Page 20 of Velvet Corruption

“You got it, boss.”

“Hey, fuck you,” he said, smiling. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just putting off the inevitable. Talk to me.”

He sighed, sinking into his chair. “Your work with distribution…it’s been solid. The Family’s never run smoother on that front.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “So why do I sense a ‘but’ coming…?”

“However,” he continued, opening his computer after moving the ledger aside. “There’s something that’s come up now, and I think it might become an issue.”

Tristan swiveled the monitor toward me, and there she was: Ruby Marquez.

I froze.

Not visibly, not enough for him to notice. But inside, something twisted tight. She looked different now—dark hair straightened to sharp angles, lips pressed into a hard line, eyes like they could slice through steel. She wore a tailored black suit and the kind of stare that dared anyone to try her.

I studied her like it was any other dossier. Like I hadn’t once known the exact sound she made when she came. Like I hadn’t memorized the constellation of freckles along her ribs. Like her name didn’t still land in my chest like a goddamn bullet.

She looked powerful. Controlled. Unreachable.

Ambition burned in her eyes, and something in me flinched…not because she didn’t look like the girl I used to know, but because she did.

I cleared my throat, kept my expression flat. This was a threat assessment, not a trip down memory lane.

Even if it felt like the past had just walked back into the room and slapped me in the face.

“Ruby Marquez,” Tristan said, like he was telling me something I didn’t already know, “is running for District Attorney.”

My heart sank. “Okay…”

“She’s running on being tough on crime in Boston. Apparently, the city has turned into a real shithole.”

I couldn’t help but let out a short, humorless laugh. “Since when has Boston not been a shithole?” I said, though my thoughts were far from the joke. Ruby running for DA? The last I’d heard, she was still grinding away in some public defender’s office, fighting for every lost cause that walked through the door. That was two years ago, but it might as well have been a lifetime.

Tristan didn’t bite at my attempted levity. He never did.

“She’s using us as her pivot point,” he said. “The Callahan Family. She’s painting us as the root cause of every problem in this city.”

My stomach twisted, but I leaned back like those words didn’t hurt…when in fact, it felt really fucking personal. “And here I was thinking we were pillars of the community.”

“Don’t be glib, Kieran,” he said. “She’s going to win and it’s going to be an issue.”

“Tristan, it’s been decades since anyone could touch us. A bunch of grandstanding isn’t going to change that.”

Tristan raked his hand through his hair. “When DA Lenta was in office, we paid him a considerable amount to…well, he wouldn’t exactly stop investigations, but if we pointed our finger at someone, he would play along. She won’t do that.”

“Wait—he’s not running for reelection?”

Tristan blinked. Slowly. Like he was trying to decide whether I was messing with him or just naturally this dense.

“He died, Kieran.”

“Oh.” I paused, trying to catch up. “Shit. When?”

“Last week. Heart attack.” His tone was flat, like even Lenta’s arteries had inconvenienced him. “Which means the race is wide open. And she’s the frontrunner.”

I let that settle for a second. Boston politics had always shifted like quicksand, but we’d been good at keeping our footing—until now.