15. Chapter Fifteen Kieran
Chapter Fifteen: Kieran
I barely had time to close the door behind me before the wolves descended.
Tristan had summoned me to give him a status report—because clearly, speaking on the phone was overrated—and Adriana had taken the opportunity to invite me over for lunch.
When I’d parked, I hadn’t seen Liam’s car.
So he wasn’t there yet and there was no chance of using my little brother as a human shield.
Fuck.
“Dad! Uncle Kieran’s here!” Catherine called, all excited when I wanted nothing more than to sprint right back through the front door.
My niece was wearing her soccer uniform, white socks with grass stains, her blond hair tied up in braids, dark brown eyes that never quite seemed to settle on anything.
From beside her, Mateo’s entire body vibrated with excitement.
He had already changed, wearing a little polo shirt and jeans, his dark curls combed back and away from his face.
He looked a lot like Tristan when he was a kid, ice blue eyes with a button nose, but his coloring was different.
All Adriana. “Are you two gonna fight?” he asked, more excited than he should be.
Jesus Christ.
Yeah…that was my brother’s kid, alright.
I exhaled through my nose. “What kind of uncle do you think I am?”
Catherine gave me a considering look. “One that loses.”
Mateo bounced like a wind-up toy. “You’re totally gonna fight.”
“We’re not going to fight. But if we did fight, I would win,” I said.
The twins looked at each other and laughed.
“Well, I could beat you in a fight,” I said. The twins laughed some more before Adriana approached from up the steps.
“Don’t encourage them,” Adriana said. She appeared at the top of the stairs, Cam drooping on her hip, his two-year-old face smushed into her shoulder. “Kids, go wash up for lunch. Kieran—are you just here to be a bad influence?”
“I was invited,” I pointed out.
She arched her brow, lips curling slightly in a friendly smirk. “Were you? I don’t remember that.”
“You’re less funny than you think you are.”
“Your brother thinks I’m funny.”
“Yeah, well, Tristan doesn’t have a good sense of humor,” I replied.
She didn’t flip me off, but I could tell that she wanted to. I didn’t push my luck; Tristan’s footsteps were coming down the hall behind her, and even if we were friendly, he didn’t like anyone pushing his wife’s buttons.
Mateo beamed. “Daddy, Uncle Kieran’s here to fight!”
Tristan didn’t blink. “Yeah? Let’s see if he walks back out.”
The kids laughed like it was the best joke they’d ever heard.
I gave Tristan a deadpan look as I stepped up toward the top of the steps, even if I knew as well as the kids did that Tristan could kick my ass; if anything, age had only made him more dangerous and more…
dad. Rolled up sleeves, wedding ring, silver at his temples.
Yeah. He would end me if he had to.
Tristan kissed the top of Cam’s head, then Adriana’s cheek. “We won’t be long. Is your sister coming?”
“Yes,” Adriana replied. “She’ll be here soon. I’m going to put Cam down for a nap. What do you think, baby? Are you ready for bed?”
“No!” he replied forcefully, which made even me laugh.
“And yet,” Tristan said, “you must.”
Cam pouted, but he buried his face into Adriana’s shoulder and she laughed again. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Kieran,” Tristan said finally. “My office?”
I nodded, swallowing whatever smartass comment was on the tip of my tongue.
We moved away from the noise of the house—the clatter of dishes, the low hum of cartoons, the sound of Cam mumbling sleepily into his mother’s neck. The hallway grew quieter with each step, like the air itself was bracing.
Tristan’s office was pristine. Hardwood floors. Shelves lined with leather-bound books and heirlooms passed down from men who hadn’t needed to raise their voices to get what they wanted. The door shut behind us with a soft click, and the quiet that followed wasn’t peaceful—it was surgical.
“You look tired,” Tristan said, giving me a once-over. His tone was dry, clipped. Not concerned. Measuring.
I forced a shrug. “I’m getting old.”
“No,” he said, not missing a beat. “You’re getting sloppy.”
He didn’t sit. Just moved behind his desk, arms crossed like a man who’d already made up his mind. Like a man who’d spent the last decade growing into the full weight of his power…a man who was absolutely done with my bullshit.
“Sit.”
I obeyed, sinking into the chair like it might swallow me whole. My palms itched. I ran a hand through my hair to keep from fidgeting.
