20. What We Can Do As One Unit
20
WHAT WE CAN DO AS ONE UNIT
~RONAN~
R onan stared at the ceiling, listening to Serenity's steady breathing as she slept curled against his side.
Her head rested on his chest, brown hair spilling across his skin like silk. In sleep, the sharp edges of her personality softened, revealing the vulnerability she fought so hard to conceal.
I should be exhausted, he thought. After the fight, after this. But sleep eluded him, his mind racing with memories and regrets that refused to quiet.
Three years ago, he would have laughed at anyone who suggested he'd be here—harboring Marcus Vale's daughter, protecting her from the very wolves he once ran with. Fighting for her in an underground ring like some knight in blood-stained armor.
The irony wasn't lost on him. The Drakes and Vales had been rivals for generations, each family carving their empire from the other's failures. When his father had disowned him, throwing him into the streets for questioning family business practices, it had been Marcus Vale who'd offered him work. Not charity—Vale never did anything without calculation—but opportunity.
"Blood makes you a Drake," Marcus had told him, "but your choices make you who you are."
Choices. He'd made so many, each taking him further from the privileged heir he'd been raised to be, deeper into a world of violence and power. He'd built his security company from nothing, leveraging connections, intimidating competitors, occasionally spilling blood when necessary. Five billion in assets later, he was untouchable.
Or so he'd thought.
Serenity shifted in her sleep, her arm tightening around his waist. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how someone so fierce could look so peaceful.
She doesn't realize what she's inherited, he thought. The Vale empire wasn't just wealth—it was a target. Every rival, every competitor who'd feared Marcus was now circling, testing boundaries, seeking weaknesses. Alexander Beaumont and his step-brother were just the first. There would be others.
And here he was, the disowned Drake heir, standing between them and Marcus Vale's daughter. Life had a fucked-up sense of humor.
He traced the curve of her shoulder, feeling the weight of promises made—some to Marcus before his death, others to himself. Protect her. Guide her. Don't fall for her.
Too late for that last one.
The sacrifices had been worth it. Every scar, every fight, every deal with devils in expensive suits had led him here. To this moment, with her trusting enough to sleep in his arms, vulnerable in a way she showed no one else.
"I'll burn the world down before I let them touch you," he whispered to her sleeping form, the vow settling in his chest like a stone.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. The business Marcus left behind was teetering on the brink of war, and Serenity's emergence as his heir had accelerated the timeline. But tonight, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, with her heartbeat steady against his, Ronan allowed himself a moment of peace.
A moment to pretend that the path forward wasn't stained with inevitable blood.
The first pale threads of dawn filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. Ronan watched Serenity stir, those unique golden eyes with their flecks of red blinking open to meet his. For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of yesterday's events hanging between them.
"You haven't slept," she said, voice husky from rest as she traced a finger along the shadows under his eyes.
"Had things to think about." Ronan shifted, his body still faintly aching from the fight. "Things you should know."
Serenity pushed herself up on one elbow, suddenly alert. "About my father?"
"About everything." Ronan exhaled slowly, the confession he'd been holding back for weeks now inevitable. "About me."
He rose from the bed, muscles rippling as he crossed to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he stared at the city waking below them, the same streets he'd once fought to survive on.
"I wasn't always Drake," he began, his voice rougher than usual. "I was born Roman Alexander Drake III, heir to one of the oldest fortunes in this city."
Serenity's sharp intake of breath told him she recognized the name. The Drakes had been rivals of the Vales for generations.
"My father disowned me when I was twenty. Said I lacked the necessary... restraint... for an Alpha of our standing." A bitter laugh escaped him. "He wasn't wrong."
Ronan turned to face her, leaning against the windowsill. "I fought my way up from nothing after that. Street enforcer, then mercenary, then my own operation. Your father was the only one who saw potential in me when everyone else saw trash."
Serenity sat upright, golden eyes flashing with the red highlights that always appeared when she was processing something significant. "My father? Marcus helped you?"
"Not directly." Ronan ran a hand through his copper hair. "He blocked three separate attempts on my life when I was establishing myself. Sent anonymous tips about raids. Made sure certain doors stayed open when others tried to close them."
He moved back to the bed, sitting on its edge. The morning light cast harsh shadows across the scars on his torso.
"I never understood why. We never even met face to face." Ronan's green eyes darkened with memory. "Then one day, I received a message. Just an address and a time. When I went, there was a sealed envelope waiting. Inside was documentation on my own family's attempt to have me eliminated, along with proof they were trying to frame your father's organization for it."
Serenity reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. "Why would he help you?"
"Balance of power, maybe. Or..." Ronan paused, choosing his words carefully. "He once wrote that he recognized something in me that reminded him of himself. Said the city needed Alphas who understood the streets, not just boardrooms."
Serenity processed this, connecting threads in her mind. "And after he died?"
