Page 32 of Velvet Betrayal (The Dark Prince of Boston #3)

Ruby

I was about to walk straight into the lion’s den—and the funny part was, that wasn’t even the hard part of my morning.

First, I had to pick up my daughter from my soon-to-be ex-husband’s place. Because life didn’t pause for mob threats or federal investigations. You still had to do the school runs, the hair appointments, the custody exchanges.

I parked outside the condo and clocked three unmarked cars lurking on the block.

Obvious. Too obvious. For a second, I considered making a scene—take down the plates, call it in, act like I didn’t know exactly who was tailing me.

But then I spotted the dented Civic and the blacked-out Tahoe.

Both Callahan plants. They weren’t even pretending to be subtle about it.

So I did what any overqualified woman does when the mob is babysitting her custody drop: ignored it, slung my bag over my shoulder, and buzzed up for Julian.

He answered the door in his lawyer-off-duty uniform: sweatpants, faded college tee, the body of a man who still worked out but only cared when he was due back in court. There was a shadow of stubble on his jaw, like he was trying out “rugged” for the weekend.

“You’re early,” he said, letting me in.

“I missed her,” I said. “And I wanted to talk to you.”

He didn’t flinch, just shrugged. “Valerie took her out to get her hair done. Little dad’s -girlfriend-daughter thing. Her treat. Don’t worry, it’s nothing permanent. I just wanted them to bond.”

I smiled. “That’s nice,” I said. And I meant it. “I like Valerie.”

He snorted. “Everybody likes Valerie.” He led the way into the living room, where the coffee table still bore Play-Doh scars from Rosie’s toddler years.

I remembered the first time we brought her home—how I’d panicked at her tiny, red-faced scream until Julian, half-drunk on new-dad adrenaline, plunked her on the table and started making pancakes out of her feet.

The stain was still there, if you knew how to look.

Julian poured himself a Diet Coke, holding the can up in silent question. I shook my head, but he poured a second glass anyway. He always needed something to do with his hands when things got tense.

“It’s messy in here. You don’t like messy.”

He shrugged. “Valerie says I need to chill out. I’m trying to learn to let things go.”

“Is it working?” I asked. I wanted it to, for him and for Rosie and for whatever came next. Julian was never the enemy, not even in the chapters when everything else fell apart.

He gave a half-smile. “I probably have early-onset reflux from the stress, but otherwise? Sure.” He poured the sodas, the hiss and foam filling the silence, and handed me a glass. We sat—not close, but not at opposite ends, either.

For a second, it felt like the old days. Before everything turned into legalese and bullet points. I wanted to hold onto that, but instead I took a sip—caffeine always the bridge.

“Rosie will be back in an hour,” he said, after the silence had stretched half a glass. “Valerie says it’s a whole princess thing. Up-dos, glitter, the works.” He smiled—quiet, tired, but genuine.

“She’ll love it. She’s obsessed with Elsa right now. Last week she tried to cut fringe into her own hair. I had to tell her it would fall out overnight and—” I stopped. I was narrating again, as if filling space would keep us from sinking back into the reasons we were here.

“Yeah, I’d like to keep her from using scissors on herself for as long as possible.”

“Did you file for the adoption?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I filed the second you said yes last week. Judge signed off in five minutes. Rosie will get the paperwork in a month and won’t even notice the difference.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m going to file, Julian.”

He just nodded, no edge to it. “Figured as much.”

He didn’t say it with anger or regret, just a tiredness that came from accepting the end a thousand times before the paperwork hit the court.

I appreciated that. His face showed it, too—the new lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his mouth pressed flat, but also a weird steadiness in his jaw.

The old warmth was gone, not replaced by bitterness, just the resigned competence of two people who had built and then quietly unbuilt a life together.

I set my glass down and looked past the TV, out the bay window to the January gray that poured over the city like wet cement. “I thought you’d have questions.”

“No questions. We never really worked, which is a shame. We’ll figure out custody later. We’ll always be a family.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m, uh, going to tell the press about our divorce when I address them next.”

“That’s exciting,” he said, dry as dust. “What about the other stuff?”

“I’m going to tell them I’m being investigated by the Justice Department,” I said, voice flat. “Just the truth. And I’m going to tell them about Mickey Russell.”

That got him. He stared at me, not in disbelief, but as if squinting through fog at something he couldn’t quite see. “The whole story?”

“Most of it. Not about Kieran, not unless I have to. But I’m going to say Russell broke into the house and threatened me and I defended myself. I’m not going to hide that. That’s what happened.”

He tapped a finger on his glass. For a second, I thought he might laugh. Instead, he said, “That’ll probably work, you know.”

