Chapter 17
MARCO
My phone buzzed in my pocket again—louder this time.
Dr. Carter’s office. Another missed appointment, and she still hadn’t gotten the hint.
Persistent as hell, that woman. It wasn’t personal.
She was good at her job, better than most, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could tell me that I didn’t already know.
My shoulder was screwed, my knee was even worse, and my career—if you could still call it that—had already been shot to hell months ago, when I handed in my resignation.
Physical therapy was a joke. A painfully monotonous routine of forced optimism.
Show up, stretch, wince through the same tired movements, and then pretend to listen while some overly cheerful PT assistant repeated bullshit about “progress” and “healing.” Like if I just nodded along enough, it’d magically take the edge off the constant pain.
It never did.
Truth was, the appointments felt pointless.
All the promises about rehabilitation and recovery sounded hollow when my body refused to cooperate.
What was the point anyway? It wasn’t like I had a job to get back to.
The military had moved on the moment I became inconvenient.
Replaceable. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I’d accepted it.
My phone buzzed again. Jesus, persistent didn’t even begin to describe them.
Besides, my head wasn’t even in it anymore.
The physical therapy, the career—I didn’t have the patience left for either.
My attention was focused elsewhere these days.
On New York. On a certain brunette who seemed intent on complicating my life in every way imaginable.
Valentina was chaos and trouble, and apparently, I was exactly the kind of idiot who couldn’t stop chasing after that.
I silenced the phone and shoved it deeper into my pocket, ignoring the lingering ache in my shoulder. The pain was something I could live with. Dealing with whatever mess Valentina had waiting for me next, on the other hand . . . That was going to be the real challenge.
I shifted in my chair, jaw tightening as I forced myself to pay attention to the meeting again. I should’ve stayed focused. Max, Mikhail, Giovanni. I’d been stuck with them for years now, ever since Remy first pulled me into their circle.
They were more like brothers than business partners at this point, which mostly meant they drove me crazy on a daily basis. Giovanni talked too much, Mikhail scowled too often, and Max always acted like he knew better than everyone else—which, annoyingly, he usually did.
They argued endlessly, spending hours debating money none of them actually needed, but I stayed. I became a part of their Suits. Probably out of loyalty to Remy, or maybe habit. Either way, I wasn’t going anywhere, even if most days I wanted to throttle all three of them.
Things had been simpler back when Max still cared about discretion.
When he kept his head down to avoid drawing attention to the fact he was quietly dealing with people he shouldn’t have been involved with.
People like the Clarkes. But now his attention was divided, and Valentina had become a part of it all.
I didn’t like how complicated things had gotten. Didn’t like how every time Max tightened his grip on her, it inevitably dragged me deeper into a situation I had no business caring about. Yet here I was, unable to step away, forced into confrontations I’d rather avoid.
It pissed me off, how personal it had all become.
I mean, for fuck’s sake, I was only supposed to be his lawyer, and yet here I was, catching myself thinking about her multiple times a day.
Max leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly as Giovanni talked through the last of the numbers for the Mikhail deal. Good money. Low risk. The kind of investment that made already wealthy men even richer.
I should’ve ignored the sound of the door opening behind me. Should’ve ignored Jacob quietly slipping into the room. He didn’t head straight for Max—he went to the bar instead, waiting calmly like he always did.
That meant news. Probably bad news. That half-smirk of his confirmed it, the subtle kind of satisfaction he always wore when he knew Max wouldn’t like what he had to say.
I should’ve just let it go. Shouldn’t have cared what he had on the Callahans tonight. But I did care—enough to get up, cross the room, and pull Jacob aside before he could open his mouth to Max.
What the hell was I thinking?
Jacob’s smirk deepened a little when he saw me coming, like he’d known all along I wouldn’t be able to resist. “Marco,” he said, reaching for a handshake. “You’re a step ahead tonight.”
I took his hand, ignoring his curiosity. “What’d you get from the Callahans?”
Jacob took his time lighting his cigarette, inhaling before he spoke.
“Not much new,” he admitted. “Sebastian’s been meeting with Vasily’s crew in Chicago. Looks like they’re setting up something bigger than what they’re letting on.” He exhaled smoke, watching me carefully. “Drugs, maybe. Arms. Could be both.”
