Chapter 3 #2
“Anything you need from me?” Kon reaches out and bumps a light fist against my shoulder. “All you have to do is give the word. I know how to get information too.”
I nod. Kon’s specialty is death. “I might have to take you up on that. Let’s put a pin in it for now. Good? Let Luca do some snooping so we know what we are working with.”
“Fair enough.”
The car is moving now, sliding through Chicago's streets toward Redthorne Holdings, and I watch the lights blur past the window like scattered stars.
Katriana Bellrose.
I can still smell her. Vanilla and cotton, something simple and clean that cut through the cloying perfume of Scarlet Thorn like a blade through silk.
I can still feel the softness of her arms when I steadied her, the delicate bones of her shoulder beneath my palm.
I can still see the way her glasses slipped down her nose when she collided with me, the way her eyes went wide with recognition and something that might have been fear.
She knew who I was. I saw it in her face, the moment the pieces clicked into place. Jonah's older brother. The silver-haired devil who watched from the edges of family dinners, never quite part of the festivities but always present. She remembers me.
And I remember her. Every goddamn moment I've spent in her presence is etched into my memory like scripture burned into stone.
The car pulls up to Redthorne Holdings, and I step out into the night air. Scaffolding clings to the east facade, and there are sections of the upper floors still being rebuilt. Magnus Sterling tried to burn my world to the ground. He failed.
But the scars remain.
The building still shows signs of repair inside and out from the explosions that happened a year ago. Rafael doesn’t trust anyone and every person that comes into the building is scrutinized so hard they end up quitting. At this rate, it might take another year to get the place fixed.
“I’ll be up in a bit. Gotta check in with Rowan.” Kon and I grip hands and bump shoulders.
“Head on a swivel.”
“You too, Brother.”
I leave Kon to go his way and I take the private elevator to the executive floor, watching the numbers climb in silence.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls.
Forty-six years old, silver-haired, built like a dock worker despite the expensive suit. I look tired tonight. I feel tired.
The doors open and I step out into the hushed efficiency of Redthorne after hours.
Damaris has already gone home, her desk neat and organized, ready for tomorrow's chaos.
But the light in Sienna's office is still on, and I catch a glimpse of her through the glass, her dark hair falling across her face as she studies something on her computer screen.
Good worker, Sienna Cole. Rafael's secondary executive secretary, handling the overflow while Damaris manages the truly sensitive matters.
She's been with us for two years, polished and professional, never asking questions she shouldn't ask.
I make a mental note to check in with her tomorrow and make sure she's not burning out.
I'm halfway to my office when I hear it. A sound that stops me in my tracks and sends something sharp and painful through my chest.
Laughter.
Not just any laughter. Rafael's laugh, deep and warm, the kind of sound I haven't heard from him in years. And underneath it comes a softer laugh that I recognize immediately.
Persia.
I follow the sound without meaning to, my feet carrying me toward Rafael's office. The door is open, warm light spilling into the hallway, and I stop in the doorway to watch a scene that makes my chest ache with something I don't want to name.
Rafael is standing by the window, his daughter cradled against his chest. Sofia Elena is four months old.
She’s tiny and perfect all wrapped up in a blanket the color of fresh cream.
Persia is beside him, one hand on his arm, the other reaching up to brush a strand of violet hair from her face.
The way they lean into each other, the way their bodies curve together like two halves of the same whole, speaks of intimacy so profound it makes my throat tight.
This is what they have. This warmth. This belonging. This certainty that someone in the world sees them, knows them, chooses them above all others.
I want this.
The admission hits me like a fist to the chest, stealing my breath.
I've spent forty-six years building an empire, crushing enemies, making men twice my size flinch with a look.
I've accumulated wealth and power beyond anything my mother could have imagined when she was scrubbing floors at three in the morning to keep her boys fed.
But I've never had this.
I've never had someone look at me the way Persia looks at Rafael.
I've never held a child who carries my blood, my legacy, my mother's eyes in a new generation.
I've never come home to warmth instead of silence, to soft skin and softer laughter instead of an empty penthouse that echoes with the footsteps of a man walking alone.
My mother made me promise, before the cancer took her.
She held my hand in that hospital bed, her grip still fierce despite the frailty of her body, and she made me swear that the Moses name would mean something.
That I would build a legacy worth passing down.
That I wouldn't end up alone like she had, abandoned by a man who couldn't see the treasure he was throwing away.
I've kept the first part of that promise.
The Moses name means power now, respect, the kind of influence that shapes cities.
But the rest of it, the legacy, the family, the not being alone, I've failed her in that.
I've failed her for eighteen years, and watching Rafael hold his daughter in his arms makes that failure feel like broken glass slicing through the space between my ribs.
"Drake."
Persia spots me lurking in the doorway like some kind of melancholy ghost. She breaks away from Rafael with a warm smile, crossing the office to pull me into a hug that smells like jasmine and milk and the particular sweetness of new motherhood.