“I assume you want a status report,” I said, even though we both knew that wasn’t really what he was after.
“You’re psychic. What’s going on?”
“The month isn’t looking great, but we have a big shipment coming in.”
“Define ‘not great.’” Tristan’s voice was sharp, his gaze locked onto mine.
I sighed. “The police crackdown on nightlife is killing us. We’re down at least fifteen percent across our main distribution chains, but more than that, it’s making our people nervous.
The cops are busting clubs, but if we push too hard, they’ll start targeting apartments next.
We’ve already lost two major suppliers in Back Bay. ”
Tristan exhaled through his nose. “That’s really fucking bad, Kieran.”
“It is if it keeps up, but I think we can just change tack. We need to start spending a little money on people higher up the chain.”
He drummed his fingers against the desk. “There are no other avenues?”
“There are other avenues, but nothing as lucrative as nightlife. We can be dynamic. We can change it,” I said.
“Casinos, escort rings, underground poker—it’s all still functional.
But moving product at clubs has always had the lowest overhead.
Losing it hurts. Obviously, we can move product out of someone’s apartment.
But it’s an economies of scale sort of thing. ”
Tristan’s gaze sharpened. “What about the shipment?”
“High-quality, straight from Rotterdam. No bullshit, no fentanyl. But we need it to clear customs clean. If this gets flagged, we’re in deep shit.”
Tristan sat down, then leaned back in his chair. “Then make sure it doesn’t.”
“Don’t worry too much,” I said. “I mean, look, brothels and casinos aren’t going away. People aren’t suddenly going to stop using just because they can’t get into Chameleon .”
Tristan considered this. “Right. Chameleon. So what about our other clubs?”
“They’re a problem,” I said. “We have to be squeaky clean right now because the police are watching us too closely, so we’re cutting off bottle service and moving everything to backroom sales, but the fact that they’re watching us is making it harder to wash the money on site.
We’re already paying three councilmen to keep places open, and the heat’s still on, so I don’t think there’s anything we can do about that for now. ”
“So what? We just put our heads down and wait? That’s your plan?”
I sighed. “Yeah. It’s honestly not a bad plan. We’re not bleeding money or anything—it’s just taking longer to fix than it should because I’ve got my hands full playing babysitter to a political landmine.”
Tristan watched me for a few seconds, obviously trying to decide if he was going to call me out for the dig. He didn’t.
Instead, he smiled—cool, measured, just enough bite behind it to remind me who the fuck was in charge. He moved over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out two tumblers and glancing over his shoulder.
“Great. Well, if you’re too busy cleaning up your mess, I’ll have Liam take care of distro—whiskey?”
“Yes to the whiskey, no to Liamo,” I said, bristling a little.
Distribution made up the bulk of my income.
The son of a bitch was trying to carve a huge slice out of it, and he was pouring me whiskey and himself a sparkling water like this wasn’t a slap in the face.
“That won’t be necessary. Besides, isn’t our little brother busy with some redhead? ”
Tristan passed me the whiskey, holding his water like it already put a bad taste in his mouth. “I promised Adriana I wouldn’t drink before lunch, even on weekdays,” he said. “But you’re making it awfully difficult.”
I held my whiskey up to him. “I’ll drink on your behalf.”
Tristan snorted. “You need to be straight with me if the DA thing plus distro is too much…”
“It’s not too much, lad. I’ve got this.”
He sat now, setting his glass down on the desk. Tristan leaned forward, his fingers threaded in front of his face, his brow knitted. “Okay. And how’s that going, anyway? Uncovered anything to get rid of her? What’s your strategy?”
His words twisted something deep inside of me.
The idea that she was a strategy—just another pawn on the board—made my jaw clench so hard it hurt.
But that was why I was in her life again, wasn’t it?
That was the job—why I’d stalked her, touched her, kissed her, held her bleeding hand in mine.
That was the only reason I had communicated with her again.
For the Callahans.
For my brothers.
For the business.
“It’s going.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to have to elaborate.”
“She spent the night at my house,” I told him.
“So you got the DA to fuck you,” he says. “Well…do you have proof? Seems to me like that would be enough to bury her.”
“We didn’t have sex.”
Tristan’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“She was hurt.”
“By you?”
“She cut her hand on some glass, I guess. She didn’t have a choice.”