“Good. Because then in a year, maybe two, people will have bigger scandals to worry about, and nobody will care what the DA did to save her kid.”

He finished his Coke in a long pull. “If you’re going to be a martyr, at least you’ll be a famous one.” He grinned, the old gallows humor peeking through. “Rosie will love that.”

I grinned back, less sure of it than he was. “Thanks for backing me up. I thought you’d be furious.”

He sighed. “I don’t like that Kieran Callahan is Rosie’s biological father. But you’ve always done right by her. You know I’ll always do right by her. In an ideal world, you aren’t fucking Kieran Callahan. But I’m not telling you what to do. You are sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

“He’s the best bet I have,” I said. “The easiest way to keep our daughter safe, Julian.”

He stared at his glass, then at me. “Just promise me you’ll keep her out of the crossfire.”

“That’s why she has to come live with you. At least for a bit. For, like, the rest of winter break. She’ll love it. I just…promise me I’ll get to see her whenever I want.”

“If Rosie doesn’t want to see you every other day, I’ll eat my hat,” Julian said.

“I’d pay to see that.”

“If you want, I’ll even let her pick the hat.” He smiled, and for a second the room relaxed. But then he looked at me again. “How did the DOJ inquiry go?”

I sighed. “It was…weird.”

“Oh?”

“Extremely professional,” I said. “Darnell told me Mickey Russell was a CI for the DOJ. He was infiltrating the Callahan operation.”

Julian closed his eyes, slow. “Of course he was.”

We let the silence have its turn. The windows steamed with our breath; outside, the wind chased trash wrappers down the street. Somewhere, families were tucked inside, soup simmering, a kid spinning on a kitchen chair.

“Russell didn’t even get a hit off the organization before he broke into my house,” I said. “Either he was very bad at his job or—”

“He was never meant to last,” Julian said. “Someone needed him to take the public fall. A martyr for the rule of law, or whatever. It’s so baroque.”

“If you want, I could give you the case notes.”

“I think I get it,” he said. “Darnell wants to rattle the DA’s office, squeeze you for the optics. Maybe even get you to flip your own office if they catch you in bed with a Callahan.”

“But why would the DOJ want that?” I asked, shaking my head.

He shrugged. “Because they don’t trust anyone. New administration, new oversight priorities. If someone up the chain sees your name tangled with the Callahans—even by rumor—it’s safer for them to treat you like a liability. Run a quiet investigation. Leak a little. Wait to see if you break.”

For a second, I saw the old Julian, the one who could explain the psychological chess match of American prosecutors over a Reuben and two beers.

I missed that. Even now, a little.

“You can’t introduce Kieran to Rosie,” he said. “That’s one of my terms.”

I looked at him. How did I tell him that Rosie was already part of Kieran’s life? That he wanted to be her father? That he was furious I’d kept him out of her life? That I’d never told Kieran about Rosie to protect her?

I didn’t. Not yet. I’d already hurt Julian once, hollowed out the last of our marriage with lies; I wasn’t going to salt the wound by bringing up our weekend, how Kieran had cooked breakfast for Rosie, let her put stickers on his arms, built her an at-home library out of cardboard and packing tape.

He’d said he’d protect her, nothing more—but the way he looked at her, like she was something breakable and sacred, told a different story.

If I told Julian how much Kieran wanted her—our daughter—he’d never forgive me.

“Thank you,” I said instead. “I promise nothing happens without your say.”

“It’s not about permission, Ruby,” Julian said. “You’re her mom. I trust you. But if she gets caught in crossfire, physical or otherwise…” He let it hang. He didn’t have to finish.

“She won’t,” I said. “Not on my watch.”

He smiled, raised his glass in mock salute, then drained it.

There was a trace of old heat in his eyes—not affection, not nostalgia, but something purer.

Relief, maybe, at having a partner who would never betray the child before the chaos.

Sometimes you learn you were never each other’s person, not really, but you’d both signed up to be someone’s parent and there was a dignity in that.

He let the silence stretch. “So you’re really going to walk the plank during the press conference?”

I laughed, even though it sounded more like a cough. “Yeah. I’ll stand up there and take whatever rotten produce the city wants to throw. Maybe I’ll even wear white.”

“Good luck,” Julian said. He looked down, found a crumb on the carpet, and flicked it away. “And be careful, okay?”

“I will.” I meant it in the biggest sense I could. For all of us.

But I didn’t know how long Julian would be on my side when he found out Kieran was, in fact, part of Rosie’s life.

When he found out, he would come for me. I knew that. But for now, he was on my side.

And that…that was something, right? It had to be.