Page 22 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)

Chapter Twenty: Kieran

I had to do something about Ruby.

I had to make sure Tristan didn’t get to her. I had to make sure the FBI didn’t get to her. I had to make sure she was fucking untouchable…for our daughter, at least. I didn’t care if she didn’t want to speak to me, I needed to speak to her.

Not just because of my overwhelming need to see her—though that was certainly a factor—but because I needed to protect her.

I had to.

And if she didn’t want to answer my calls, then I had to go see her. It was as simple as that.

The street was quiet, lit only by the flicker of old Christmas lights sagging across porches.

Ruby’s house sat at the end of the block, just past a hedge of holly and the mailbox Rosie had once painted with stars.

It was stupid, coming here. Stupider still to think I could fix anything by showing up unannounced.

I knew Rosie would be at Julian’s. I’d already driven past Ruby’s house three times, circling like a coward, like a fucking idiot.

But now I was standing on her porch anyway.

I knocked once. Waited. Knocked again, harder.

For a long moment, nothing. Just the muffled sound of a TV inside, maybe the hum of the fridge. I started to think she wasn’t going to answer—and maybe she shouldn’t.

Then I heard footsteps. Slow. Reluctant.

The lock clicked.

The door swung open, and there she was—leggings, hoodie, no makeup. Hair pulled back in a rushed, careless twist. No warmth in her eyes. No relief.

Just exhaustion and ice.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

I held up the bottle in my hand. “I brought eggnog.”

Her arms crossed tight over her chest. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“We need to talk.”

She scoffed. “You don’t know how to take a hint, do you?”

“I do, actually,” I said quietly. “I just can’t afford to listen to this one.”

“Go away or I’ll call the police.”

“Fine, do it–but I still need to talk to you,” I said, holding out the bottle of eggnog. “Look. Let’s spike this. We’ll need it.”

“For what? Get off my porch, Kieran.”

I didn’t move. “Is Rosie okay?”

She blinked. That was the only tell that something had happened. “What do you know about this?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I just…I saw you driving to school in the middle of the day. Thought something must have happened.”

“You were following me?”

“You can’t be surprised by that,” I told her. “Come on, Ruby…not with everything going on. I mean, what if I need to save your life again?”

She rolled her eyes. “I really wish you would leave.”

“It doesn’t look good for you to have a Callahan standing on your porch, right?”

She swallowed. “Right.”

“Then let me in and I won’t be.”

She glared at me like she wanted to throw the door back in my face.

But then—grudgingly—she stepped aside.

“Five minutes,” she said, sharp and clipped.

I moved past her before she could change her mind.

“Good. But still…we’ll need this.” I set the eggnog down on the kitchen counter with a dull thunk.

The lights were low. The place smelled like cinnamon and something scorched in the oven, maybe from the night before.

It felt lived-in. It felt like her. “You’re not gonna like what I have to say to you, so maybe drink up. ”

“So dramatic,” she muttered. “I should’ve put on music for that effect. Very mobster soap opera. You could win an award.”

I didn’t take the bait. “Where’s Rosie?”

She hesitated—just a beat too long. “With her father.”

“I’m her father.”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “Yeah, no. You aren’t.”

That one landed. I didn’t flinch, but it tore something open anyway. I swallowed it down, forced my voice to stay even.

“Anyway,” she said, like she hadn’t just taken a wrecking ball to my ego. “She went home with Julian. Fell on the playground. Bumped her head.”

The world tilted. My hands clenched at my sides.

I didn’t realize I’d gone pale until she added, softer, “She’s fine.”

I looked up.

Ruby was watching me now—closely, carefully, like she could see the panic spiking under my skin.

“The school’s just overly cautious,” she said. “She didn’t even cry. Julian said they got bagels on the way home.”

I forced a breath through my nose. Nodded. “Good…that’s good.”

But I still couldn’t shake the image—Rosie hurt, crying, calling for someone else. For him.

She stood by the window like she was keeping watch, arms still crossed. “Say what you need to say and don’t drag it out.”

“I’m going to spike this,” I said, gesturing at the eggnog. “Your vodka where it used to be?”

“I’m not kidding. What do you want?”

“To help you,” I said. “To keep you safe.”

She stared at me. “I am safe. You’re the one who’s not.”

“Someone’s been surveilling you, Rubes. They’ve got eyes everywhere.”

She considered that for a long minute. “I know. I’m the DA; it makes sense that people are watching me.”

“Yeah, I don’t mean that,” I sat on one of the barstools. “I’m talking about the law. I think the FBI has been watching you for a minute.”

“Because of you,” she said. Not asking.

