Page 35 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Ruby

D inner was a blur, a carousel of sounds and colors that didn’t quite land right.

Rosie devoured a second helping of mashed potatoes, then begged to open just one present early.

I let her, and the whole table paused while she tore through the wrapping paper with the gusto of a wolf cub.

It was a science kit from Martin—test tubes, safety goggles, an illustrated manual with wide-eyed cartoon microbes on the cover.

“You’re trying to turn my daughter into a mad scientist,” Julian said flatly.

“Too late,” Alek replied. “She’s already committed several war crimes in Minecraft.”

Rosie grinned. “I have a lab now. None of you are safe.”

We laughed, of course. We laughed and clinked glasses and played the roles we were meant to play—divorced co-parents, supportive friends, new partners trying their best. Rosie was the axis we all orbited. She held us together, if only for one night.

But the scene at the church echoed under my skin like a drumbeat. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Tristan’s stare. Kieran’s stillness. Rosie waving like none of it meant anything.

Why were they there? Was it…posturing?

Or did Tristan know? And…was he going to use Rosie to hurt me?

To hurt Kieran?

When dessert came, I took a polite bite of pie and excused myself to the kitchen. Natalia followed a minute later. She didn’t ask; just leaned against the counter while I rinsed dishes I didn’t need to rinse.

“Hey,” she said. “Do you need help?”

“Not really.”

“Well, pretend you do. I want you to spill the tea.”

I laughed, moving aside for her.

She took it as license, rolling up her sleeves and attacking the pile of glasses with military efficiency. Natalia’s face was flushed and beaming—lingering hangover from too much church wine, or a little holiday melancholy tamped flat by her force of will.

I handed her a soapy glass. She scrubbed. We worked in silence for a minute, the only sound the muted clink of ceramic and the faint, echoing shrieks of Are You Ready for Science? from the living room.

“So,” she said, so casual I almost missed the edge, “what happened at church?”

I kept my eyes on the plate in my hands. I’d expected the question, and still it rattled me.

“I saw you looking,” she pressed. “I saw them looking at you.”

I dried my hands on a tea towel. “Yeah.”

“I haven’t seen you twitch like that since the bar exam.” Natalia’s dark eyes locked on me, unblinking. “What’s going on?”

For a second I thought about brushing her off, redirecting. But it was Christmas, and I was tired, and there was maybe a part of me that wanted to tell the truth. Or something like it.

“Those men,” I said, choosing my words with care. “They’re dangerous. It’s not new. I prosecuted one of their associates, ten years ago. I know them, and they don’t forget.”

Natalia waited. “But that’s not it, right?”

Something inside me flinched.

“He’s her father,” I said quietly.

She stopped scrubbing. The kitchen fan hummed overhead.

“Oh.” She wasn’t surprised. Or maybe she was, but she’d already metabolized it. “Fuck, man. I thought you just didn’t like Martin.”

“No, he’s nice,” I said. “He looks at you like he worships you.”

“He does,” she said with a quick shrug, brushing me off like she always did when I got too sentimental. Then she shot me a look. “Don’t try to change the topic.”

I stared at the countertop. The ceramic tiles. A chip in the grout.

“Does Julian know?” she asked, more gently now.

I shook my head. “No.”

Her voice lowered. “Does Rosie?”

My chest tightened. “No. She just…likes him.”

There was a beat.

“My brother?”

“Yes,” I said. The word felt heavier in the air than I meant it to.

Natalia frowned, turned back to the sink. “Alek is the only one who knows?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s the only one I told. Kieran found out on his own.”

She nodded, then leaned forward, rinsing out the glass. Her voice, when it came again, was almost an afterthought.

“And you?” she asked. “I mean—obviously, you know. But do you like him?”

I should’ve lied. Should’ve said it didn’t matter. That it was over. That I was done letting him bleed into my life. But none of that would’ve been true.

I swallowed. “Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

Natalia handed me a fresh glass, all business, not meeting my eyes as she scrubbed around the rim. “So what are you going to do about him?”

“Nothing,” I said, sharper than I meant it.

“I’m going to let the feds do whatever radioactive thing they want to do, and after that, maybe I can convince Julian to move to the suburbs.

” I said it like a joke, but as soon as I heard it in the hollow air, it burned.

