared through the mist. He wasn't wearing a coat, despite the rain. He looked annoyed. He checked his watch and then looked at me.

“That’s enough, Callie,” he said. “You’ve been standing here for an hour. It’s time to go.”

I didn't look at him. I looked at the mud. “He didn't do it, Clyde. He didn't kill Julien out of malice. He was protecting me.”

“The courts decided otherwise,” Clyde snapped. He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. “I’m tired of this mourning. I’ve given you everything. A home, a name, protection. And all you do is weep for a man who brought this on himself.”

“You took my witness,” I whispered. “You broke my father’s spirit. You blocked the door.”

“I did what was necessary to keep the peace,” he said. He reached out and grabbed my wrist. His grip was like iron. “Now, give me the urn. We’re leaving. You have a dinner to host tonight. You will put on a dress, you will smile, and you will be my wife.”

“No,” I said.

He yanked my arm. “Give it to me!”

We struggled for a second. He was so much stronger than me. He didn't mean to be careful; he meant to be obeyed. He swung his arm to pull me away from the grave, and his hand slammed into the urn.

It flew out of my grip.

Time slowed down. I watched the wood hit the edge of a headstone. The lid popped off. A cloud of gray ash spilled out, dancing in the wind for a heartbeat before it slammed into the wet, dark mud.

My father was gone. He wasn't even a memory anymore. He was just dirt.

Clyde looked down at the mess. He didn't look sorry. He looked disgusted, like I’d spilled a drink on a rug.

“Look what you made me do,” he said, shaking his head. “Now look at you. You’re covered in filth. Get in the car, Callie. Now.”

I looked at the gray streaks in the mud. I looked at the man I had once called my world.

I didn't cry. The tears had dried up hours ago. I just felt a cold, hollow clarity. I would give him what he wanted. I would go home. I would be the perfect, obedient wife.

Until I found a way to destroy him.