Chapter 32 Marco
MARCO
Max had done this on purpose.
I knew it the second we set foot into the precinct. It was there in the way he took his time shaking the rain off his coat. The way he smirked when the officer at the desk barely looked at him before nodding us through.
Sebastian Callahan was sitting in the holding room with his arms crossed, looking like he was two seconds from either laughing or knocking someone’s teeth in. Maybe both.
“Remind me again,” I muttered, adjusting my tie as we stepped inside. “Why are we here?”
Max smirked. “Because I don’t want him showing up at the charity gala next weekend. Rosalie wants it to be a nice night, and I don’t want to ruin it for her.”
I gave him a flat look. “So you had him arrested?”
Max shrugged. “I prefer the term ‘temporarily detained.’”
I ran my tongue over my teeth, glancing at the two uniformed officers standing outside the holding room. “And what exactly was the charge?”
“Weapon possession. Minor scuffle with one of my guys. Nothing permanent, but enough to keep him tied up for a few days.”
Jesus Christ.
This was a waste of my time.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked toward the holding cell.
Callahan hadn’t moved.
I should have been at the office handling real problems, but instead I was standing here watching my boss treat a grown man’s arrest like a minor inconvenience.
Max pulled out his phone, checking something before stepping toward the exit. “Make sure he stays in there long enough to miss the gala. The paperwork should hold up for a few days.”
I sighed, rubbing my fingers over my jaw. “And what if he gets out?”
Max shot me a look. “Then you’ll take care of it.”
Of course.
I should’ve walked out too. I should’ve gotten in my car, gone back to the office, and let this whole thing play out the way Max wanted it to.
Instead I watched through the glass as Callahan leaned back in his chair, the overhead light casting shadows over his face. He looked too relaxed for someone who’d just been dragged in here in cuffs.
I hated that Max Romano was tangled up with the Callahans. But really, the blame was on Remy for bringing me into any of this to begin with.
There’d been a time when Remy and I were just two kids surviving on the fringes.
That was before suits, before complicated favors, before I knew the price of silence.
Remy had been the closest thing I had to family—a brother in a house neither of us had wanted to call home.
Back then loyalty wasn’t negotiable, it was automatic.
Instinctual. A matter of survival. I’d protected Remy, and he’d watched my back in return. I’d thought it was simple back then.
I knew now that nothing ever stayed simple.
Years had passed, and Remy got adopted. He joined a law firm, while I joined the military.
He climbed the ladder, while I climbed ranks.
But we never quite cut the cord. Remy always found his way back when he needed someone who wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty.
And as for me? I always answered, because I’d never known how not to.
Loyalty to Remy was the only thing I had left that made sense.
So when he fell into trouble with the Callahans, when their world started bleeding into ours—into mine—I didn’t ask questions. Remy pointed, and I moved.
The Callahan brothers were everywhere, all fucking three of them.
Cade, the politician climbing Capitol Hill; James, the Federal agent whose badge opened doors I’d rather keep shut; and Sebastian, the barnacle who’d never learned to keep his hands clean.
Remy needed Cade’s reputation clean, so I made sure it stayed spotless. And when James Callahan decided to poke around my classified history, my own private ghosts, I’d bit my tongue and let him. All because Remy had asked me to.
That meant I’d spent years tangled up with the Callahan brothers.
Years of late-night calls, blood in dark alleys, evidence wiped clean, and silence.
Always silence. They never asked how I slept at night, and I never volunteered the information.
Men like Sebastian weren’t interested in apologies, only results.
I didn’t owe the Callahans loyalty. I didn’t owe Max Romano or the Clarkes loyalty either.
My loyalty started and ended with Remy. And Remy knew it.
He counted on it. Sometimes it felt like he used it.
But what choice did I have? He was the only family I’d ever known.
I trusted him—not always his judgment, and never his methods, but him.
Remy was the last tether holding me to something real, something human, even when the rest of my life felt like paperwork and quiet violence.
But that meant, by extension, I worked for whoever Remy needed me to. I never got to pick sides; I just made sure Remy survived on whichever side he chose. For a long while, that had meant the Callahans’ side.
