Chapter Forty-Four
Rowen
The instant Madigan spotted me, she rushed forward, her arms encircling my waist. Her sobs shook against my chest, each one a raw note of regret.
I could smell the faint jasmine in her hair, feel the tremor of guilt in her grip.
“I’m so sorry, Rowen. I never wanted any of this.
I swear I didn’t,” she cried, her voice thick with desperation.
I held her close, letting her sorrow seep into me, my hand soothing circles on her back.
My heart ached for her vulnerability, for the burdens she carried.
“I know, Maddie. I do,” I whispered, matching her quiet intensity.
My gaze swept the room—harsh lights, cold metal, the weight of too many secrets pressing down.
Guiding her to the nearest couch, I gestured for her to sit, never releasing her hand.
Sitting beside her, I squeezed her fingers, grounding her—grounding myself.
“Is he treating you well?” I asked, hoping for honesty.
Madigan’s eyes flicked to Rurik, who lingered near Vladmir, his stance protective and wary. She nodded, her voice trembling but resolute. “Yes. He’s been gentle. He’s tried to make this bearable.”
Relief flickered through me, but the worry remained. “Good,” I managed with a faint smile. “Maddie, your mother’s frantic. She needs to hear your voice.”
“I can’t.” Her whisper barely cut through the tension as her gaze dropped to her trembling hands.
Madigan was always a gentle soul—content to fade behind her family’s legacy, never the lead.
Being Eamon O’Malley’s granddaughter meant living under the relentless yoke of expectation.
If not for Caity, her mother, Madigan might have been bartered away as a pawn.
Now, watching her, I felt a pang of doubt—had any path truly been safe for her?
“Why not?” I asked gently, searching her face for the truth behind her fear.
“Because everyone is safer without me,” she murmured.
Her words landed heavily, haunted by secrets she couldn’t voice.
Maxim rose from his seat, posture rigid, his tone formal—a mask for the storm beneath. “Ms. Kelley, would you kindly elaborate on your concerns?” His eyes flicked to Rurik, icy with expectation. “You assured me you had everything under control.”
Rurik scoffed, frustration flaring in his voice. “It’s not easy trying to contain this mess. You try it, boss. It’s a nightmare. Every time I think I have a handle on it, something else blows up.”
Vladmir smirked behind his hand, shaking his head slowly, as if the situation amused him despite its peril.
Maddie straightened, resolve flickering in her eyes. “He’s right, Mr. Fedorov. With my grandfather’s files out in the open, nobody can stop what comes next.”
“What files?” Michael asked, tension straining his voice.
Madigan’s voice was low but unwavering; her hands twisted in her lap.
“My grandfather, Eamon O’Malley, was the bookkeeper for the Society, the organization behind every horrible thing that’s happened over the last several years.
Every disgusting secret, every horrible war, every failed alliance was because of the Society, and my grandfather had records of everything.
The files he kept detailed every payment, every blackmail, every illicit deal—proof of decades of corruption.
The Society’s power wasn’t just in violence, but in the threat these files held: evidence that could destroy families and topple empires if exposed.
” She swallowed, glancing at each face in the room.
“The Trick Pony was only the beginning. There were plans for something bigger, more elaborate, and when my grandfather passed, everything he knew went to his protégé.”
“Who?” Vladmir demanded, urgency sharpening his tone.
Shaking her head, she murmured, “Nolan Kelley, who chose Tyran Fitzpatrick as his protégé, who chose someone else. Don’t you get it? The cycle goes on. Each generation inherits the secrets and the danger.”
“Fucking hell,” Michael muttered, running a hand over his face. “This shit is never going to end, is it?”
Madigan turned to me, her voice a barely audible plea.
“Don’t you see, Rowen? There’s always going to be a keeper of secrets, another person ready to expose the truth and shatter lives.
As long as those files exist, as long as the truth stays hidden, my family—and my son—will always be at risk, and I promised Salvatore I’d protect them, no matter the cost, but I can’t be the one to tell.
That’s why I won’t go back home.” Her words hung between us, heavy with a promise forged in fear and love.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Maddie was right.
