Page 35 of My Ex’s Billionaire Brothers (Forbidden Hearts #5)

THEO

I can still feel the salt breeze on my cheeks by the time Anya and Hunter return from their walk, their hands interlinked, faces glowing.

The timing is perfect. Alexei has just announced that the ribs and brisket are coming off the smokers, while uncles, aunts, and cousins bustle about, arranging hot dogs, deviled eggs, and bowls of coleslaw on the long folding tables.

Dinner is served.

Anya catches my eye across the lawn and waves, a smile curving her lips.

She and Hunter slip around a gaggle of chatty cousins to join us at the big table set up beneath a striped canopy.

The Markoff clan has gone all out—long benches, bright tablecloths, and paper lanterns for when night falls and the fireworks begin.

The older family members sit indoors, occasionally poking their heads out to check on everyone.

It’s the sort of warm, familial scene that rarely graces any of our Carver childhood memories.

When Anya settles beside me, I catch a hint of coconut sunscreen and the lingering crispness of the ocean breeze. Hunter claims the seat on her other side, while Gage lowers himself onto a bench across from us with a grunt.

The flurry of chatter quiets as Alexei raises his hand. His voice is deep, resonant. “Let’s say grace.” Around the table, heads bow. I rest my hands in my lap, momentarily tuning in to the comfort of a family prayer.

The moment “amen” is uttered, arms reach for bowls and trays.

Anya’s mother, Jessica, directs traffic.

“Pass the corn! Don’t forget the baked beans!

” Tongs click, and utensils clink on plates.

Conversation resumes in a wave, everyone talking over each other in that uniquely boisterous way large families do.

I’ve just grabbed a piece of brisket when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Normally, I wouldn’t check, but it vibrates with the distinct urgent pattern I set for calls from Vivian, our club manager.

I frown, my eyebrows pinching. Everything seems so pleasant, so…

normal. I hate to break the mood. But the phone buzzes again, and I know I can’t ignore it.

Gently, I set down my plate. “Excuse me,” I murmur, leaning toward Anya. “I need to take this call.”

I rise from the bench and slip around the table, phone already in hand. As I step onto the back deck, the conversation and laughter fade behind me, replaced by the soft rustle of wind through the dune grass. I press the phone to my ear and keep my voice low.

“Vivian,” I greet. “What’s going on?”

“Theo, we have a problem. A major one.”

I clench my jaw. “I assume.”

“The club’s systems were compromised this morning,” she continues, clearly trying to keep herself steady. “I got an anonymous email demanding money, or they’ll publish the membership roster tonight at eight p.m. One name per hour, with the price going up ten percent every hour we don’t pay.”

A cold knot forms in my stomach. “A ransom.”

“Yes. They’re calling it compensation for ‘hosting immoral activities.’” She gives a derisive snort. “But that’s not all. The amount they’re asking for is astronomical.”

When she tells me the number, my blood runs cold.

It’s the exact amount Gage, Hunter, and I inherited when our grandmother passed.

It feels too deliberate, too pointed. Calvin didn’t get a dime from her, and it ate at him.

I curse under my breath. “Have they shown proof they actually have our data?”

“There was an attachment,” Vivian says. “They included a partial membership list. It has a handful of senators, a few major celebrities, and that prince from Monaco—most of them masked or pseudonymous, but real names are in our system. They had pictures of our staff list too. They definitely got in.”

I take a moment to breathe. Sins thrives on discretion.

Some patrons wear masks. Many use alias accounts.

Yet the club’s private records hold their true identities, as required by certain legal measures.

If those get out, it could ruin careers, marriages, even entire political structures.

“Paying them might not solve anything. They could still publish it anyway.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Vivian sighs. “Theo, what do you want me to do? I’ve shut down the systems we can manage remotely, but they might still have everything. If we can trace them or block them?—”

I glance through the sliding glass door at the table. Anya’s laugh rings out, sweet and bright, as she chats with her mother. My heart twists. We promised her a break from drama. That was the entire reason we came here—to give her a peaceful Fourth with family.

But I can’t let our club burn to the ground just because Calvin decides to throw a tantrum. And I’m almost certain it’s him. He owns a cybersecurity firm, and has the resources and the sheer pettiness to orchestrate something like this.

“I’ll handle it,” I say finally.

She exhales, clearly relieved but still on edge. “All right. Let me manage things here, okay? You’ve been working nonstop for months. That’s why you’re on that weird road trip in the first place, right? Taking a break? Let me take care of as much as I can.”

I appreciate her concern—Vivian is always protective of me, in her own way—but this situation is bigger than a typical club mishap. “Thank you. Keep the staff calm and ensure nobody tries to pay a dime. I’ll do what I can on my end.”

“Understood. Good luck, Theo.”

I hang up and stand there for a moment, phone in my hand, pulse hammering. There’s only one option. I don’t like it, but bad times call for bad solutions. I text a request for the packet on Calvin and hit send.

I keep one for every member of my family, save for Gage and Hunter. I trust them with my life, my work, everything. All other Carvers are not to be trusted whatsoever. I learned that a long time ago.

Moments later, my phone vibrates with an incoming message. Harvey is always available, day or night, weekday or holiday, and his customer service is impeccable, so I expected the quick turnaround. Though perhaps not this quick.