"I didn't hear you come in," she says, rising on her toes to press a kiss to my cheek. "How long have you been standing there? You know you can always come in."
"Long enough to reconsider my life choices."
She laughs, that bright, genuine sound that makes it impossible to understand how she survived everything Magnus put her through and came out the other side still capable of joy. "Come have dinner with us. Marta made enough food to feed an army, and Sofia wants to see her Uncle Drake."
Sofia is currently drooling on Rafael's shoulder and showing no signs of wanting to see anyone, but I appreciate the sentiment.
Persia takes my hand and squeezes it. I return the sentiment, but a tight smile. "I can't tonight. I've got a date." The lie comes out smoothly, just like all the other nights she invites me over.
Rafael's eyes meet mine over Persia's head, and I see the knowing look there. He doesn't believe me. He knows I haven't been on a date in months, maybe years. He knows the women who pursue me these days are interested in my money or my power, not me, and I've grown too tired to pretend otherwise.
But he doesn't call me on it. That's not who Rafael is. He just nods, a slight incline of his head that says I see you, brother, and I'm not going to push.
"Rain check, then," Persia says, squeezing my arm. "But soon, okay? Sofia needs to spend more time with her favorite uncle before she forgets what you look like."
"I'm her only uncle."
Persia throws me a wink as she makes her way back to her man. "Which is why you're the favorite by default. Don't let it go to your head," she calls over her shoulder.
“Our brothers would argue about that. Kon loves getting drooling kisses from our sweet girl.”
Rafael holds his baby girl up and kisses her plump cheeks. It’s hard not to go over there and scoop up the little angel and get in on the cuddles, as Luca puts it.
I manage a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and extract myself from the room. The walk to my office feels longer than usual, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway, the silence pressing against my ears like cotton wool.
Inside, I pour myself a whiskey and stand at the window, looking out at the city that I've spent my life conquering. Chicago sprawls beneath me, a glittering tapestry of lights and shadows, and somewhere out there is Katriana. I know she has to be scared.
I think about the way she looked at me tonight. She remembers the electricity that passed between us when I shook her hand that first night years ago. I know I do. The same electricity I felt arc through my body like lightning then happened again when I caught her in my arms tonight.
She thought I didn't notice her back then. She thought I was just another Moses man, probably as worthless as the brother who was using her.
She was wrong. And still is.
I noticed everything. From the first time I met her I wanted to cross the room and take her hand and lead her away from my brother, away from the family dinner, away from everything that wasn't the two of us alone in a room where I could ask her limitless questions about herself.
But she wasn't mine to take. She belonged to Jonah, and I am not my father. I don't abandon people. I don't steal what isn't offered. I don't break things just because I want them.
So I watched. I watched from a distance while my brother mistreated her, neglected her, eventually destroyed whatever love she'd tried to build with him. I watched her disappear from family events, and finally watched Jonah move on to other women.
And I kept my distance, because the moment had passed, because reaching out would seem like I'd been waiting for my chance, because I didn't want to be another Moses man taking what he wanted without regard for consequences.
But tonight changes things.
Tonight she appeared at Scarlet Thorn and I have every reason to believe she placed a wish in the box tonight. It’s the only reason she would be here and that makes her mine now.
I touch my wrist where my mother's watch sits heavy against my skin.
Platinum, simple, the most valuable thing I own because of what it represents.
She saved three years to buy it for me when I turned eighteen, three years of scrubbing floors and slinging hash at the diner, putting aside nickels and dimes until she had enough for something special.
Make me proud, she said when she gave it to me. Build something that lasts. Find someone who sees the real you. Don't end up alone like I did, Drakey. You deserve better than that. Don’t waste your time. Measure it with this and remember it slips through your fingers faster than you realize.
I've let her down for eighteen years. But maybe, just maybe, fate has given me a second chance.
My phone buzzes with a text from Luca:
Quick preliminary: Katriana Bellrose, 24. Works at a bookstore called Stacked Pages. Father died five years ago, left massive debt to a Victor Kedrov. She's been paying it off ever since. The bruises match Kedrov's MO. More details coming.
Victor Kedrov.
I fucking knew it. My gut never lies to me.
The sleazy Russian money lender is a rat, but he has connections to the darker corners of the underworld.
He’s the kind of man who makes his living off other people's desperation. He’s a bottom feeder.
He's not Bratva, not formally, but he's connected enough to make him dangerous and disconnected enough to make him expendable.
If he's the one who put those bruises on Katriana's face, he's going to regret ever being born.
I drain my whiskey and set the glass down with more force than necessary. The burn of alcohol does nothing to cool the cold rage building in my chest.
Tomorrow, I'll read the wishes collected from Scarlet Thorn. Tomorrow, I'll find Katriana's red envelope among the pile. And when I do, I'm going to claim it before any of my brothers can reach for it.
Whatever she asked for, I will grant.
I can do that. I can do that and so much more.
The price I'll ask in return, well. That's between me and her.