It wasn’t her secret to tell. As long as the truth stayed hidden, there would always be someone else willing to step forward and exploit the situation.
Knowing there was no other way, I searched Maddie’s face, my voice barely above a whisper, as my fingers squeezed hers gently. “It has to be me.”
Maddie’s eyes widened, her shoulders tense as she slowly shook her head. “You do this, Rowen, and there’s no going back.” Her voice trembled, but her gaze never wavered. “You’ll have a mark on your back until the day you die.”
I scoffed, leaning back with a crooked grin. “I already do, sweetheart.” Getting to my feet, I looked at the men staring at me, wondering what it was I knew, what I was about to do, and when my eyes landed on Michael, I watched him stiffen.
“Don’t you fucking say it, asshole,” Michael growled, taking a step closer to me as Sebastian moved behind him, ready to lock him down should he lose his temper.
“Explain to me how I can keep her secret and do nothing when I have the power to end this now?”
“She’s MINE!” Michael roared as Sebastian wrapped his arms around his club brother. “She’s happy, Rowen. You do this and she’ll be marked for life!”
“How is she any different from Madigan, Remi, or Grace for that matter? It’s up to us, the men in their lives, to protect them.
Do you honestly believe Vladmir would do nothing if his daughter was in danger?
Or what lengths Maxim would go to protect Illyria?
Or King for Grace, or Reaper for Remi? The only way for this shit to end is to reveal the truth. ”
No one moved, not even breathed, as they all stared at me when Sebastian’s eyes widened, shoving Michael to the floor before he shouted, “DUCK!” diving for me as chaos shattered the silence.
Falling to the floor, I heard Maddie scream as men shouted, ducking for cover as bullets ricocheted all around us.
The cacophony of gunfire was a brutal interruption.
I felt a searing pain in my arm as I scrambled to my feet, Vladmir already a blur of motion, drawing his weapon.
Madigan was a small, terrified heap on the floor, shielded by Rurik, who’d thrown himself in front of her.
Maxim was a statue of fury, his hand reaching for his own concealed firearm, his eyes narrowed on the unseen aggressors.
Michael was a whirlwind of protective rage, pushing Sebastian back, his roar a primal sound of denial and threat.
“Maddie!” I yelled, my voice strained, but she was already being hauled to her feet by a grim-faced Rurik, his body a shield between her and the chaos as he deftly got her out of harm’s way.
Bullets whizzed past, chipping away at the walls and sending shards flying. I could hear the grunts and curses of those engaged. The desperate shouts of men trying to find who dared fired shots at the Bratva and the Russian Pakhan.
I crawled across the cold floor, grit biting into my palms, heart pounding out a frantic rhythm in my chest. There was a sharp tang of gunpowder in the air, mixed with the coppery scent of blood—my blood, slick and hot running down my sleeve.
The world had been reduced to flashes of muzzle fire and fleeting shadows.
Someone grunted nearby—Maxim maybe, or Sebastian—and the table beside me splintered as another bullet slammed into it.
“Stay down!” someone shouted, but I couldn’t.
My gaze darted, searching for Michael, for anyone still standing.
The burst of violence had scattered us like leaves in a storm, but I knew I had to move, to get to him, no matter what the cost, for Melissa’s sake.
I refused to let her lose one more person she loved.
My breath came in ragged bursts as I pressed my wound, searching desperately for any sign of Michael.
The chaos was relentless—gunfire echoing against concrete, shouts overlapping into a roar of panic.
Somewhere to my left, Sebastian called out orders, struggling to regain control while I crawled over broken glass, my face set in grim determination.
“Stay low!” Vladmir barked, as he fired a shot toward the opening in the far wall—an answer for every threat that dared to breach the Russian sanctuary. Each second stretched, agony and adrenaline fusing into a singular, blinding will to survive.
Then, as fast as it began, it ended.
Standing, I looked around the room and shook my head as Michael walked over to me and said, “You’re hit.”
“Nothing a couple of stitches won’t fix,” I dismissed, reaching into my coat and removing the file I brought with me as leverage before handing it to Michael. “He deserves to know the truth. They both do. Do the right thing, Michael. I’ll meet you back at the house. I need to talk to Melissa.”