Chapter 13 #2
I saw the moment he caved—the way his jaw ticked slightly and his shoulders dropped just enough to let me know I wasn’t about to get thrown back onto the street.
I’d expected him to fight me on it. Instead he turned and told me to follow him.
He led me down a busy hallway, away from everyone and everything. He was taking me to the kind of room where conversations happened in private.
He held the door open for me, and I slipped past him, looking around the boring office. No windows. A long, polished table. Not even a single piece of art framed on the wall.
His eyes fell down the length of my body. “Take a seat.”
I didn’t move right away.
This was a mistake.
Maybe.
But I was already here. I wasn’t sure how I kept finding myself in places like this—in places I shouldn’t be, saying things I shouldn’t say, and asking for help I hadn’t planned on needing.
It wasn’t too late to leave, was it? I could still turn this all around, thank him for his time, maybe even make a cruel joke at my own expense.
But I didn’t, because the truth was . . .
“I need your help.”
His body stiffened. “I’ve already helped you, Valentina. More than once.”
Right. He’d made sure Sasha didn’t come back, but that didn’t mean Marco could get Max off my back.
He was still forcing me to go to AA meetings.
I was still drinking—not a lot, but enough to keep the shakes at bay.
Just enough to pretend I was fine, to keep up appearances, to smile when people expected me to, and to show up where they told me I needed to be.
“Yes,” I finally said. “Thanks for that, by the way. I finally have my kitchen space back.”
He watched me blankly.
“Anyway.” I swallowed and looked down at the table—at the way my hands curled into fists before I forced them to relax. “I need to get my money, and I don’t know how.”
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “That’s not something I can help you with.”
I blinked, my heart sinking faster than I expected. It shouldn’t have stung like this, but it did. Maybe because somewhere deep down I’d convinced myself he’d fix it—like he had with Sasha, with Sebastian, with every other mess I’d dragged to his doorstep.
He was my fallback, my plan B when plan A inevitably went up in flames. Now even Marco was telling me no. The one person who could probably move mountains if he wanted, and suddenly, he couldn’t be bothered.
Of course not.
I felt the bitter smile curl my lips before I could stop it. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. I had no reason to expect him to go out of his way again—not after he’d already done more than enough.
Maybe I’d pushed too far this time.
I reached into my bag, pushing past the lipstick and the crumpled old receipt, until I found what I was looking for. A single wrinkled dollar bill. I pulled it out and held it between two fingers, resting my elbow on the conference table.
“I know it’s not your usual rate,” I said, embarrassed, “but I could really use some help.”
Marco glanced at the bill, then at me.
He didn’t take the dollar.
“You came to the wrong place.”
“I think it’s exactly the right place,” I countered, tilting my head. “You’re a lawyer. I need legal advice.”
His finger tapped against the table once as if he were considering me. Then he tapped twice.
Reluctantly, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he reached forward and plucked the dollar from my hand, rolling it between his fingers before tucking it into his pocket.
“Does this mean you’ll help me?”
He nodded gently.
Thank god. “You’ve seen the clause, haven’t you?” I asked.
“I have.”
“So?”
“Legally, you’re entitled to the inheritance—under specific conditions.”
I leaned back, crossing my arms, irritation bubbling under my skin. Conditions. I hated that word. It felt like the universe was constantly reminding me I only got what I wanted if I played by somebody else’s rules. My late husband, Max, even Marco.
“What are my options?” I finally asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
“You fulfill the terms, or you contest them. Those are your options.”
“Fulfilling the terms means marrying someone else,” I said flatly. “That’s not exactly an appealing prospect.”
He didn’t disagree, but he gave a small nod like he understood why I hated it. Marco may have thought I was reckless, self-destructive even, but at least he understood how twisted this arrangement was.
“And contesting?” I prompted.
He let out a quiet breath. “It would take months. Maybe years. It’s expensive, messy, and you still might not win. Max has good lawyers. Very good lawyers.”
“You’re a good lawyer,” I pointed out.
“And I work for Max,” he interjected.
“What about me?”
His mouth twitched slightly—almost a smile, but not quite. “You’re paying me a dollar, Valentina. For a dollar, you get the truth, not miracles.”
Fair enough.
Still, I couldn’t help the disappointment that clawed at me again. If Marco couldn’t help me, then who could? The thought of going back out there, begging someone else, explaining myself again—it was exhausting.
My fingers tightened on my bag, digging into the leather. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”
For a long moment he didn’t answer. He just watched me. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful. “You play the game better than Max does. Find someone safe, get married, take your inheritance, and get out.”
“But he won’t marry me off until I’m sober.”
“And you’re not?” he asked.
“No.”
I wondered if he understood why. Going cold turkey usually hit me like a bus going seventy miles per hour.
It wasn’t just the shakes or the headaches—it was deeper, uglier, as if someone had reached inside and started pulling out pieces of me I didn’t even know existed.
Sobriety stripped me down to my bones, showed me every scar, every flaw I’d spent years covering up.
“Well,” he said, disappointed, “you might want to start.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“Valentina, this isn’t just about the money. You know that, right? You were married to a man inside the Outfit. Your name, whether you like it or not, still holds weight. They’re not just going to let you walk away with millions.”
“Do you really think I don’t know that?”
“You’re not acting like you do.”
“So what do I do then? Just roll over and let them control the rest of my life?”
Marco looked hesitant. Almost like he wanted to help.
“You want your money?” he said finally. “Then you need to make yourself look like less of a problem.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?”
He leaned back in his chair. “One—stay sober. Make it last long enough that Max starts thinking you can handle the responsibility of having more money than sense.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You and I both know that’s not happening.”
His didn’t argue. “Two—stop letting people like Sebastian Callahan through your door. Whether you’re sleeping with him or not, Max doesn’t trust you, and he trusts them even less. You want this process to move faster? Cut ties.”
I frowned, twisting the bracelet on my wrist. “Next.”
“Three—you find another way to meet the clause requirements without making Max suspicious.”
That got my attention. I sat up slightly. “And how would I do that?”
“Legally speaking, the clause only requires you to be married. It doesn’t specify the state of the marriage, only that it exists.”
“So, what, I just find some poor idiot willing to tie the knot for a payday?”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done it.”
I ignored his comment and considered it for a moment. It wasn’t the worst idea. I mean, morally, sure, it was a little gray, but when had that ever stopped me before?
I tilted my head. “Would you do it?”
His eyes flew to mine. “What?”
“If you were in my position,” I clarified. “Would you marry someone for money?”
“I wouldn’t be in your position.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “Of course you wouldn’t.”
“If you want my advice—”
“I do,” I interrupted, which seemed to surprise him.
“You keep your head down. You play nice. You stay sober. You cut the Callahans off. If you want to go the marriage route, you make sure it’s with someone Max doesn’t have a reason to dig into.”
“And if I don’t?” I asked, tapping my fingers restlessly.
“Then you’ll be sitting in this same chair asking the same damn question a year from now.”