Chapter 23 #2
His jaw tightens. The muscle in his cheek jumps. He doesn't look away from me as he groans.
I step back, adjusting the mask box in my hands. "Liam?"
He checks the screen. "Yep. He's been calling all morning. I can't ignore him."
"I know. Go ahead and take it."
He swipes the phone, kisses my forehead, and answers, "Yes, sir." Within seconds, his face falls further. "On my way." He hangs up.
"Duty calls?" I say, trying to hide my disappointment.
"Yeah. But when I get back, we're starting where we just left off," he declares.
I softly laugh. "Deal."
He kisses me again, then murmurs against my lips, "This meeting makes me nervous. I'm sure the council members will be on edge because I'm not there. Stay safe, Minx."
"I will," I assure him.
He hesitates, then kisses me again and retreats. His eyes narrow playfully. "Kirill and Fiona will be your bodyguards."
I shoot back, "They're both cutthroat and married. That's more like babysitter energy."
He chuckles, but then his face turns serious. "Minx, stick close to Kirill. If anyone starts running their mouth, let him handle it."
"I'm capable of handling myself."
"You're capable of starting an international incident."
"Sometimes those are necessary," I tease.
He smiles, then adjusts my hair behind my shoulder. His fingers graze the nape of my neck. "Just humor me."
"Okay," I concede, rubbing a hand down his chest. "But if Kirill tries to drag me around by the elbow like I'm his rebellious cousin, I'm stabbing him with my new accessory."
Brax replies dryly, "That's partially why I gave it to you. In case you decide to enforce manners at the Royal Council."
I laugh.
His phone goes off again. "Jesus. I'd better go." He pecks me on the lips and disappears.
The moment he's gone, the condo quiets in a way that makes everything inside me reorder itself. The whirlwind of uncertainty that's been buzzing around my rib cage for days finally settles.
The rest of the day passes in a haze of Underworld projects, two long calls with Cassian, and one irritating email from my condo association about not giving my keys to people I don't trust. Then they have the audacity to tell me building security isn't for personal issues.
Fucking Blue.
By the time the sun starts sinking, my thoughts keep drifting back to the mask.
I take it out again and run my fingertips over the carved roses and dark leaves.
The piece is lighter than it looks, sturdy and impossibly elegant.
It's the kind of thing that promises beauty and danger in the same breath.
When I lift the central crest again and glimpse the hidden steel, a small spark ignites deep inside me.
Brax made this for me.
It's important to him that I'm safe.
I smile and study it for over an hour.
By eight-thirty, I'm fully dressed in a black jumpsuit tailored through the waist and flaring at the legs. My hair's curled, pinned half-up, and I put the mask in my oversized bag.
My phone buzzes.
Fiona: We're here.
Me: Coming down now.
I exit my condo and the building, and their black SUV pulls up to the entrance. Kirill's driver gets out and opens the door.
Zara slides across the seat and tosses me a wide grin. "I'm being protected tonight, too."
I laugh.
Kirill and Fiona sit across from us. He teases, "Three beauties. I'm going to be the talk of the Royal Council."
We laugh, and conversation is easy as we weave our way through town.
I ask, "Are all the Royal Council meetings in Chicago?"
Fiona's face falls. She answers, "Until we find out who tried to overthrow us."
I nod, wishing we knew who all the traitors were.
Kirill's driver takes the next turn, and the city gives way to a stretch of anonymous concrete and steel that could be any corporate district if you didn't know what slept underneath it.
The SUV glides into a private underground entrance tucked behind a wall of mirrored glass.
There's no signage or visible cameras, but I know we're being recorded just like every other member who enters.
Two men in black stand so still they could be statues, palms resting on the hilts of their weapons. Kirill rolls down his window and says a single word in Russian. The guards step back, and a gate opens.
We descend into the belly of the building. The elevator doors open onto a corridor. Low, amber lighting casts everything in soft shadows. The reinforced concrete walls etched with old symbols make my skin prickle.