His message: Fourth of July at the Carver house can’t be that bad, can it?

I grimace at the memory of last night’s fiasco—Calvin hurting Hunter, Alexei almost shooting him. Worse than you can imagine , I reply.

“Understood. Sending the packet now.”

A few seconds later, my phone pings as an encrypted data packet comes through. Perfect. I shoot off a quick thanks and check it out. Even on my phone screen, it’s damning—bank statements, hidden tax records, hush money payments to certain politicians’ spouses.

Enough to bury him if it ever goes public.

Setting my jaw, I type out a brief message: Happy Fourth of July. Heard you’ve taken an interest in Sins’ membership. Let’s talk. Thought you might find these interesting.

I attach the files and hit send. Then I wait, staring out over the backyard. The sky is a pristine blue, gulls circling overhead. Behind the house, the ocean gleams under the midday sun. Laughter drifts from inside—Anya’s voice, bright and mellow, probably telling some story from her childhood.

My throat tightens. I hate the idea of bringing this ugliness into her holiday, but I have no choice. If I don’t end this now, the ramifications for everyone will be catastrophic.

Seconds later, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. Calvin’s number. My pulse pounds in my ears as I hit “Accept.”

“Where the hell did you get that?” he snarls by way of greeting.

I don’t bother with pleasantries. “Doesn’t matter. I have it, and that’s what counts.”

“You can’t prove it’s real.”

“You and I both know it’s real,” I say calmly. “So you’re going to call off your hackers, kill the countdown, and never come near the club again. And let’s add a final condition. You will never bother Anya, Gage, or Hunter again. Are we clear?”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “You’re telling me this is how you treat your own brother?”

“You broke your fiancée’s heart and concussed your brother after stalking her here. You do not have the moral high ground.”

“It didn’t have to be like this. But you three swooped in and?—”

“Tried to clean up your mess,” I cut in. “We always have, but this time you crossed the line. You can’t treat people like disposable accessories, Calvin. Especially not Anya. You might despise us for stepping in, but guess what? That’s what real family does when you hurt someone you claim to love.”

“You stepped in and started sleeping with her,” he spits. “I’m your brother! How could you betray me like that?”

“You’ve never acted like a brother to me, or Hunter, or Gage—unless it benefited you financially or politically.

And as for Anya? You strung her along for years, then humiliated her publicly because you cared more about your political ambitions.

You cheated on her with your political consultant.

You’ve got a lot of nerve talking about betrayal.

You don’t have a clue what real loyalty looks like. ”

“Oh fuck you?—”

“Fuck me?” I snort a laugh. “Why her, Calvin? Why is this your line in the sand? She did nothing but what you asked of her, and even that wasn’t good enough for you. Why can’t you let her find happiness elsewhere?”

He ignores the question. “My guys will kill the countdown. It’ll go back in the vault.”

“Good. Once Vivian confirms our systems are secure, I’ll delete these files from my phone.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking that means this is over for you. If you screw with us again…I have more copies. And I won’t hesitate to use them.”

“Fucking fine.” Then the line goes dead.

I lower the phone, heart hammering. A wave of relief hits me so unexpectedly that my legs tremble.

I lean against the porch railing, inhaling deeply to steady myself.

Our club is safe—for now. The hack will end, and nobody’s reputation will be destroyed.

But a small pang of guilt gnaws at me. For all Calvin’s faults, a part of me remembers us as boys, chasing each other around a yard not unlike this one, in some long-forgotten summer.

Maybe we were never truly close, but once, we could have been. Now, that door is closed forever.

Pocketing the phone, I take another minute to compose myself. My reflection in the sliding glass door looks…drained. I force myself to relax. This is the Fourth of July, a holiday—Anya’s holiday. I refuse to let Calvin ruin another minute of her life.

When I return, she catches sight of me and tilts her head, curiosity evident. I give her a small shrug and find my seat. “Just a work emergency,” I say quietly, sliding back onto the bench. “Everything’s fine now.”

“Are you sure?” She rests a hand on my arm. “You look a little shaken.”

I cover her hand with mine. “A minor computer issue at the club. I had to sort it out, that’s all.”

“Have you tried the brisket yet?” she asks, a playful sparkle dancing in her eyes, as if she’s daring me to relax, to let go of the heaviness that threatens to linger.

I offer a faint grin. “Not yet. Recommend a sauce pairing?”

She launches into an enthusiastic explanation about local barbecue traditions, a conversation that spills into comments from half the table—best rubs, marinade times, old family recipes.

Gage teases me about being too “fancy” for their taste buds, which makes Anya giggle.

Hunter chimes in with a joking remark about me being a “food snob,” then praises me for teaching him the difference between a Cabernet and a Merlot.

I allow myself to bask in that familial warmth.

The tension in my shoulders eases. Vivian will handle the day-to-day fallout, and once she confirms the hack is gone, my threat to Calvin will stand like a silent sword over his head.

That leaves me free to enjoy this moment—a real holiday meal, with people who, against all odds, are beginning to feel like family.

Anya passes me the brisket, her eyes lit with fondness. “You okay?”

I glance around at the swirl of conversation, then back to her. “Better than okay,” I murmur. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”