Page 3 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)

Chapter Three: Kieran

I wasn’t just going to leave her.

But I knew when I needed to give her space and this was one of those times. What I wanted to do was stay with her, hold her hand, pin her down…ask her why she hadn’t told me about my own daughter. Because I had a right to know.

Everything was spiraling.

I was spiraling.

It was easy to pretend that everything was under control when she was around because she tethered me to the spot, she made me feel like everything would be okay. I should’ve been furious—and there was a part of me that supposed that I was.

But after the fury was over, when she was sitting there with her best friend trying to make sense of what had just happened, I couldn’t help but feel something I had worked not to feel all my life.

Guilt.

I wondered if it was just the lack of sleep that was getting to me. I had slept only a fitful hour with her in my arms, her skin so warm it felt like raw sunlight in my arms.

I could’ve held her in place forever if she had let me. Then she had made me hide in the closet…and then her daughter had arrived and everything in my life had changed.

Because that little girl was mine.

I had only thought a bit about whether I wanted children, but the exercise felt removed and intellectual. It felt like a question someone might ask that didn’t make much of a difference like “do you have plans tonight?” or “what is your favorite color?”

Removed. Almost comical.

I felt the weight of all I’d missed—her first words, her first scraped knee, the way she must’ve climbed every couch like a mountain. I was furious. Hollow. Grieving a life I should’ve had and didn’t.

What was her favorite book? Her favorite animal? What did she dream of being when she was older?

These were questions I should’ve known the answer to, but I didn’t.

I didn’t even know her real name until this morning.

I thought of that as I drove home, the streets blurring as fat raindrops started to fall on my windscreen. My phone rang in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts and the quiet music on the car’s radio. I glanced at the screen.

Tristan.

Sighing, I clicked on the accept button on the dashboard. “Go for Callahan.”

“Haha,” Tristan said. “Cute. Good morning, little brother.”

“Good morning,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Well, she won by a landslide last night,” he said. “So that isn’t great.”

“She’s just some posturing politician,” I replied, the lie coming out all wrong—which was strange, because I was normally very good at lying. “Why do you care so much about her?”

“Do I really need to get into this with you again?” Tristan asked.

I bit the inside of my mouth. Last night would be enough to ruin her. She had gone along with a mafia plan to destroy a body, she was deep into federal crime territory and she had a child with me.

Kieran Callahan.

The second son of the scariest Irish mob boss motherfucker that had ever set foot in this godforsaken city.

“I’m going to let things percolate for a minute,” Tristan said. “I know you like her, so you may not want to hear this, but she’s going to be a problem for us. Once she becomes acting DA, she’s going to come after the Callahans. And then where’s your little crush on her going to go?”

“I have something,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

I immediately snapped my mouth shut. This was already edging into dangerous territory.

A beat. “Good,” he said. “Good. So what is it?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone,” I replied. “But it’s big.”

I could hear Tristan smile when he spoke again. “Alright. Where do you want to meet? Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No,” I said. “But it should be somewhere private.”

“Let’s eat at The Newbury,” he said. “I’ll be there in twenty. See you there?”

“They’re open for breakfast?”

Tristan laughed. “They can be,” he said. “Bye, lad.”

Then he hung up.

I sighed, staring at the stop light until it turned green, and then not putting my foot on the accelerator until the person behind me was laying on their horn.

I knew where the hotel was and it didn’t take long to get there from Ruby’s house. I stopped by the lobby’s bathrooms to try and straighten up my hair a little at least. I looked like a mess; I should’ve gone home and changed, but when Tristan summoned me somewhere, that was where I went.

The air was frigid when I arrived on the rooftop. Tristan was right, this would be the perfect spot to chat quietly. Slip a hundred dollar bill into a waiter’s hand and he would pretend he hadn’t heard a thing at all before he scampered away.

He was already sitting at one of the high tops, drinking a steaming latte.

Before Adriana, he’d always taken his coffee black…

but she’d softened him in all the ways that didn’t count.

He’d ordered for me too; he knew my standard and predictable favorites.

A plate of eggs and bacon with some buttered toast sat at my side of the table.

I inhaled deeply, feeling the heat of the coffee cup through the ceramic.

“Why do you always give me this much bacon?” I asked, picking a piece up and biting into it, almost salivating.

I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until it hit my mouth.

“Trying to get me to die of a heart attack so you can take over everything?”

“Don’t be too flattered.” He smirked. “I have many more creative ways to kill you.”

“Thanks,” I said. It almost felt like we were back in Malachy’s kitchen again, having breakfast as kids. Tristan had always been competitive: eating contests between us were routine, but I never won when he had anything to do with it. “It’s fuckin’ freezing up here. Why’d you pick the rooftop?”

“You said somewhere private.” He shrugged, taking a sip before setting his mug down again. His eyes narrowed at me. “You look like hell,” he noted casually, though he seemed interested in my answer.

I ran my hand through my hair and glanced down at myself; there was blood on my shirt from Ruby’s attempt at stitching me up, from her own hands.

“I would’ve gone home for a shower, but you seemed hungry.”

“Very considerate of you,” he said dryly.

I watched a waiter in a crisp white shirt dip back inside, the door closing before him with a cold snap that made me flinch a little.

“You mentioned you had something?” Tristan asked.

Waiting.

Like a predator about to devour its prey.

I chewed on the bacon, the oil turning into salt and blood in my mouth. “I was with her last night.”

“You finally slept with her.”

I rubbed the back of my neck.

He sighed, his head tilting. “Stop that,” he said. “I don’t care, but that’s a tell. Someone else will use it against you some day.”

