Chapter 19
MARCO
The hum of the jet barely registered. I kept my eyes shut, head resting against the seat as I tried to tune out the conversation happening across from me. Max was going over business with Mikhail—something about shipments, territory expansions. Didn’t concern me.
Lately, very little could hold my attention.
Except her.
Being stuck at forty thousand feet with nowhere to run meant I couldn’t distract myself. Couldn’t pretend I had anything else to focus on besides the woman who was rapidly becoming the center of every stray thought in my head.
Valentina.
Even thinking her name was irritating. I shifted restlessly, stretched out my legs, and rolled my shoulders as if I could somehow shake her out of my system. But it was pointless. She’d already burrowed too deep. Dug her way beneath my skin and was refusing to leave.
I could still feel her. The warmth of her skin against my palms, the sharp little gasp she’d made when I had her pinned to that damn mattress. The way her fingers had curled desperately into my shirt like she’d wanted me closer, even when we both knew how dangerous that was.
Jesus. I needed to stop.
But it was too late. Valentina had already sunk in, settled herself into places I didn’t even know existed. Places I’d spent years keeping closed off, sealed away. And now she was there, invading every thought, every silent moment, every breath.
“Problem” didn’t even begin to cover it.
I shifted again, rolling my head to the side. Mikhail was still talking. I wasn’t paying enough attention to him until a name cut through the air.
“Sebastian Callahan,” Mikhail said, tapping his fingers idly against his glass.
That got my attention.
I cracked an eye open, barely turning my head.
“Jacob told me he’s back in the city. Mentioned something about Valentina. How’s that going? We don’t need another rat in this deal.”
Of course Jacob had mentioned it. After I’d handed him three hundred dollars specifically to keep his mouth shut. Three hundred dollars—for nothing.
Max didn’t bother looking up at him. “I’m not worried about her. She’s been getting her shit together and wouldn’t mess up now.”
Wouldn’t she?
I could still remember the smirk on her face in the photo I’d seen of her and Sebastian. I saw the hesitation in her eyes that looked a hell of a lot like temptation. She liked trouble. Liked toeing the line.
“Sebastian’s a problem, but he’s not an immediate one. I’ll deal with him,” Max argued.
Mikhail took a sip of his drink, considering. “Or you could make him part of the family.”
I sat up straighter.
Max raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
Mikhail gestured lazily. “Marriage is the easiest way to fold someone in, make them an asset instead of a liability.”
That was exactly how Mikhail had gotten a seat at the table.
He’d married Giovanni’s sister, Sloane, and suddenly, he wasn’t an outsider—he was family.
Exactly how these men operated. Ties forged by contracts and marriages rather than trust or loyalty.
And now he was suggesting Sebastian Callahan should get the same deal.
Sebastian fucking Callahan. And marriage.
The implications were immediate—and unsettling. Because there was only one person in this scenario who’d end up wearing his ring.
Valentina.
My jaw tightened again. The idea of Sebastian having his hands anywhere near her—married to her, controlling her, manipulating her—was a thought I wasn’t willing to entertain.
I shouldn’t have cared. It wasn’t my business who Max matched Valentina with. Yet the thought of her being used as collateral in a deal she barely understood had me seeing red.
I leaned back, forcing my breath out slowly and trying to regain my control. This wasn’t supposed to be personal, but hell, lately, everything about her felt personal. Too personal.
Max leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “She’d probably fight it.”
Mikhail smirked. “She fights everything. But she might not fight this. She has a history with him.”
I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed, forcing my body to stay still, forcing my fucking pulse to slow down.
Max was thinking. I could see it in the way he tapped his fingers against the armrest. He thought this was a solution.
“She was seen with him before,” Max murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Mikhail nodded. “Exactly. People wouldn’t question it.”
I stared out the window, my jaw tight.
Valentina with him. I hated how much sense it made sense. They were both reckless. Both arrogant. Both liked playing with fire and pretending they wouldn’t get burned.
Lev, who’d been listening quietly until now, finally spoke. “No.”
Max raised a brow. “No?”
Lev continued. “Sebastian carries too much weight in the city. Private runs, side deals—he’s not clean enough. If you fold him in, you’re giving him access to everything.”
Max frowned. “You think he’d take advantage?”
