Page 30 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

LIAM

I barrel through the courthouse doors, adrenaline still thrumming in my veins. I’m ready for a fight, ready to demand answers. But the second I catch the receptionist’s bored expression, a pit opens in my stomach.

“Volkov?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

She barely glances up. “Trial wrapped yesterday. Charges dropped.”

Dropped?

I blink. “What?”

She shrugs. “Didn’t have enough to hold him. Judge dismissed it.”

My pulse spikes. That’s not just a loss—that’s a damn ambush. I spin on my heel, phone already out, needing to get back to Ana, to Lily. If Anatoly’s walking free, there’s no telling what kind of game he’s about to play next.

Just as I’m dialing, my screen lights up with an incoming message.

Burns: Need you for strategy session. Now. Meet me at Campaign HQ. Priority.

I stare at the text, heart pounding.

He picked now? Now, when Ana could be in danger and everything’s spiraling?

I text back, Bad timing. Can it wait?

Three dots appear, then disappear. Then again.

Then a reply.

Burns: Not if you still want to win this war.

I curse under my breath, raking a hand through my hair.

I want to go to Ana. Every instinct is screaming at me to get back to her side. But this campaign… the leverage it gives us, the power Burns holds—this could be the only way to strike first.

I clench my jaw and shove the phone into my pocket. I’ll make it quick.

But every step toward that campaign office feels like I’m walking away from the one person I swore to protect.

I pause just outside my car, fingers twitching with the need to do something. I don’t trust this. I don’t trust any of it. Anatoly walking free? After everything? No way that’s just bad luck. Someone pulled strings, someone got paid. And if he’s out… Ana’s not safe.

I hit speed dial for Shane.

He answers on the second ring. “Yeah, Boss?”

“Is she still there?” My voice is clipped, too sharp.

He pauses. “She’s good. Still at the safehouse. Just checked in twenty minutes ago. Windows locked, guards posted front and back. I’m doing another sweep right now.”

I exhale, tension bleeding out just a little. “Anything suspicious? Anyone lingering nearby?”

“Nah. Quiet as a graveyard. She’s with the baby—said she was going to nap.”

My chest aches at that. “Keep eyes on her, Shane. I don’t care if she sneezes—you tell me.”

“You got it.”

I hang up and squeeze the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. She’s safe. For now.

But how long before that changes?

I glance back at Burns’s text. He better have something damn important to say, because if I’m wasting time here while the Russians make their next move…

God help whoever stands in my way.

The campaign office looks different at night.

Gone are the buzzing interns and frantic staffers. The fluorescent lights are dimmed, replaced by the low amber glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker from a muted TV. Outside, the city is quiet, still reeling from the election results—and the chaos that followed.

I slip in through the side entrance, just like Burns asked. No press. No aides. No paper trail.

The conference room door is already ajar, voices low and murmured inside. I push it open.

Burns is seated at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded.

Around him sit half a dozen figures—city officials I recognize from backroom meetings and donor events, a couple of wealthy benefactors who’ve never once sweated for a cause but have poured oceans of money into his campaign, and a familiar advisor with a jaw like a brick wall and a watch that costs more than my first car.

The air is thick with cigar smoke and tension.

Burns looks up as I enter. “Liam. Good. We’re just getting started.”

I take a seat near the far end of the table, but close enough to see the tired steel in his eyes. He doesn't waste time.

“We won the primary,” he says, quiet but fierce. “That was the easy part. Now we go after the real prize—the general.”

No applause. No toasts. Just sharp nods and colder stares.

“We ruffled feathers,” he continues. “Pissed off the Russians, made enemies out of old allies. The media’s going to eat us alive if we don’t control the narrative.”

He glances at me. “And we need to control the streets.”

Burns leans back in his chair, the flickering light catching the edge of his whiskey glass as he swirls it slowly.

“There’s an infrastructure bill coming up for a vote next month,” he says, calm and casual, like he’s discussing the weather. “If it passes—and it will—it’s going to release hundreds of millions in contracts. Roads, bridges, buildings. A whole goddamn facelift for this city.”

The others around the table sit a little straighter. This is what they came for.

“And when that money flows,” Burns continues, “I want it going to the right people. People we can trust.”

He looks straight at me. “People like your family.”

The room is quiet. Not shocked, just waiting to see how I’ll respond.

“You’ve got your hands in everything already,” he says. “Construction. Private security. Real estate. You’re practically a one-stop shop for revitalization. I want the Brannagans to be the go-to. Quietly, of course. Nothing that’ll tie back to me.”

I shift in my seat, the weight of his words sinking in.

“You’re asking us to skim off a government contract,” I say slowly.

Burns snorts. “I’m asking you to win the game everyone’s already playing. The Russians are already circling this like vultures. You think they won’t sweep in and snatch those contracts out from under you if you hesitate?”

He sets his glass down, eyes sharp. “I need you to talk to your brothers. Set the groundwork. Make sure when the bill passes, your family’s already locked and loaded.”

