Page 19 of Velvet Chains

“I’d rather die.”

I meant it. I had no idea where it had come from, or how I knew it so deeply, even though I didn’t even know Rosie. I just knew that I would rather die than see her hurt in any way.

Something shifted in his expression. Just for a second. The hard line of his jaw eased. Not by much, but enough to feel like maybe he’d stopped thinking about punching me.

“I mean it, Ivanov,” I said, quieter now. “I know you don’t trust me. That’s fine. I wouldn’t trust me either. But I’m not going anywhere.”

He stared at me for a moment. Then, reluctantly, he spoke. “I wish I didn’t believe you.”

I smiled again. “That’s the charm, baby. Moldy and persistent.”

“Call me baby again and I’ll punch you.”

“That’s against the law, baby,” I said, winking at him.

Alek sighed—full-bodied, long-suffering, like this conversation had aged him ten years. Then he stepped away from the wall, shoved a hand through his hair, and shot me a parting glare.

And flipped me off.

It was casual. Offhand. Almost friendly.

“Try not to get arrested before lunch,” he muttered, turning his back on me. “I’m really busy.”

I watched him go, trying not to grin.

But once he disappeared down the corridor, the grin faded.

Shit.

I ran a hand down my face and exhaled slowly, like maybe I could press the panic back into my skin. But it was still there, hot and buzzing under the surface.

Because I hadn’t just confessed to murder in front of two federal agents.

I had done it as a Callahan.

Which meant they weren’t just going to poke around Ruby’s house or pull up records on Mickey Russell. They were going to start asking questions with bigger teeth. About disposal. About resources. About who had the kind of power to make a body vanish without a trace except a single bone and a burner phone.

I had brought attention to the family.

And Tristan was going to lose his mind.

He’d been clear: Ruby was the problem. Not the red carpet. Not the billboard. Not the whole goddamn federal investigation that might fall out of this like a house of cards made of blood and phone records.

I wasn’t supposed to protect her like this.

I was supposed to keep her occupied; I was supposed to get her on our side.

And now I’d just made her a liability. Again. And if he found out that Rosie was my daughter…I shuddered to think about what would happen.

I swore under my breath and leaned my head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it held some kind of answer. It didn’t. All I had was this low-grade hum of dread at the base of my spine.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

I didn’t know what I could possibly fucking do here, though. So I did one of the things I’d been trying to avoid from the beginning. I took my phone out of my pocket and called my little brother.

The line rang once. Twice. Three times.