"Chaos. His lieutenants started carving up territory. The Beaumont brothers saw opportunity. They've been systematically dismantling what's left of Vale's empire." Ronan's jaw tightened. "And now they know about you."
Serenity stood, pacing the room in one of his shirts that hung to her mid-thigh. Her mind worked rapidly, the business strategist in her assessing angles.
"My father left me assets I don't even fully understand yet," she said. "Shipping companies, real estate holdings, offshore accounts..."
"And liabilities," Ronan added grimly. "Promises made to dangerous people. Territory agreements that are being violated daily. A network of informants who don't know who to trust."
She stopped pacing suddenly. "What would happen if we consolidated? Your security operations, my father's legitimate businesses?"
"It would paint a target on both our backs," Ronan said, but she could see he was considering it.
"I already have a target on my back. I'm a Vale, and an Omega." Determination hardened her voice. "I refuse to be hunted like prey."
Ronan stood, moving to her with the fluid grace that belied his size. "What are you suggesting exactly?"
"A partnership. I need your muscle and street knowledge. You need my father's connections and my business expertise." She looked up at him unflinchingly. "What can I do to help protect what's ours?"
The word 'ours' hung between them, charged with meaning neither was ready to fully acknowledge.
"It starts with identifying who we can trust," Ronan said. "There's a ledger your father kept—not digital, physical. Names, debts, favors owed. Last I heard, it was hidden in a property even his closest lieutenants didn't know about."
"Where?"
"That's the problem. I only know it exists, not where." His expression turned grim. "But there's someone who might. The question is whether we can get to them before the Beaumonts do."
Serenity squared her shoulders, her golden-red eyes reflecting the sunrise. "Then that's our first move. Who is it?"
"Carter Greene. Old school accountant who worked for your father for thirty years. Man's a ghost now—disappeared right after Marcus died." Ronan ran a hand through his copper hair. "Your father trusted him with everything."
"How do we find him?" Serenity asked, her mind already racing with possibilities.
Ronan's lips curled into a predatory smile. "I've got connections in places even your father didn't. But finding Greene won't be easy." He leaned against the windowsill, muscles tensing beneath his scarred skin. "This is where your business mind comes in. Greene was clever—probably laundered money through legitimate businesses."
Serenity paced the room, her steps measured and deliberate. "I need access to my father's financial records. All of them—not just what the lawyers showed me. If Greene is hiding, he'll still need money. We follow the money, we find Greene."
"And once we have the ledger?"
"We use it as leverage to consolidate power." She stopped, turning to face him. "But we need to be smarter than my father was. The drug trade is unstable—high risk, high volatility. Your security firm is the perfect front. We can channel the Vale shipping operations through it, creating a legitimate enterprise that's bulletproof on paper."
Ronan studied her, green eyes calculating. "You want to go legitimate? That's playing with fire in this world."
"Not entirely legitimate," she clarified. "Just enough to keep the feds off our backs. I'm talking about restructuring, diversifying. The weapons side stays dark, but we shift focus to high-end security contracts—government, private sector."
"Using Vale's political connections," Ronan nodded, connecting the dots. "Smart. The Beaumonts don't have those kinds of connections."
Serenity felt a rush of satisfaction. "Exactly. We become untouchable not through violence, but through becoming too valuable to touch."
"There's still a problem," Ronan crossed his arms. "The fighting rings. They're my territory, and they stay that way."
"I'm not asking you to give them up." Serenity approached him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "I'm suggesting we elevate them. Make them exclusive. High-stakes gambling, private memberships. The ultra-wealthy love their vices, but they value discretion more."
A smile spread slowly across Ronan's face—not the harsh one he showed the world, but something genuine that transformed his features. "Vale's daughter indeed. You've got your father's vision, but you're sharper than he ever was."
"I had a different education." Her voice was soft but firm. "And different vulnerabilities to guard against."
Ronan's hand found hers, his calloused palm rough against her skin. "We move on Greene first. Then we restructure. But Serenity—" his voice dropped, "—this puts you directly in the line of fire. Are you ready for that?"
She met his gaze unflinchingly. "I was born into fire, Ronan. I just didn't know it until now."
As dawn fully broke over the city, painting the skyline in hues of gold and crimson that matched her unusual eyes, Serenity felt something shift inside her. For the first time since learning of her inheritance, the weight of it didn't feel like a burden but a tool—something she could wield alongside this dangerous Alpha who'd somehow become her ally.
"We start today," she said, certainty flowing through her veins stronger than any Omega instinct. "No one—not the Beaumonts, not my father's old guard—will see us coming."
Ronan's answering grin was all predator. "Together, then."
"Together," she agreed, the word feeling like a vow.
The path ahead was shadowed and uncertain, littered with enemies she hadn't yet met and dangers she couldn't fully anticipate. But for the first time since her world had been upended, Serenity Vale wasn't afraid.
With Ronan at her side and her father's empire at her fingertips, she was ready to create something entirely new—a force that belonged to her, to them, by choice rather than blood.