I mentally filed the information away. “And?”
Jacob opened the file in his hand, flipping through the photos casually.
The first ones were nothing special: Sebastian shaking hands with one of Vasily’s men, cars parked discreetly outside an upscale club no one was supposed to know existed.
Predictable stuff. Nothing that would draw much attention.
Until the last one.
Valentina.
She was standing too close to Sebastian, mid-conversation. Her hands were moving, animated in the way they got when she was genuinely invested. Her head was tilted slightly, listening closely—exactly how she’d looked that night when I explicitly told her to stay away from this mess.
My gaze caught on her skirt.
I recognized it instantly. She’d been wearing it the last time I saw her.
I shouldn’t have remembered details like that—what she’d been wearing, how the fabric had clung to her, how she’d looked at me as if daring me to forget.
But I did remember. Too clearly.
Jacob watched me silently, probably wondering if I’d react. If I’d show a damn thing on my face. I didn’t. At least, I hoped I didn’t. The last thing I needed was Jacob or anyone else reading into this more than they already were.
But Christ, Valentina . . . I’d told her to steer clear of this shit.
I’d spelled it out, told her exactly what would happen: how Max would react; how quickly this would all spiral.
And she’d stood there staring at me with those stubborn, hasty eyes, acting as if she understood. As if she’d actually listened.
She hadn’t. Obviously.
Because here she was, right in the middle of everything I’d tried to keep her from. And with Sebastian Callahan, of all fucking people.
Max wasn’t looking for an excuse to ruin Valentina.
He didn’t give a shit about her personal life—not unless it interfered with his business.
But this? This was enough to do exactly that.
It was enough to push her back to day one, or worse.
Enough for Max to pull strings I couldn’t untangle; to ruin her just because she refused to listen.
And maybe she deserved it. Hell, she’d been warned more than once. But that stubborn part of me—maybe guilt, maybe something else—didn’t want to see it happen. Not yet at least. Not like this.
I met his gaze. “Keep Valentina out of this.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow. “She’s with Sebastian, Marco. That makes her—”
“Not your problem,” I interrupted, sliding my hand into my pocket. “I’ll handle it.”
He hesitated, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.
Of course he’d hesitated. Nothing came easy when it came to these people.
Everything was a trade, a negotiation, always waiting for a better offer.
A reason to hold something over your head.
I was tired of making deals. Tired of cleaning up messes that weren’t mine.
But here I was again, about to do exactly that.
I pulled out my wallet, slipping out three crisp hundreds and laying them flat on the table.
Jacob smirked. He probably thought he had me figured out. Probably thought I was doing this because of some misplaced sense of morality.
I grabbed the photo of Valentina before he could and ripped it in half, then in half again. I let the pieces fall into my palm before dropping them into the trash.
Jacob exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What’s Max always say? The house always wins.”
The house always wins. Yeah, I’d heard Max say it a thousand times. But Jacob had it wrong. This wasn’t gambling. This wasn’t about odds or luck or even strategy—not when Valentina was involved. If anything, it felt like losing. Like folding before the cards had even been dealt.
And what did that say about me?
Jacob slipped the bills into his pocket, still smirking as if he’d won something bigger than a few hundred dollars. As if he’d caught me slipping. And maybe he had, but fuck it. I was beyond caring tonight.
I shouldn’t have intervened. Should have let Valentina deal with the consequences of her own choices for once. Let her crash and burn, if that was what she wanted, because clearly, she didn’t give a shit about dragging me down with her.
But instead I stood there paying off Jacob, covering tracks that weren’t mine, because letting Max find out meant dealing with the kind of mess I didn’t have the patience for tonight—or maybe ever.
I walked back to the table, taking my seat as Max finally glanced toward Jacob, nodding for him to talk about what he had.
Max wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly where the Callahans were shifting their weight. What Sebastian was planning. What Vasily was looking for.
They were the ones who were responsible for almost all their money problems. They’d even gone as far as draining my account one time. I’d never let Max off the hook for letting that happen.
I hated working for these people. Couldn’t stand them sometimes.