Fiona leans toward me as we pass a black iron archway. "Did you bring your mask?"
"Of course." I push my fingers in my bag, tracing the flowers. My pulse stays steady, but the weight of the crest knife presses against my palm like a secret heartbeat.
We approach a black steel door. Kirill puts his mask on. The others follow, and I slide Brax's present over my head. A calm I've never felt floats over me, and I'm confident it's from the hidden blade that's now my insurance.
The antechamber is a circular room with a domed ceiling painted so dark it looks like a night sky without stars. Twelve family crests hang in a circle, each one representing a crime family bound to the Underworld. A single long table sits in the center.
Fiona adjusts her blue filigree mask, then checks mine with a small nod.
Kirill's black-and-silver mask is all hard edges and authority. He says, "Stay close."
"Brax already gave me the same order," I tell him.
"Then obey it twice," he answers, and I can't tell if he's joking.
We step through the final door into the council chamber.
The room is a cathedral built for criminals.
A crescent-shaped platform raised six feet looms at the far end, backed by a black wall of carved volcanic glass.
A table curves in a wide circle around it, each seat marked by a colored skull.
Twelve chairs with black velvet seats surround it, but tonight, only ten are occupied.
The moment our feet cross the threshold, voices cut off. Heads turn. Masks hide faces, but not power.
A thin man with a gold mask leans forward, pointing at the empty seats. "Where are the O'Malleys?"
A woman in a white mask snaps, "Did you not get the exception memo?"
Kirill doesn't bother with pleasantries. He rises out of his seat, announcing, "As stated, Sean and Brax have been suspended from clan operations and are fulfilling those duties."
Murmurs ripple through the room like a disturbed pond.
The gold mask tilts. "Suspended? If the O'Malley line loses its roles, the balance fractures."
Kirill's voice is calm enough to be lethal. "Exactly. You should be praying their seats remain intact. The Underworld does not survive if one of its strongest pillars falls."
A broad-shouldered man wearing a purple mask scoffs. "Unless that pillar was already rotten."
Fiona moves a fraction forward, but Kirill lifts a hand and stops her. He scans the room slowly, letting the tension thicken until it's hard to breathe. Then he speaks again, and every word burns with anger. "We have traitors in our world. Who has information for me?" His gaze sweeps the tables.
The room turns cold.
"Someone funded it. Someone sanctioned the beheading of a royal bloodline. Someone believed my wife and I could be dragged onto a platform and butchered for their ambition," Kirill seethes.
Silence continues to mix with tension.
Kirill plants both hands on the table. "I want the names of everyone involved, from the hands that held the knives to the mouths that issued the command, to the money that funded it."
The woman in white shakes her head. "We investigated. The traitors were apprehended. The matter no longer exists."
Kirill lets out a laugh that has no warmth in it. "You think I believe that a coup stops with two pawns and a ritual stage?"
The purple mask leans back. "We have no additional evidence. No communications. No transfers. Nothing beyond what the O'Malleys already uncovered."
"Then you're lying, or you're incompetent. Which is it?" Kirill snarls.
Voices rise around the circle, full of excuses, deflections, and no answers. Each family rep insists they had no knowledge, no hand, no role in the attempted coup.
Kirill's restraint frays visibly. His fists clench. His shoulders go rigid. The frost in his tone turns to fire. "You either give me names, or I start taking them."
Another round of tension mounts.
Kirill finally slams the session closed. The air is thicker than when we walked in. We file out through the bunker the same way we entered, but his sharp, angry exterior never fades.
By the time we reach the elevator, I wonder why I wanted a seat so badly. Besides Kirill, Fiona, and Zara, there's no clear alliance. Everyone's an enemy. The Royal Council only represents more powerful people playing dangerous games.
And like always in the Underworld, the truth stays hidden in the dark, wrapped in masks and lies.