Max leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly as Giovanni talked through the last of the numbers for the Mikhail deal. Good money. Low risk. The kind of investment that madealready wealthy men even richer.
I should’ve ignored the sound of the door opening behind me. Should’ve ignored Jacob quietly slipping into the room. He didn’t head straight for Max—he went to the bar instead, waiting calmly like he always did.
That meant news. Probably bad news. That half-smirk of his confirmed it, the subtle kind of satisfaction he always wore when he knew Max wouldn’t like what he had to say.
I should’ve just let it go. Shouldn’t have cared what he had on the Callahans tonight. But I did care—enough to get up, cross the room, and pull Jacob aside before he could open his mouth to Max.
What the hell was I thinking?
Jacob’s smirk deepened a little when he saw me coming, like he’d known all along I wouldn’t be able to resist. “Marco,” he said, reaching for a handshake. “You’re a step ahead tonight.”
I took his hand, ignoring his curiosity.“What’d you get from the Callahans?”
Jacob took his time lighting his cigarette, inhaling before he spoke.
“Not much new,” he admitted. “Sebastian’s been meeting with Vasily’s crew in Chicago. Looks like they’re setting up something bigger than what they’re letting on.” He exhaled smoke, watching me carefully. “Drugs, maybe. Arms. Could be both.”
I mentally filed the information away. “And?”
Jacob opened the file in his hand, flipping through the photos casually. The first ones were nothing special: Sebastian shaking hands with one of Vasily’s men, cars parked discreetly outside an upscale club no one was supposed to know existed. Predictable stuff. Nothing that would draw much attention.
Until the last one.
Valentina.
She was standing too close to Sebastian, mid-conversation. Her hands were moving, animated in the way they got when she was genuinely invested. Her head was tilted slightly, listening closely—exactly how she’d looked that night when I explicitly told her to stay away from this mess.
My gaze caught on her skirt.
I recognized it instantly. She’d been wearing it the last time I saw her.
I shouldn’t have remembered details like that—what she’d been wearing, how the fabric had clung to her, how she’d looked at me as if daring me to forget.
But I did remember. Too clearly.
Jacob watched me silently, probably wondering if I’d react. If I’d show a damn thing on my face. I didn’t. At least, I hoped I didn’t. The last thing I needed was Jacob or anyone else reading into this more than they already were.
But Christ, Valentina . . . I’d told her to steer clear of this shit. I’d spelled it out, told her exactly what would happen: how Maxwould react; how quickly this would all spiral. And she’d stood there staring at me with those stubborn, hasty eyes, acting as if she understood. As if she’d actually listened.
She hadn’t. Obviously.
Because here she was, right in the middle of everything I’d tried to keep her from. And with Sebastian Callahan, of all fucking people.
Max wasn’t looking for an excuse to ruin Valentina. He didn’t give a shit about her personal life—not unless it interfered with his business. But this? This was enough to do exactly that. It was enough to push her back to day one, or worse. Enough for Max to pull strings I couldn’t untangle; to ruin her just because she refused to listen.
And maybe she deserved it. Hell, she’d been warned more than once. But that stubborn part of me—maybe guilt, maybe something else—didn’t want to see it happen. Not yet at least. Not like this.
I met his gaze.“Keep Valentina out of this.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow.“She’s with Sebastian, Marco. That makes her?—”
“Not your problem,”I interrupted, sliding my hand into my pocket.“I’ll handle it.”
He hesitated, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.
Of course he’d hesitated. Nothing came easy when it came to these people. Everything was a trade, a negotiation, always waiting for a better offer. A reason to hold something over your head. I was tired of making deals. Tired of cleaning up messes that weren’t mine. But here I was again, about to do exactly that.
I pulled out my wallet, slipping out three crisp hundreds and laying them flat on the table.