Lev shrugged. “I think he’d be an idiot not to.”
The conversation moved on, but I wasn’t listening. I was still thinking about it. Still picturing her with him.
That was when I realized it. This wasn’t just about guilt. If it were just about guilt—about killing her husband, about her being stuck in Max’s web, about the way she never had the money or the choices she should have—I would’ve let it go. I would’ve let Max do whatever the fuck he wanted.
But it wasn’t.
“It won’t work,” I finally said, offering my input even though it was none of my damn business.
Still, I was being honest. “Sebastian is a Callahan. The same name attached to men who have Feds and politicians in their pockets. The same name attached to a family who’s still breathing down your neck every chance they get. ”
Max nodded, understanding. He knew I was right.
“But there’s a chance it could work out for us.”
Dealing with the Callahans was a nightmare—the kind that lingered long after meetings ended.
I wasn’t just saying this to keep Valentina away from Sebastian, though that was certainly a bonus.
I’d had the displeasure of sitting across from Callahan men before.
I’d dealt with enough men like them to last a lifetime.
The last thing I needed was to invite another Callahan back into our business—or worse, closer to Valentina.
This wasn’t about personal feelings. At least, that was what I kept telling myself. But even if it were, so be it. I’d rather walk away than watch her slip deeper into their twisted world.
Sebastian was the worst of them. The cocky grin. The smug, self-assured arrogance that wasn’t just an act—it was in his fucking DNA. His brother’s too. The Fed. He was on Max’s game.
The last time I’d had to deal with one of them, I’d spent three hours in some office listening to his partner, Nathan Greene, talk in circles.
I was still cleaning up the mess from the last time one of them had tried to put their nose in our business, and now Max wanted to voluntarily tie Valentina to a family with enough leverage to drag us into their war?
“You want to be responsible for making Sebastian Callahan part of your family? For giving him access to your businesses? For letting him sit at your table while his brothers whisper to every politician they’ve got on speed dial?”
Max didn’t say anything.
Lev was still watching me.
Mikhail, for once, was quiet.
“Do it,” I said simply, “and find a new lawyer.”
I wasn’t going to be the one brokering deals with the Callahans. I wasn’t going to be the one fielding questions from their contacts in law enforcement, handling the fallout when one of them inevitably fucked up.
I wasn’t going to be the one who had to sit across from Nathan fucking Greene again, pretending I didn’t want to punch him in the throat every time he opened his goddamn mouth, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one responsible for handing Valentina over to them.
That last thought—that—was the one that sat the heaviest.
When I got to the office the next morning, I saw Remy waiting for me, which put me in a bad mood instantly. He was only ever here when he wanted something.
“You’re in my office before I’ve even had my first coffee. That means this is either really good or really bad.”
Remy smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. That was how I knew it was the latter.
“Depends,” he said smoothly. “Do you like making more money?”
I sat down. “What do you have?”
Remy chuckled, but then he slid a file across my desk. “Take a look.”
I glanced at it. The logo in the corner caught my eye immediately.
The Castillo Group.
I clicked my tongue. “Didn’t you tell Max we were staying out of their business?”
Remy leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, watching me. “I did.”
“And yet—”
“Things change.”
I flipped the folder open, scanning the first page. Legal agreements. Arbitration clauses. A whole lot of fancy language covering up one simple fact: the Castillo Group was trying to launder their money through legitimate investment firms.
I flipped to the next page.
And they wanted us to help them do it.
“Fucking hell, Remy.”
“It’s not a problem if we structure it right.”
I scoffed. “Says who?”
“Says me,” he shot back. “The SEC is sniffing around their finances. They want to make sure their funds look clean. They’re looking to invest through shell LLCs that will blend into the private equity space.”
I studied the papers, turning them over in my head.
It was doable.
Risky as hell, but doable.
I leaned back. “They want this structured under us?”
“No,” Remy said, smirking. “They want it structured under you.”
I lifted a brow. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“They’re offering a 9 percent take on every transaction.”
I let that sink in. Nine percent on millions meant millions.
Remy continued. “They’re willing to push a few of their assets under our umbrella. A hedge fund in the Caymans, an investment portfolio that’s already been vetted by our people. All clean.”
I didn’t say anything. It sounded too good. Which meant there was something else.