Page 6 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)

Chapter Six: Kieran

I didn’t have time to answer him.

Because it turned out when the feds said they’d be in touch “officially,” what they meant was wait until the lawyer walks off and then pounce.

Agent Hayes materialized in front of me like a bad penny, that smug little smile tugging at his mouth.

“Thought we’d take advantage of the moment,” he said. “Have ourselves a quick, unofficial chat.”

I didn’t blink. “Not without counsel.”

Fitzgerald sighed. “We’re not the municipal police, Callahan. You might have a reputation for lying, but you know how this works. You need to come with us now. We can make it hard or we can make it easy. Do you want people to know you’re being detained?”

I pressed my lips together. I wasn’t afraid of the feds and I had been detained countless time, but if they made this into a spectacle, my brothers would find out well before I managed to put a story together that Tristan would buy.

So I sighed. “Okay,” I said. “Where are we going? I’ll take my own car.”

They looked at each other and smiled. “You’re cute. Come on,” Fitzgerald said, tilting his head to the side.

I didn’t like the way Fitzgerald smiled. It was the kind of smile that said we already know how this ends for you. But I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me sweat. I straightened my jacket, kept my face impassive, and followed them down the hall.

We didn’t go through the main lobby; they took me out a side door near the ambulance intake, which felt weirdly kind. A black SUV was waiting at the curb, engine running, doors unlocked.

“Back seat,” Hayes said. “Don’t worry—we’re not cuffing you. Yet.”

“Chivalry’s not dead,” I muttered, ducking into the vehicle.

The interior smelled like leather and tobacco, making me yearn even more for a damn cigarette. I leaned back against the headrest and stared at the ceiling again. Seemed to be a theme today.

No one spoke for a while. We drove in silence, the city passing us by in blurs of gray and red. I kept thinking about Ruby. About Rosie. About the way I said I’d rather die if anything happened to Rosie, but I meant for Ruby, too.

We turned off the freeway and started heading toward the federal building. Of course. They weren’t stupid. They weren’t taking me to some anonymous safe house or underground bunker. They wanted me on record.

Fitzgerald turned around in his seat to look at me. “You sure you want to stick with that story?”

I didn’t answer.

“Because once we bring you into that building, it becomes official. The minute we log the time, this turns into a real thing. You’ll be on record. Statements. Lawyers. Warrants. You ready for that?”

Hayes didn’t even glance at me. He just drove.

“I’m not scared of paperwork,” I said, voice low. “But I hope you’ve got yours in order, too. Because if you screw this up—if you come after me without a case—you won’t just have the Callahans on your back. You’ll have every dirty little favor this city owes us hanging over your head like a sword.”

Fitzgerald smirked. “So noted.”

The SUV rolled to a smooth stop in front of the Federal Building, the kind of place where ambition came to die and careers went to get slowly bled out by red tape and sealed files.

“Let’s go,” Hayes said.

I stepped out. Head high. Shoulders back. Heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.

This was the beginning of something. Not the end.

The only question was who’d still be standing by the time it was over.

They brought me to a back room by walking down a long hallway.

I noted that they tried to keep me away from their other coworkers, which felt strange, but I didn’t question it yet.

When we finally got to the interrogation room, Hayes sat in front of me.

“Fitz, get our guest here some coffee. You want coffee, right, Callahan?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, stretching my legs out under the table like I was settling in for a casual brunch and not, you know, an FBI interrogation.

Fitzgerald gave me a long look before slipping out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

Hayes didn’t waste time.

“You know, for a guy who just confessed to murder, you’re pretty relaxed,” he said, folding his hands over a thin manila folder.

“I’m Irish,” I said. “I’ve been stressed since I was born.”

Hayes didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile.

He opened the folder and slid a single photo across the table. A grainy, high-contrast image. Looked like it had been taken in low light, maybe with a long lens. Ruby’s front porch. A figure—me—blurry but unmistakable, standing too close to her front door.

“This was taken two nights ago,” Hayes said. “You know how we got it?”

I didn’t answer.

“A neighbor. They thought you were casing the place. Sent it to the tip line. We didn’t think much of it until a femur turned up in the river.”

I kept my mouth shut. I knew this game. Let them fill the silence. Let them sweat.

Hayes leaned forward. “I believe you killed Mickey Russell. But I don’t think you did it out of the kindness of your heart. And I don’t think you acted alone.”

Still, I said nothing.

“What I think,” Hayes continued, voice going colder, “is that you’ve been using Ruby Marquez as a shield.

Maybe even as an accomplice. I think you’ve been inside her house more than once.

I think you might be sleeping there. Or maybe just screwing her to keep her quiet. Either way, it’s going to look bad.”

I let the smile spread slowly across my face. “You jealous, Hayes?”

That did crack his composure. Just for a second. His jaw ticked.

“Are we just telling each other fairy tales?” I asked. “A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…”

“Don’t be cute, Callahan. We have evidence.”

I sighed. “I plead my fifth amendment right not to incriminate myself.”

“Work with us,” Hayes said. “And we can help you. You won’t be incriminating yourself.”

Fitzgerald walked in the room with a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Fitz,” I said. “You always know how to make a man feel welcome.”

Hayes leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “We’re not here to rattle your cage, Callahan. We just want answers.”

I sighed. “I plead my fifth amendment right not to incriminate myself. I want to call my lawyer.”

“If you call your lawyer, that’s your last chance. You won’t be able to get us to help at all. And we can help,” Hayes said. “You said you didn’t do it on purpose, right?”

“I would like to call my lawyer,” I said.

They looked at each other. Hayes was clearly good, but I’d done this a million times before. There was no way he was going to be able to rattle me.

“We could bring her in,” Fitzgerald said to Hayes. “You said we should do that, right? Bring in Ms. Marquez. We could go to our boss, get special counsel, start an investigation…it’d be an interesting ending to Boston’s first female DA’s career.”

My eyes widened. They could threaten me, but threatening Ruby? Now that got my blood boiling.

I sighed, clenching my jaw. “Am I free to leave?”

“You’re free to do whatever you want,” Fitzgerald said. “Not without consequence, certainly. But you…do whatever you want, clearly.”

“Yes, yes,” I replied, standing up and waving my now empty cup of coffee at him. “Thank you for the visit, agents. This was lovely. If you’re not going to let me call my lawyer, then we have nothing else to talk about.”

Fitzgerald opened his mouth like he wanted the last word.

I didn’t give it to him.

Instead, I walked out with the kind of swagger that only came from years of knowing when the walls were closing in—and pretending you couldn’t feel them. My shoes echoed against the sterile hallway floor as I made my way toward the exit, past cheap ceiling tiles and worse lighting.

They didn’t try to stop me.

Not this time.

But they would.

That was the thing about men like Hayes and Fitzgerald. They didn’t bluff. They waited. They played long games, slow and methodical. They didn’t need to make me slip—they’d just follow close enough behind until I made a mistake.

I stepped outside into the brittle air and let it hit me.

Not cold. Not sharp.

Just real.

I reached for my phone. I was going to call the consigliere, but that would get back to Tristan, and I wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

No—I called Liam.

Because I needed a plan.

Because Tristan was going to find out.

And when he did, I wasn’t sure who he’d come for first—me… or her.