Page 15 of Velvet Betrayal (The Dark Prince of Boston #3)

Breakfast arrived all at once—plates set down in a blur by staff who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. Tristan took his eggs without comment. Kieran watched his brother over the rim of his mug, reading every move. I scanned the room for shadows, for anyone watching us too closely.

Tristan sipped his coffee, then looked at Kieran. “So. You think there’s a contract on Ruby.”

He said it like he was asking about my mortgage, like I wasn’t even in the room. It annoyed me; made me feel like these men were playing games with my life. I wanted to fight back, stand up for myself…but I had to admit that there was nothing I could do.

My life really was in their hands now.

“I don’t think it,” Kieran said. “I know it. There’s proof.”

I stabbed at my eggs.

Tristan gave me a bemused smile.

“And you?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“I think…” I paused. “I think there’s a good chance the person with a contract on my life is you . Or someone like you. Someone who’s never had a woman say no to them.”

His eyes narrowed. “If I wanted you gone, you wouldn’t be sitting here. But you know that already. So let’s move on.” He laced his fingers together. “This freelance operation—The Crew, right? If someone from that app went after you, I certainly didn’t hire them.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“Because our business is based on accountability ,” he said. He took a bite of his eggs, as if he wasn’t discussing how he orchestrated mob hits. “I can’t build clout or form relationships if I’m using anonymous gunmen to make threats and carry out…”

He glanced at Rosie and plastered a smile on his face.

“...cleanup work.” He shrugged. “No one in our line of work would either—no one who runs their business on the same model.”

“So who would it be?” Kieran asked. “Some family from out of town?”

“I don’t think it’s family related at all,” Tristan said. “No…this is someone outside the city’s natural order. Someone whose money stays quiet even after the noise is gone. But you understand—my incentive to help you is pretty limited.”

He looked at Rosie then, like she was a magnet. Kieran’s jaw flexed. My coffee tasted like metal.

“I don’t want your help,” I said. “I’m here because of your brother.”

Kieran sighed. “Look, this app thing is a real problem, and she can be leverage with the DOJ.”

“Isn’t the DOJ after you?” Tristan asked.

I swallowed. “I have information from Special Counsel Lucy Darnell. But I’m not giving it to you unless you guarantee our safety. Mine, and my daughter’s. Not just from you, but from everyone.”

“You want the Callahan syndicate to protect the sitting DA of Suffolk County.”

I tried not to choke on the words.

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Kieran said.

“Like what? Plainly?” Tristan asked.

Kieran shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We wouldn’t be here if we had any other options.”

“I’m offended, little brother,” Tristan said. “And a little sad. You know I always help family.”

He wiped his mouth, then patted Rosie on the head—absurdly gentle, like he could transfer safety by touch. “I don’t take this lightly, Ruby. But if you accept my protection, you don’t get to pretend you’re on the outside anymore.” He tapped the table twice, a quiet invocation. “You’re inside.”

“Inside what?”

He gestured, palm open, at the café, the city, the whole world. “This. You’re in the fold now. The only way out is through.”

“I’m the District Attorney. I can’t be inside.”

Tristan considered that for a second. “I understand why you think that,” he said. “I’ll give you some time to get used to it.”

I wanted to hurt him. I settled for stabbing at my eggs again.

He sipped his coffee, eyes never leaving mine. “My offer is simple. I make the Crew problem go away in forty-eight hours. Your name comes off every list, your daughter’s school is untouchable. No strings.”

He let it hang there, flat.

The only tell was the interest hiding behind his eyes.

“No strings,” I echoed.

He shrugged, barely moving. “If you want to clean up Boston, do it. Make your case. But as long as you’re my brother’s, and as long as you’re the mother of that girl—” he glanced at Rosie, who was peeling muffin tops with surgical precision, “—I’ll eat the cost of your stubbornness.”

I hated him. Not because he was evil, or manipulative, or because he’d once tried to bribe me out of the race with a suitcase full of hundreds and flights to Barcelona. I hated him because he was right.

I was inside now, and nothing short of dying—or killing him—would change it.

“Will you do it?” I asked.

Tristan smiled. “Of course. I said forty-eight, but I’ll make it twenty-four.” He slid me a card—matte black, a single number embossed. “If you see even a shadow, call. Someone will answer. Now…now I just need you to tell me everything.”

I frowned. “You said no strings.”

He kept that affable grin on his face, like he knew he’d already won. “It’s not a condition; just a fact,” he said. “If you want me to take care of whoever’s after you, I need to know what you’ve been up to. What the DOJ knows…all of it.”

“And that’s not a string?”

He chuckled. “That’s family, Ruby,” he said. “Welcome in.”