“Thanks, big brother. You’re all heart.” I shook my head. “I didn’t sleep with her. Not the way you think.”

“I never knew there was more than one way.”

I looked into his eyes. Hadn’t Tristan helped me?

Hadn’t he kept me alive? When Malachy got in his whiskey and he beat the shit out of me, Tristan would get in the way.

When I was almost killed by Nick Rossi, by Bellamy Callahan, Tristan saved me, repeatedly putting himself in danger even when his wife was pregnant with their twins.

What kind of brother was I, keeping this from him? What kind of man?

But I had to protect Rosie. I had to protect Ruby.

My brother could be a scary motherfucker, and the last thing I wanted was for the two of them to be in danger.

“Someone broke into Ruby’s house last night,” I said. “Not one of ours. Someone she had put away a long time ago. I killed him.”

Tristan furrowed his brow and studied me, as if he couldn’t make sense of what I had just said. “Someone almost got rid of our problem for us and you killed him.”

“You wanted me to ruin her? You can pin a murder on her. There you go. Ruined. You’re welcome,” I replied. I hoped he didn’t hear how much it hurt to say those words as soon as they came out of my mouth.

Tristan’s brow furrowed further, but his lips twisted into what looked like satisfaction. “And you’re absolutely sure it wasn’t one of ours?”

“Some woman-beating creep who got out of jail on parole and wanted to get her back,” I said. “Just a lone actor.”

“Informative,” he replied. “So if this doesn’t work, we have a lot of people to pin her…destiny on.”

I had to fight back the urge to flinch.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, almost laughing. Then he exhaled, the steam curling around him like smoke. “Alright, Kieran. I think you’re doing some things right, even if they’re unconventional.”

My stomach twisted as I locked my gaze on him. I loved him, but if he came after Ruby, I would kill him.

“But I’m going to need her to be too preoccupied with that to worry about Callahan business. Can you make that happen or do I need to handle it?”

“I can do it,” I said. And eventually, I hoped it became true.

“Good.” His eyes held mine again, and for a moment, they almost looked warm. “Nice work.”

We ate in silence for the next few minutes. They were the longest of my life. If I stayed there any longer, he was going to see right through me; I knew it. He always did.

“The husband will complicate things for you,” Tristan said finally, setting his coffee cup down and rubbing his chin. “The sooner you can deal with him, the better.”

“They’re not together,” I said. “Only on paper. For the optics.”

“Shit, lad. That might have well been enough. Why didn’t you lead with that? Why do we always go to murder?”

I shot him a look. “Seems to be where your head’s always at.”

“Not exclusively.” He grinned, all teeth and menace, that trace of humor edged with the same cold calculation I’d grown up watching at kitchen tables and funerals alike.

I’d seen it on his face more than a few times these past years…

and far more than that on our father’s. “Maybe there’s hope for you in this family after all. ”

“Try not to sound too proud.” I polished off the last bit of bacon, washing down the taste with lukewarm coffee.

“You’re still a pain in the ass,” Tristan said. “Keep me posted on any new developments.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I picked up the toast, more than ready to get out of there. I needed to check on Ruby and Alek. I needed to see Rosie, even if it was from a distance.

Tristan laughed, shaking his head. “I want you back here in two weeks. Stay alive until then?”

“That supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it however you want.” He stood, gripping my shoulder as he passed by.

I stayed seated, pretending to be hungrier than I was. I didn’t want to run into him in the elevator. Didn’t want his sharp eyes noticing any hint of desperation or doubt. When he was gone, I let out a heavy breath and stared at the table.

The scraps of food looked like the aftermath of a battlefield, bits and pieces scattered, red stains bright against white. I pushed my plate away.

The bacon was cold now, congealing into a slick sheen.

I pushed the plate away and stood, the lingering chill biting through my clothes.

I zipped my jacket and headed toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.

The metallic clang of my footsteps echoed, bouncing off the walls in an erratic heartbeat.

Outside, Boston loomed grey and heavy, winter pressing down like a hand threatening to smother it.

This was good. I had kept the most important piece of information from him. I would still be able to do my job. If I was lucky—and despite everything, I had always been lucky—I would be able to keep Tristan out of Ruby’s life and Ruby out of Tristan’s.

But the way he talked, like it was already a foregone conclusion, gnawed at me.

I slipped into my car and turned the key. The engine coughed once, then caught—a low, steady growl in the cold. But it didn’t quiet anything inside me. Not the pounding in my chest. Not the gnawing weight in my gut.

Alek had told me to disappear, cut my losses, lay low until this all blew over.

But Ruby wasn’t a loss I could cut.

And what they didn’t know was that this wasn’t going to blow over.

If I left, Tristan wouldn’t. He’d move in with that cold precision of his—quick, quiet, surgical. Ruby would never see it coming, and by the time she did, it’d be too late.

She didn’t even know how much danger she was in. She didn’t know what Tristan would do the moment he found out the truth.

About the murder.

About my daughter.

And none of that even mattered compared to the fact that Ruby was mine .

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles going white. I told myself I was just driving to clear my head. That I needed air. Distance.

But when I blinked, I was already pulling up to her street.

I didn’t remember turning. But I remembered why.

Because I needed to see her. Because some fucked-up part of me thought if I could just get close enough, I’d stop unraveling. That if I touched her, I’d remember who I was before all this.

Or…maybe I was just horny. Maybe it was like it had always been—me, needing her, dying for her, aching for her . Watching her because I got off on it, because she belonged to me and if anyone else touched her, they weren’t long for this world.

That was why I came back.

Not to protect her.

To keep her.

And there was no way in hell I was ever letting her go again.