Chapter 31 Parker #2
“Confirmed?” Charles asks Tom.
“Security footage shows Martin Chen in the Dent offices after hours. Multiple instances over the past two months. We’re ninety-five percent certain it’s him.”
Charles nods slowly, his expression hardening into something I recognize from childhood—the Carter mask, emotionless and absolute.
“Forward all intelligence to Silas Vale. He’ll confirm and carry out punishment as needed.
And have him look into Devon McCoy’s poker operations.
If he’s extending credit that’s causing our people to steal from us, that’s a problem that needs addressing. ”
The words land like stones in still water. Punishment. Which in Dominic’s organization—in our organization now, whether I like it or not—could mean anything from breaking fingers to making someone disappear entirely.
I want to argue. Want to say that maybe there’s another way to handle this. But Martin Chen made his choice. He stole from us to fund a gambling habit, putting his personal problems ahead of his obligations. In this world, that kind of weakness gets people killed.
And Devon McCoy... well, maybe having Silas pay him another visit isn’t the worst idea. He needs to understand that his operations can’t bleed into ours.
Jace’s eyes meet mine across the table, and I see the conflict there—the man who understands why I’m biting my tongue, who agrees with me in principle but knows the reality we’re dealing with.
“Moving on,” Charles says, and I force myself to focus as he runs through other business—shipment schedules, territory disputes, the usual operational shit that makes my degree in market research feel simultaneously relevant and completely useless.
Ryan’s attention drifts back to me periodically throughout the meeting. Not constantly—he’s too smart for that. But often enough that I’m aware of it. His eyes on my throat when I turn to speak to Jace. On my hands when I gesture. On my mouth when I respond to Charles’s questions.
And each time, Jace’s hand tightens slightly on my thigh. A silent claiming. A reminder that I’m his. Theirs.
When the meeting finally winds down, Ryan catches my attention as people start gathering their tablets and phones.
“Parker, I wanted to ask—are you planning on attending the annual gala this weekend?”
I blink, thrown by the shift from embezzlement and gambling debts to social events. “This weekend?” I glance at Charles. “You didn’t mention—”
“Shit, I forgot to tell you.” Charles has the decency to look sheepish.
“The annual Children’s Hospital benefit gala.
It’s Saturday night at the Ritz-Carlton.
Black tie. All the major families attend—it’s basically the social event of the season where everyone shows up to write big checks and pretend we’re philanthropists instead of criminals. ”
The Children’s Hospital gala. Right. The one event Dominic never missed because it made him look respectable, generous, like a pillar of the community instead of a man who built his empire on violence and fear.
Every major organized crime family in the region attends, writing six-figure checks to ease their consciences and maintain the illusion of legitimacy.
“You should come,” Ryan says, and his voice has dropped slightly—intimate, like we’re the only two people in the room. His eyes are on my lips again. “We could go together. Make an appearance, represent the younger generation of leadership.”
The words sound reasonable, professional even. But there’s something in his tone—an assumption, maybe, or hope—that makes my shoulders tense.
Jace’s hand has gone absolutely still on my thigh. Not tightening. Not moving. Just... frozen.
Before I can answer, Charles cuts in. “That’s an excellent idea. Parker should absolutely attend, and you two going together would be perfect.”
My head snaps toward my brother. “Charles—”
“The gala is important,” he continues, like I haven’t spoken. “All the major families will be there. It’s good optics for you to be seen, especially with someone from an established family.” He looks at Ryan with approval. “The Matthews name carries weight.”
“I wasn’t asking, you, Charles,” Ryan says, his attention still on me. Still on my mouth. “I was asking you, Parker. What do you think?”
What I think is that my brother just decided my social life for me without asking.
What I think is that Jace has gone completely rigid beside me, his hand on my thigh the only thing keeping me grounded.
What I think is that I want to scream that I don’t need to be paraded around like a prize mare at auction to prove I belong in this world.
But Ryan’s looking at me with those warm brown eyes, his thumb still tracing his bottom lip in that unconscious gesture that’s probably meant to be attractive, and Charles is watching expectantly, and everyone in this room is waiting for my answer.
“I’ll think about it,” I say carefully.
“Great.” Ryan’s smile widens, and the way his gaze drops briefly to my throat before returning to my eyes makes it clear he’s taking that as a yes. “I’ll call you to coordinate details.”
The meeting breaks up, people gathering their tablets and phones, making small talk about weekend plans and upcoming fights. I shove my things into my bag with more force than necessary, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache.
Jace’s hand finally moves from my thigh as we stand, but only so he can place it at the small of my back—possessive, protective, a silent statement to anyone watching that I’m his even if they don’t know it yet.
Charles touches my elbow. “Car’s waiting downstairs.”
I don’t trust myself to speak, just nod and follow him out. Jace falls into step behind us, his presence a solid weight at my back. The elevator ride down is silent—just the three of us and the mechanical hum of descent.
Marcus is waiting by the car, his expression carefully neutral as he opens the back door. Charles slides in first. I follow, trying to put as much distance between us as the backseat allows. Jace takes the passenger seat, his shoulders rigid.