I don’t answer right away. My brain’s split—half on the weight of what he’s saying, the other half still with Ana, still back at the safehouse, probably curled up with Lily, trusting me to keep them safe while I wade through the mud.

Burns lowers his voice, just for me. “Look, Liam. This isn’t just about money. It’s power. Territory. Legacy. You want to protect that little girl of yours? You need a future worth protecting.”

My throat tightens.

He’s not wrong. And that’s what makes me hate it more.

“I’ll talk to them,” I say at last.

Burns nods, satisfied. “Good man. The vote’s coming fast. Don’t let the Russians get a head start.”

He claps his hands once, sharp and final. “Alright. Let’s talk strategy.”

A city planner pulls out a map of the metro area, sprawling it across the conference table.

A few advisors lean in, pointing out key districts—neighborhoods riddled with potholes and crumbling sidewalks, bridges that should’ve been condemned a decade ago.

Someone else passes around folders stamped Confidential , filled with early drafts of the infrastructure bill and breakdowns of proposed budget allocations.

“We’ll need three council votes we don’t have yet,” one of the advisors says. “Greer, Monroe, and Vasquez are still swing votes.”

“They’re all bleeding hearts,” another chimes in. “Promise them community programs and equity clauses, but bury the real plans in the fine print.”

A donor scoffs. “Greer’s already halfway in our pocket. Just needs the right nudge.”

“Monroe’s kid is looking at a drug possession charge,” someone else says casually, flipping through a folder. “That could go away.”

They all speak like this is a game. Like real people won’t be steamrolled in the process.

Burns turns to me again. “When this bill passes, we control who rebuilds this city. Who gets rich, who gets left behind. And more importantly, we shut the Russians out.”

I nod, but my jaw’s tight. It’s not just the sleaze. It’s how easy this is for them. How normal it’s all become.

I stare at the map, trying to focus on the lines and color-coded zones, but all I see is Ana’s face. Lily’s little hands. The life we’re trying to build.

If I walk away now, what happens?

Burns isn’t wrong. The Russians would seize the vacuum, pour into every crevice like water into broken pavement. Maybe this is the best way to keep them out. Maybe I just have to hold my nose and swim in the muck for a little while longer.

But it’s hard to tell where the muck ends and I begin.

One of the advisors asks me something, but I miss it. Burns repeats it, slower.

“Can your family’s construction firm take on the western district rehab if we lock it in?”

I nod automatically, heart somewhere else. “Yeah. We can handle it.”

The room moves on, the voices low and sharp as knives, slicing the city into pieces.

And I just sit there, silent in the smoke, wondering when, exactly, I became one of them.

The meeting winds down just before dawn, the men and women around the table dispersing with hushed goodbyes and half-finished drinks. Maps are folded, folders tucked away, and promises hang in the air like smoke—thick and hard to breathe.

I’m making for the door when a voice calls out behind me.

“Mr. Brannagan—got a moment?”

I turn. It’s Courtney Ashton, one of Burns’s oldest donors. Wealthy. Connected. The kind of woman who smiles with her teeth but not her eyes.

She’s lingering by the window, tapping a finger on her handbag, watching the sky start to bruise with morning light. I don’t like her, but I walk over anyway.

“I just wanted to say,” she begins smoothly, “it’s a good thing you’re doing, staying involved. Burns needs people he can count on. Loyal men. Fighters.”

I nod once. “I’m here to protect my people. That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”

“Of course,” she says, with a knowing smile. “But protection takes resources. Influence. Access.” She looks out the window again. “The kind of things a man like Burns can offer… and take away.”

My spine stiffens just slightly.

“You’re on the winning side, Liam,” she continues, voice calm. “And you’re smart enough to know what happens to the ones who back the wrong horse.”

I study her, but she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

She steps a little closer. “Burns rewards loyalty. Always has. Always will. Stick with him, and you’ll have everything you need. Your family will thrive. Your daughter will grow up in a city her father helped shape.”

Her tone shifts, almost gentle. “But if you start pulling away? If you let doubts creep in?”

She lets that hang there.

I don’t respond.

She smiles again and pats my arm once, firmly. “Burns is building something real. Be proud to be part of it.”

And just like that, she strolls off down the hall, high heels tapping merrily along like she hadn’t just threatened me with the softest blade in the room.

I stand there a minute longer, fists clenched in my pockets.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

I finally step out into the night air, lungs aching for something clean.

But the sunrise doesn’t bring peace. It just reminds me how long I’ve been away.

I pull out my phone to check in again—maybe call Shane, hear Ana’s voice, anything to ground me.

That’s when it buzzes.

A new message. No name. No contact saved.

Just a number I don’t recognize.

I open it.

Unknown: You should’ve kept a better eye on your little girlfriend. She’s already gone.

My stomach drops.

For a second, the world tilts sideways. Everything else—the deals, the power plays, the promises of legacy—burns away in an instant.

I try to call Shane. It rings once. Twice. No answer.

The second hand on my watch ticks too loud, too slow.

And all I can hear is Ana’s voice from earlier in the week, whispering that she didn’t want to feel caged.

Goddamn it.

I’m already running for the car.