Curiosity got the better of me. It always seemed to where Sebastian Callahan was concerned. Against my better judgment—and definitely against my own damn interests—I stepped into the interrogation room, pulled out the chair across from him, and took my time easing into it.
I stared at Sebastian sitting behind the table, cuffs rattling loosely on his wrists, a crooked smirk on his face as if he weren’t stuck in here for the night.
As if I weren’t the one holding all the keys.
It was hard to look at him without remembering every late-night deal, every favor I’d done in the name of someone else’s ambition.
That was the thing about Sebastian: he knew exactly what kind of man I was. He’d seen firsthand just how far I could be pushed. What kind of work I’d bury beneath layers of silence and classified stamps if it meant protecting Remy. I didn’t like that he knew me so well. It made him dangerous.
Now he was sitting across from me knowing damn well I wasn’t here because of Max Romano or weapons charges. I was here because I’d spent years proving to Sebastian I’d do whatever Remy needed no matter the cost.
“Max send you in here?”
“No.”
“You’re quieter than usual,” Sebastian said, leaning back. “Guilt catching up to you?”
“No,” I admitted.
He watched me carefully. “I should’ve known they’d throw you on this.”
“I haven’t been thrown on anything yet.”
Sebastian leaned forward, cuffs scraping softly against the tabletop. “Then what is it? You here to make sure I stay put, or just couldn’t resist another chance to lecture me?”
I stared back at him evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. “Mostly, I’m trying to figure out how someone as smart as you keeps managing to do such stupid things.”
His smirk widened slightly, amused despite himself. “Missed this, you know. Nobody else quite measures up when it comes to self-righteous judgment.”
“I’m sure you’ve earned every bit of it.”
Sebastian sat back, chains rattling again. “Funny how quickly you forget your own sins when it’s convenient.”
“I didn’t forget anything,” I bit out. “But at least when I cross a line, I know exactly why. Can you say the same?”
“You always were good at justifying your bullshit.”
“And you were always terrible at keeping your head down.”
Sebastian’s lip twitched again, but this time without any humor. Men like Callahan knew exactly how far to push and when to hold back. Unfortunately, he’d never been good at the latter.
“I was keeping my head down until your Italian started poking around my docks. Tell Romano if he minds his own business, we don’t have a problem.”
“Your docks?” I asked quietly, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware the Callahans owned the waterfront now.”
“We don’t put our name on everything we own. You, of all people, should appreciate discretion.”
“Discretion,” I repeated slowly, tasting the irony. “That’s a rich word coming from a man sitting in cuffs.”
“And yet we both know I’ll be out before dawn. You’re not here because of weapons charges, Marco. You’re here because Romano’s losing control, and he sent you to remind me he still has some.”
“I’m here,” I began, “because you keep forgetting there are consequences to crossing the wrong lines.”
“And which lines are those, exactly? Romano redraws them every time he gets bored.”
“You know the lines,” I said quietly. “You used to draw them yourself. You should know better than to threaten Romano in his own city.”
Sebastian leaned back slowly. “It’s not a threat. Just good business advice. Tell Romano, if he keeps interfering in mine, I’ll stop respecting his.”
Men like Callahan and Romano, they never stopped pushing. Never stopped playing their dangerous games. I’d built my career cleaning up after their wars, and something told me this one was far from over.
Sebastian’s attention fell to my arm. “How’s your arm holding up, by the way? Still aching every time the weather turns?”
I stiffened, the scar on my bicep suddenly burning like it remembered the bullet.
The injury was classified—something even my own team wasn’t aware of—but James Callahan had always known too much.
The Feds had been deep in bed with JSOC since before I enlisted—intelligence, targets, deniable ops—all quietly coordinated between DC and soldiers whose names would never make official records.
James had seen my files, knew about the missions I still wasn’t legally allowed to acknowledge.
“It manages.”
“Good.” He nodded thoughtfully. “My brother mentioned you were still in physical therapy last year. He sends his regards. Says you made the bureau nervous—one of the best they’d trained, right up until you weren’t.”
“Your brother talks too much.”
Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “James always did have trouble separating family from business. But you know that better than anyone, right? I heard JSOC didn’t exactly appreciate him snooping around your missions.”
I tightened my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. “Your brother never understood boundaries. Even less when it came to classified intel.”