Chapter 21
Valentina
Two Weeks Later
Brax is barely a shadow in my life right now.
Not because I want him to be but because the O'Malley graveyard shift has swallowed him whole.
He sleeps in scraps of daylight, collapsing for an hour here or twenty minutes there, his body stealing whatever rest it can before the night pulls him back under.
When he told me about Liam's punishment, he wore his cocky shrug, lazy grin, and the exact kind of confidence that suggests even the Grim Reaper would need to take a number.
I knew it wasn't good.
He just tried to assure me, "It's temporary," then kissed my forehead like there was nothing to worry about.
But I know what temporary means in our world. Someone always has to bleed, break, or stop breathing. Only then does temporary end.
So the nights roll by with more space in my bed than I want to admit. The silence that used to steady me in my condo has shifted into something hollow and unnerving. And the brief moments I do spend with Brax stretch way too thin.
I stay in my place instead of his, even though he hates it.
"Your building isn't safe," he tells me again, standing in my kitchen with the collar of his jacket popped, his hair still damp from a cold night outside, the O'Malley tattoo on his chest peeking from his shirt.
"Safe enough," I counter.
He lifts one brow, unimpressed. "Security cameras in the hall. Two guards at the front. A steel door you don't even always lock."
I cross my arms. "Your place has a keypad you punch in with a smirk and a prayer."
He grunts.
I remind him, "It doesn't matter. If someone wants in, they'll get in."
Silence settles between us. It doesn't matter if we're on the Royal Council. The investigation into Kirill and Fiona's beheading is still active, and neither Brax nor I trust anyone outside of our circle.
We both know neither of us lives in a fortress, but safety is a myth served to children and tourists. If the Omni wants access to us, they'll have it, with or without permission.
So I default to my condo because it lets me breathe a fraction easier. I can see the lake from my windows and pretend the water can wash anything clean. My things are here, and being at Brax's only reminds me he's not there.
I hate that I miss him.
But I do.
"We need to get another place," he states.
"My place is fine and it's paid for," I declare.
His face darkens, and his jaw tics. "I have money, Minx."
"I didn't say you don't. But you also had your salary frozen for six months," I remind him gently.
His haunted expression deepens. He insists, "It's fine."
I don't say anything else. We've never discussed our finances.
Brax insists on paying for everything whenever we do go out, but I don't know how deep his pockets go.
Six months without pay is a long time. And Kirill put a freeze on all Omni payments until the investigation is over, so we're both living off savings.
"I know," I agree, giving him a soft smile, even though it scares me. I don't know how long the investigation will take, and living in Chicago isn't cheap.
He sighs, tugs me against him, then presses his mouth to the side of my throat. "Stop worrying, Minx."
"I'm not," I lie.
He murmurs, "Liar," then pulls back and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. His voice turns to annoyance. "I'm going to get some sleep for an hour before job two starts. See you later."
"Why don't you sleep here?" I ask.
"My computers are at my place, remember?"
"Oh. Yeah." Guilt eats me for not staying at his place.
He wiggles his eyebrows. "But I'm glad I got to see you for ten minutes."
A rush surges through my chest so abruptly it disrupts my breathing.
It's traitorous and impossible to control.
Every instinct I've honed to survive men who wield power with their shadows tells me to shut it down, to reinforce the walls I've spent years cementing.
But his words slip past everything I've built, sinking into places I swore no one would ever reach.
But the truth is undeniable. Brax tilts my entire world with such little effort. And I hate how easily he steals the composure I pretend is unshakeable.
"Me too." I kiss him again.
This time, he doesn't pull back until I'm out of breath. He finally pats my ass and leaves. So the space between us grows. Not because the bond snapped but because schedules are weapons, too. And part of me wonders if Liam knew his punishment would also hurt me.
Brax isn't gone long before my phone lights up on the counter. I pick it up and read the text.
Unknown Number: Royal Council masked meeting. Next Wednesday. 9 p.m. Attendance mandatory. No exceptions. Come to impress.
My stomach knots. It's the first meeting since Brax and I earned our seats, and it overlaps with the O'Malley graveyard shift.
My stomach flips.
I need to get Sean and Brax excused.
Are they intentionally setting a trap?
I grab my coat, leave my place, and get into the SUV. I text Kirill.
Me: You home?
Kirill: Yes.
Me: Need to talk. I'm on my way over.
Vito eyes me in the rearview mirror.
I glare at him. "Need something, Vito?"
He asks, "How are things going, Ms. Abruzzo?"
