Page 67 of Velvet Chains

“She’s not.”

“She’s the DA,” Tristan snapped. “And you fucked her.”

“That’s not—”

He cut me off. “You killed Mickey Russell. For her. You’ve been sloppy ever since. And now our distribution line iscompromised, our containers are flagged, and your name’s in a DOJ memo alongside hers.”

“She didn’t flip.”

Tristan stared. “She didn’t flip because she’s the law, you fucking dumbass. Which part of this don’t you get?”

I rubbed my temple, pain flaring through my head. This was far worse than I thought. “I know. I do. But we have leverage over her,” I said.

“How does leverage help me when the feds are on my ass, using her as an in?” Tristan snapped. Then he let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I should’ve just put a bullet in her head the moment she became a problem.”

My vision tunneled.

No.

I was on my feet before I even realized it, chair scraping across the floor with a violent screech. “Don’t you fucking say that again.”

Tristan looked at me, unimpressed. “It’s a hypothetical, Kieran—”

“No, it’s not.” My voice was low, shaking. “It’s a threat. And if you ever even think about hurting her again, I will make you regret it. I don't care that you're my brother. I will end you.”

He stared, lips pressed into a thin line.

I took a breath, trying—failing—to keep my hands steady. “You’re not thinking this through. The FBI isn’t just after a Callahan operation. They want the full narrative. They want headlines. And I handed them one.”

He frowned.

“I confessed to killing Russell. For her. Because of her. That’s what they’re going to dig into. And now they’re watching her? You don’t think they’re spinning a story already? A dirty DA in bed with a Callahan? They don’t even have to prove it—they just have to sell it.”

“I think you’re blinded by this woman,” Tristan said coldly.

Liam leaned forward, watching us both. Then he nodded once. “Wait. No. He’s right. Hear him out.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m listening.”

“She’s not involved in the operation,” I said quietly. “She doesn’t know anything. But they don’t need her to be involved to take her down. They just need proximity. Optics. If they make it look like the DA's in bed with the mob—literally and politically—that's enough to tank her and take us down with her.”

Liam muttered, “Holy fuck. That’s why they’re circling her. She’s the scalp.”

My stomach dropped. Not just because they were right—but because I’d made her the easiest target. I hadn’t protected her. I’d handed her over, gift-wrapped in guilt.

The air in the room turned stale. This…it wasn’t about love anymore. This was about optics, power, legacy—and I’d fucked all three.

If they came for her, I didn’t know who I’d shoot first—the feds, or my own family.

You can’t serve two masters. But I’d tried. And now we were all about to burn.

Including my own fucking daughter. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “And you gave them the rope.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I snapped.

“No,” Tristan said, voice like ice. “But now we clean it up.”