“Yeah. Because of Russell, technically. But they know we’re connected, and the DOJ is using it as leverage. Even Customs is in on the game.” I didn’t want to say the next part but I had to. “If it goes south—if they find evidence—”

“They’ll try to pin it on me,” she finished. Her expression stayed hard, but I could see the crack. Just a little. Just enough.

“You’ll be a good get. Mobster-friendly DA,” I said. “It’ll make the higher-ups look good.”

“I’m not mobster-friendly,” she replied. “You walked into my house—you killed someone—I didn’t…”

I pressed a hand against my temple. “Ruby, how many crimes did we commit that night? After Russell was killed? How many?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shut it again, then shook her head. “You should’ve let me call Alek.”

“That would’ve been a death sentence,” I said flatly. “Maybe not from the police—but from my brother? Absolutely.”

“You could’ve left,” she snapped. “You could’ve walked away. You didn’t have to make it so—”

“So what? Permanent?” I stepped closer. “You mean I could’ve left you behind. Sure. That was an option.”

She didn’t look at me.

“But I wouldn’t have done that,” I said. “And you know it.”

She went still—so still it made something in my chest twist. She was chewing on it now. Turning it over in her mind. The truth of it. The weight of everything we’d done for each other. Because of each other.

Her hoodie slipped off one shoulder, exposing bare skin. She didn’t seem to notice. But I did. Just like I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra, and that her breath was catching a little now—faster, shallower. She was still mad. Still scared. But she wasn’t unaffected.

Neither was I.

“Tristan’s going to kill me if I don’t wrap this up,” I said, voice low. “I have a week. You have less.”

She glanced toward the door. Then to the bottle of eggnog. Her eyes flicked back to me.

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Cooperate.”

Her spine straightened. “With the Callahans? Is this a threat?”

“No.” I took another step in. Close enough to smell her shampoo, something citrusy and sharp. “I don’t threaten you, Ruby. I warn you. My brother—he’d threaten you. But only for a second. Before he put a bullet between your eyes.”

“Jesus Christ.” Her voice cracked. She turned away abruptly, grabbing the bottle of vodka and pouring two glasses of eggnog like her hands needed something to do. “Okay. Keep talking.”

“Send them elsewhere,” I said. “Make the feds chase something out of Boston. There are three other families in the northeast. Give them one of those.”

“You want me to give them someone else?” she asked, turning back. Her cheeks were flushed now—anger, maybe, or the heat creeping between us.

“You said it yourself. It’ll save you. It’ll save Rosie. The further you can send them from this city, the safer you’ll both be.”

She hesitated.

“And you,” she added, almost too quietly.

“I can take care of myself.”

She looked me over, eyes narrowed. “Sure looked like it the last time you showed up here.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I can take care of myself. If you’re not involved.”

Her jaw clenched.

“If Tristan still thinks you’re a problem,” I said, “I’m fucked. If the feds get what they want? You’re fucked. But if you redirect—”

“Stop.” Her voice was thin. A little breathless. “What if they know already?”

“They don’t,” I said. “Not everything.”

She leaned back against the wall, the steel gone from her eyes, her skin pale. “I can’t. I don’t have—”

“It won’t be forever, Rubes. Just long enough to get them off our backs.” I lowered my voice. “Do it for Rosie.”

She rocked on her heels, nearly spilling the eggnog, like she didn’t want to hear the truth. Like she knew it already. “This isn’t fair.”

“I know.” I let it hang there, my own body taut with the intensity of wanting her. “I fucking know.”

She took a sip of the drink, closed her eyes, then opened them again. “You seriously want me to send an entire task force away? You think they’ll pack up and leave just like that? That’ll only make them more suspicious, particularly if they’re already watching.”

“That’s why you need to give them something else. Another good get.”

Ruby was silent for a long time; the only sound was my own breathing. I wanted to grab her, pull her close, fuck the anxiety away until she’d had too many orgasms to worry anymore.

I wanted it to be okay.

I wasn’t sure if it would be.

She took a long drink, draining half the glass before setting it down with a quiet thud. Her eyes met mine—steady, unreadable.

“You’re asking me to sacrifice someone else to keep us safe,” she said. “How do I sleep at night if I do this?”

“I’m asking you to do your job,” I said. “You’re a prosecutor, right? So prosecute. If it has to be someone else… fine. But do it.”

Her jaw tightened. “Kieran—”

“I’m asking you to keep yourself safe,” I said, cutting her off. My voice dropped. “I’m asking you to put yourself and Rosie first.”

She didn’t blink. “I think you’re asking me to save you.”