“It might mean the end of my career as a prosecutor, and I would, you know, fucking hate that. But what difference does it make if I can keep Rosie safe?”

Natalia gave me a long, hard look—didn’t flinch, didn’t soften—then turned back to the sink. “And you’re okay with that?”

“What am I supposed to do, Nat?”

“Marry him?”

I blinked. “What?”

She tilted her head toward the dining room. “You’ve married for less. You clearly care about this man.”

“What would happen to my reputation as the first female Boston DA if I married a known mob boss?”

“Is he a known mob boss, or does he just happen to be unfortunately related to one?”

I laughed. “No, he’s a mob boss. Trust me. I know.”

Natalia didn’t blink. “Right. And Jackie Kennedy still married Jack after the mob helped him win West Virginia. Margaret Trudeau was practically chased around Ottawa by the press and she still kissed Castro on the mouth. People forgive powerful men—and they worship the women who can survive them.”

“You think I can spin this?”

“I think if you spin it yourself, it’s a tragedy. If someone else spins it? It’s history. Women don’t get to be in charge of their own legends unless they make the mess themselves and smile while doing it.”

I blinked. “That’s not how criminal conspiracy works.”

“No,” Natalia said, “but that is how public memory works.”

I blinked. “You think I can spin this?”

“I can stay in the States. Handle your PR.”

“I love you, Nat,” I said. “But right now, my priority is keeping Rosie safe. And I’m a prosecutor. This isn’t just scandal. It’s absolutely felony territory.”

“How would making one of them an ally not keep her safe, though?” Natalia asked.

Julian entered the kitchen right then, his gaze darting between us, an empty wine bottle in his hand. “Refill,” he said. “What are you two talking about? Because you’re being far too quiet for how drunk you seem.”

“Men,” Nat immediately replied. “And how hopeless they all are.”

“Yeah, I won’t argue with that. Do you have more Zinfandel, Ruby?”

I nodded, pointing toward where the wine was. Julian’s gaze darted between us. “Can you take this out to Valerie, Nat? I’ll help Ruby finish up.”

“That’s my cue,” Natalia said, flipping a long strand of jet black hair on her shoulder and grabbing the wine. “She’s lovely, by the way, Julian.”

Julian smiled. “Yeah. She’s nice.”

“Don’t fuck this one up.”

“Working on it, Nat.”

She winked at him as she made her way out of the kitchen. Julian waited until she was out of earshot, then he turned.

“You want to tell me what’s going on now?”

I didn’t answer.

He picked up a dish towel. Started drying a glass I’d already dried.

“Because I’ve been patient, Ruby. I’ve been polite. I’ve been doing the very best possible version of ‘supportive ex-husband’ since the second you asked me to be. But I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“Julian—”

“You want me to take custody. You want me to legally adopt her. You’re fielding calls from the DOJ.

You had a panic attack in the pew when my daughter waved at someone who clearly wasn’t a stranger.

And now you and Natalia are whispering in the kitchen, about something that clearly has you spooked, after you had…

a one-night-stand with a window guy who might’ve nearly choked you to death? ”

I sighed, already bracing for impact. “Okay. Are you done?”

Julian didn’t move. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, eyes burning. “I’m really not.”

“I can explain,” I said, holding up a hand. “But you have to promise not to freak out. At least for Rosie.”

His jaw tightened. “Oh, I promise no such thing. But I’ll be quiet about it.”

I inhaled deeply, feeling the words lodge in my throat.

But even though it was hard…I told him the truth.

“There was no window guy,” I started. “The cops were supposed to be watching my house the night I won, but they weren’t. Mickey Russell—a convicted felon I put away years and years ago—got out on parole and was looking for me. He broke into the house. He almost killed me.”

Julian’s face went blank for a second. Then his brow furrowed, his arms uncrossing slowly as he took a step closer. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ruby. And where is the police report? Where is the—”

I lifted my hand, cutting him off. “That’s just the beginning of the story.”

He froze. I could see the breath catch in his chest.

“Kieran Callahan was, at the time, stalking me,” I said. “For lack of a better word. He heard what was happening. He came into the house and beat Mickey Russell to death.”

Julian blinked, like he didn’t quite understand the words I’d said. “Excuse me?”