"It's Mrs. O'Malley, remember?" I reprimand for at least the tenth time.
His eyes narrow. "Right. Mrs. O'Malley."
I don't answer, roll the divider window up, and add it to my list for Kirill.
The rest of the ride is quiet. I quickly get through Kirill's building and into his penthouse. He's standing by his window when I walk in, posture rigid, scar stark in the city glow. He turns slowly. "You look irritated."
"Why is Vito still my driver?" I fume.
"The request has been made. The Royal Council vote will take place at the next meeting. You will get a new driver," he assures.
"If I don't die in the meantime," I mutter.
Kirill's expression darkens. His scar flexes. He booms, "Did something happen?"
"Not yet. But every second I'm with him, I'm risking my life," I state.
"You're being dramatic."
"Would you keep a driver for Fiona who got head-locked by a passenger?"
Kirill doesn't answer.
I scoff, "Exactly."
"You'll get a new driver. You can use Fiona's for the next week until it's voted on," he offers.
"Fine. Thank you. Speaking of meetings, you have to change it to the daytime."
"I can't do that, Valentina."
"Why not? You're the king," I remind him.
He groans and scrubs his hand over his face. Then he pins his eyes on me, clenching his jaw.
"You are!"
He asserts, "You know there are boundaries of what I can do. Royal Council meetings are always at 9 p.m. while the moon is out."
I put my hand on my hip. "Then Brax and Sean need to be excused."
"It's a mandatory meeting. All meetings after new seats are taken are mandatory," he informs.
My voice quivers. "They have graveyard duty. They can't get out of it."
Kirill's breath comes out heavy.
I order, "Strike the right deal, Kirill. Remind them Brax is under your eye and Sean is the Chosen One. Remind them that if Brax and Sean lose O'Malley clan privileges, harmony will not exist in the Underworld."
He studies me, and his lips twitch.
"This isn't funny!" I seethe.
He chuckles. "You're thinking like someone at the table."
I take a few breaths to calm down, then I nod. "Then make it happen."
He nods. "I'll declare they must be excused for critical security measures."
Relief slices through me, quick and thin. "Thank you." I turn to go.
He calls out, "Valentina. There's one more thing."
I spin, lifting my eyebrows.
His face turns serious. "You know they can't stay on graveyard duty for six months. There won't always be exceptions granted."
My chest tightens. I admit, "I know."
"I'll call Fiona's driver for you."
"Thank you."
I don't linger. The ride home is quiet. I'm lost in thought, trying to figure out how to get the guys out of graveyard duty, when the elevator doors open.
I step into the long, sleek corridor, barely noticing the gray tile, soft overhead lighting, and the faint hum of HVAC.
I unlock my door, step inside, and my instincts flare.
It's a subtle flicker in my gut. Then I inhale a whiff of perfume that isn't mine.
I close the door quietly behind me, keys still in my fist, and reach into my pocket for my knife. I glance around, but don't see anyone.
Someone is in here.
My hallway mirror catches movement just beyond my peripheral vision. There's a blur of purple hair at the far end of the corridor.
That fucking girl!
I open my knife and call out, "I know it's you, Blue. Come out before I slit your throat!"
She steps out of the shadow like she's been waiting for applause. Her hair is loose, wild around her shoulders, and her eyes are glossy in a way that screams she's been crying or screaming or both.
Her red mouth twists. "Valentina."
"You don't belong here."
She takes a step closer. "You don't belong anywhere you've planted yourself lately."
My jaw locks. "Did you pick my lock or bribe security?"
She laughs, sharp and unstable. "Maybe they're tired of your family's poison dripping into Chicago."
I keep my voice level. "Get out."
She moves closer anyway, boots clicking on the tile, eyes darting over my body like she's searching for a weakness.
She spits, "You play them so well. Even I'll give you that."
"Them?"
Her nose wrinkles. "Brax. Sean. All of them. You Abruzzos always think you're clever."
I warn, "Careful. Your obsession is making you sloppy."
Her face crumples for a second, then hardens. "Obsession?" She presses a hand to her chest like I've stabbed her. "I have history with him."
The words are a blade slid right between my ribs. I step closer and state, "History doesn't mean ownership."
Her smile turns mean. "That's rich coming from you."
She has the nerve to come toward me, closing the distance between us. Her gaze drops to my hand, and a flicker of disgust crosses her face. "You're not fit for that ring."
The words land, and for a heartbeat, my lungs forget how to work.
Don't listen to her.