“Explain.”
I settled deeper into the leather chair, stretching out like I owned the place. “Relax. It’s strategy.”
His brows lifted. “That so?”
I took my time answering, pouring myself a drink from his decanter. “She’s armored up. If we go after her now, she becomes a martyr. But if I get close—if I seduce her—” I let the word sit between us, letting the weight of it sink in, “—then when she cracks, we leak it. Controlled demolition.”
Tristan didn’t react.
That was the first bad sign. Then, slowly, his mouth curved. “Oh my God.”
I frowned. “What?”
His smirk sharpened. “You like her.”
I snorted. “Don’t be pathetic.”
“Oh, I’m the pathetic one?” He leaned forward, amused now. “You had half of Boston willing to warm your bed, and you chose the woman who’s trying to bury us?”
I shrugged, sipping my drink. “It’s leverage.”
“So you do like her.”
“I mean, I’m not immune to the charms of beautiful women,” I replied, shrugging. “Especially when they stay over at my house. And she’s so fucking smart. That’s why you can’t control her, right? So forgive me if I like someone who challenges you.”
Tristan laughed with a warmth I wasn’t expecting. “I already have someone who challenges me. Unfortunately, she’s taken.”
“Adriana? You can keep her.”
He laughed again, this time without any warmth. “I intend to.”
“Look, I have a plan—”
He swirled his hand around his face in front of me to stop me from talking. “Listen. This is cute,” he said. “Genuinely. I like seeing you into someone. But Ruby Marquez…well, it’s a weakness.”
I rolled my jaw, refusing to rise to it. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” His voice was sharp now. “The election’s in six weeks, Kieran. Bring me real leverage, or I’ll have to find another way to handle it. And since you like her, I don’t think you’ll be pleased.”
There it was.
Tristan had been nice enough until now. But this? This was an ultimatum.
A knock broke the tension.
“Dad! Uncle Kieran!” Catherine’s voice, muffled through the door. “Lunch!”
Tristan didn’t move.
His gaze stayed on me, waiting for a sign of weakness.
But all I could think was…I could take her right now. Steal her away from this city, from this campaign, from him. She’d hate me for it at first, but she’d be safe. She’d be mine . And no one would touch her again.
I pushed up from the chair, masking the tightness in my chest with a smirk. “Since when do I disappoint?”
“Do you want me to answer that?” he asked, then smiled. “If you want to toy with her, that’s fine. But I need something tangible.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
My heart sank to my stomach. I did already have a plan, but I didn’t want to say it.
Saying it to Tristan would make it real, it would make it so that I would have to deliver.
My brother didn’t say a fucking thing, he just stared at me, waiting for me to answer.
I tried to sound decisive, tried to make my voice steady.
Whenever Tristan looked at me like this, there was always a chance I would just sound like a child again.
“I could leverage some photos. I could send them to the press. A candidate for district attorney having a romp with a known mobster wouldn’t look good for her. ”
He tilted his head and smiled, his blue eyes glinting. “Perfect. You get what you want, I get what I want and she gets what she wants.”
“Which is what?”
“Well, if you’re to be believed, you.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My stomach turned, not just from how goddamn tired I was, but from the way Tristan looked at me—like I was supposed to nod and play along. Like I was supposed to be proud of myself for weaponizing the one woman who ever meant something.
But that was the game, wasn’t it? He was my brother. My boss. The reason the Callahans still ran Boston instead of bleeding out in the gutter. He’d saved me more times than I could count. Saved all of us.
And if he told me to do it, I would.
Even if it killed me.
“Just don’t take too long, okay? We’re running out of time here. Come on, let’s go before lunch gets cold. Ade will kill us.”
I followed him out of the office like nothing was wrong. Like I hadn’t just agreed to ruin the only person I wanted to protect.
Catherine tackled my leg the second I hit the hallway, and Mateo clambered up me like a monkey. “Double execution!” I declared, swinging them over my shoulders, their laughter echoing like a smoke screen.
But behind it all, I could feel Tristan’s eyes on me. Sharp. Calculating. Like he could see everything.
And for the first time, I didn’t just hear the voice in my head whispering what if he’s right—
I heard a second voice, darker, rougher, mine.
What if I don’t care?
What if I want her anyway?
What if I burn it all down?