I bit my lip. Hard. “I can’t tell you any more,” I said. “You’re not my attorney, Julian. If I tell you more, I make you complicit. And if someone decides to come after me, they’ll come after anyone who knows enough to hurt.”

Julian’s jaw flexed. He set the dish towel down on the counter—deliberately, like it was the only thing keeping him from slamming his fist through something. His knuckles were white.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, his voice low and razor-sharp. “You were attacked in the middle of the night by a man you put away, and you let him handle it?”

“I didn’t let anyone handle it,” I snapped. “I was practically unconscious.”

He stared at me then—really stared. His eyes moved over my face like he was trying to read every version of the truth I might be hiding.

“And then what?” he asked, quiet now. “You covered it up?”

“I didn’t cover it up,” I said, barely more than a whisper. “I just…didn’t report it.”

Julian let out a noise—a laugh, maybe, or a sigh. Something bitter and hollow. He turned away from me, dragged both hands down his face, then rested them on the edge of the sink like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“You didn’t report it,” he repeated. “Jesus, Ruby.”

“I panicked,” I admitted. “And I had broken bones, I’d almost been strangled to death and a child coming home to me in the morning. I wasn’t thinking about my career, Julian. I was thinking about our baby having a mom.”

Julian rubbed his temples. “You’ve told Alek?”

“Yes. I retained him as my lawyer.”

“Good,” he said. “Good. He’s a competent lawyer.”

“He’s a fantastic lawyer. You’ve tried to get him to go private a million times.”

“Maybe. You might do better without someone who is your friend.”

“Or maybe it’s easier to talk to him ‘cause he’s my friend.”

Julian waved me off. “And the feds?”

“They know something happened. They know Kieran Callahan killed Mickey Russell. I think they were there that night, but I’m not sure why. Now the DOJ is calling me, so they have to have something.”

He looked at me like I was breaking his heart. “You want me to adopt her because you think you’re going down.”

“No,” I said. “I want you to adopt her because if I do go down, or disappear, or get hit by a car, or choked out in my goddamn hallway again, I need to know that she’s safe. That she’s yours. That no one with the last name Callahan can touch her.”

He just stared at me, something working behind his eyes. Then, slowly, like he was testing the ground beneath him: “She waved at him. Like he was her teacher.”

“I know.”

“She called him Key.”

“I know.”

He blinked. “That was your friend. From when we came back to the house that day. Oh my…oh my fucking God.”A beat. Then his voice dropped, more accusation than question.

“After everything—you fucked him?”

I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my fingers to my temples. “My sex life is none of your business.”

He paced back a step like I’d struck him, then stopped. “Jesus Christ. So what does he have to do with—”

His voice faltered.

I watched him put the pieces together. Watched his mouth go slack as the realization hit.

“No…you’re not serious. This didn’t just start, it’s been…it’s been happening? You two have a history and he’s…”

“I didn’t tell him,” I said, steady. “I never told him. He figured it out on his own.”

Julian’s hands curled into fists. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie.” I turned to face him fully. “He ghosted me. And for years, I didn’t even know why. When I was running for DA, his brother—Tristan—told him to run interference. And now…”

I let the silence hang. Let him feel how much I wasn’t apologizing.

He dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck me, Ruby. Are you serious right now?”

“I wouldn’t joke about this,” I said. My voice was calm. Almost gentle. I reached out, bracing myself against the edge of the sink. The tile was cold against my palm.

He looked up at me, eyes hollow. “Does he know?”

“Yes.”

That was when the fight left him.

No shouting. No threats. Just a breath that barely made it out of his chest and the look of a man who’d just figured out he was on the wrong side of history.

I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t need to.

Because the truth had already landed—and it was the kind of truth that didn’t come with a clean exit.

“Okay,” he said finally, stepping back. “You want to file this paperwork? We’ll do it this week. I’ll sign whatever you need.”

“Julian—”

“But if he tries to take her,” he said, “I’ll burn every fucking bridge I have left.

I’ll go to the press. I’ll go to the FBI.

I’ll go to his fucking house. I’ll burn your career down.

I’ll burn Aleksey’s career down. I will, so help me God, run you out of this city just so I can have my daughter nice and safe next to me. Do you understand me?”

I nodded, my eyes watering.

“Good,” he said, picking up the wine and heading for the door. “Merry fucking Christmas.”