Marcus pulls into traffic, and for several blocks, nobody speaks. The tension builds like pressure before a storm, thick and electric and inevitable.
“You’re upset,” Charles says finally.
I laugh—sharp, bitter. “You think?”
“Parker—”
“No.” I turn to face him, anger overriding the careful distance I usually maintain. “You don’t get to do that anymore. You don’t get to decide who I’m dating without even asking me first.”
“I didn’t decide anything.” His tone is maddeningly reasonable. “Ryan asked you to the gala. I simply agreed it was a good idea.”
“You told him it was perfect. You made it sound like it was already decided.”
“Because it is a good idea.” Charles shifts to face me fully, his expression earnest. “Parker, I know you don’t want to hear this, but appearances matter.
You know they matter. You’ve been living in California for six years, building your own life, and I’m proud of you for that.
But you’re back now. You have children—my nephews—who are part of this family whether you like it or not.
And the traditionalists in our organization.
..” He pauses, choosing words carefully.
“They need to see you as legitimate. As someone who belongs in leadership, not just as my little sister who ran away.”
The words sting because they’re true. I have been running.
And the men who answer to Charles, who run the various branches of our operation—they’re old-school.
They respect power and legacy and the appearance of propriety.
A single mother who disappeared for six years doesn’t exactly scream stability.
“So what?” I snap. “I’m supposed to date Ryan Matthews to prove I’m a good little Carter? Smile and look pretty on his arm so everyone knows I’m playing by the rules?”
“I’m not asking you to date him. I’m asking you to attend an event with him.
To show that you’re invested in this family, in maintaining alliances.
” Charles runs a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through his usual control.
“Look, I love you. I love those boys. And you know I want to change how we operate—make us less like Dominic’s version of leadership and more like something we can actually be proud of.
But we can’t do that overnight. We have to work within the system while we change it. ”
“Sounds like misogyny,” I mutter. “Sounds like exactly what Dominic would want.”
“No, it sounds like strategy.” His voice hardens slightly.
I turn to look out the window, watching buildings blur past, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. “If you’re so worried about optics, maybe you should push Aria onto Ryan instead.”
The words come out sharper than I intended, loaded with venom.
Our father’s widow—young enough to be our sister, barely thirty to Dominic’s sixty-three when they married.
She’s living in one of the guest houses now after I kicked her out of the main house, bitter and pretending she’s mourning while everyone knows she’s calculating her next move.
She’s young enough to remarry, pretty enough to make any alliance look good, and desperate enough to actually go along with it.
Charles laughs—actually laughs, the sound surprising in the tense confines of the car. “Did you really just suggest I pimp out our father’s widow to Ryan Matthews for the sake of optics?”
Heat floods my face. Dammit. That was low for me. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, no. Let me repeat your own words back to you.” His smile is sharp now, almost cruel in its accuracy.
“You and I both want to change how this family operates. We want to be less like Dominic. And pushing Aria onto Ryan would be exactly what Dominic would do—get someone out of his hair while building a stronger partnership.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “Sound familiar?”
Fucking asshole.
He’s right. Suggesting Aria date Ryan is exactly the kind of manipulative, strategic bullshit Dominic specialized in—treating people like chess pieces, caring more about alliances than actual human beings.
The fact that I can’t stand Aria, that she’s living in luxury in our guest house while probably plotting how to use her unborn child to maintain her position in this family—none of that makes it okay to use her the way Dominic would have.
I look away, staring out the window at passing buildings. In the passenger seat, Jace’s shoulders are rigid, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs. I can feel the tension radiating from him, the barely controlled anger at hearing Charles push me toward another man.
“Fine,” I say finally, the word tasting like defeat. “I’ll go to the gala with Ryan. As peers. At most, as friends. Not a date. Not anything more than that.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Charles says, and I can hear the relief in his voice. The satisfaction.
I force myself to look at him, to meet those Carter-blue eyes that match mine.
“But don’t ever decide something like that for me again without asking first. I’m not a piece on your board, Charles.
I’m your sister. And I’ve spent years building my own life specifically so people couldn’t make decisions for me. ”
Something shifts in his expression—guilt, maybe, or understanding.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have talked to you first instead of jumping in.
” He reaches over, squeezing my hand. “I’m still figuring out how to balance being your brother with being the head of this family.
Sometimes I get the priorities backwards. ”
The apology helps, but it doesn’t erase the sour taste in my mouth. Doesn’t change the fact that he steamrolled me in that meeting, or that I’m now committed to attending an event with a man I barely know while the three men I actually care about won’t be able to touch me.
Charles looks stupidly happy with himself—pleased that he got what he wanted, that he maneuvered me into position like a good strategist. Part of me wants to hit him.
Part of me understands that this is how he shows love—by protecting me, by thinking three moves ahead, by making sure I’m positioned well even if it means manipulating the board.
I avoid looking at Jace, unable to face whatever I’ll see in his expression. Anger, probably. Hurt. Maybe disappointment that I folded so easily, that I agreed to play Charles’s game instead of fighting harder.
The car rolls through the city, carrying us home, and I stare out the window and wonder how long it’ll take before everything I’m building with Jace, Cal, and Silas crumbles under the weight of expectations I never asked for but can’t escape.