Kirill takes over the keyboard. The room holds its breath as his fingers fly across the keys. Then a message from Kirill's secured identity flashes across every screen.
All members check in immediately. Stay where you are until I can assess what happened. Do not travel or continue communication after you check in. This is an order.
He opens another chat box.
Within seconds, responses pour in with members obeying his order. For thirty minutes, it comes in fast and furious, then slows to a trickle. Ten minutes pass with nothing.
Brax pushes away from the desk and rises. He reaches down and pulls me up. "Show's over. Time to go to bed, Minx. We should sleep well tonight."
And for the first time since the Underworld branded my chest, he might be right.
30
Brax
Amonth has passed. Life inside Valentina's condo is nothing like what I imagined the aftermath of blowing up the Underworld would be. I expected celebration, chaos, maybe some twisted version of liberation where people walked around in disbelief, realizing the board of monsters dictating their lives had turned to smoke. Instead, the Underworld membership is in a suspended rhythm, quiet and watchful. Barelyanyone has spoken, with most following Kirill's order of silence. And those who haven't obeyed were considered threats and taken out by the O'Malleys.
Valentina’s old driver, Vito, and her assistant, Cassian, were the first to speak out. Those were the only ones I personally handled. The rest I’ve left to the clan.
Sometimes, the silence is louder than the bombs that detonated every piece of infrastructure. It's been especially hard on Valentina. She spent years planning, strategizing, and manipulating an entire corrupt infrastructure. She constantly tried to survive so she wouldn't end up trapped in some sick ritual with no control over her fate. Now that the enemy is gone, she doesn't know what to dowith her time.
Her movements are starting to lose the sharpness she carried when we were drowning in danger. They are being replaced with something adrift, but still something she can't identify. She doesn't say it out loud, but I see it in every slow breath she releases and every long stare she gives the windows as if waiting for orders she no longer wants but doesn't know how to live without.
I lace my shoelaces, and she enters the bedroom.
She smooths her hand along her thigh, distracted, still shoeless.
"We're going to be late," I point out.
Her expression stays neutral. "We aren't going anymore."
I arch my eyebrows. "What are you talking about? You miss those kids more than air. Zara said Willow started focusing her eyes during tummy time, and you acted as if someone told you Santa Claus was real. You're dying to get over there."
"That was before." She grabs her gold earrings off the dresser and fumbles with the clasp. She mutters under her breath and tries again.
Disappointment fills me. We promised we'd see the twins today. After weeks spent trapped in Kirill's penthouse with them, seeing them once a week doesn't cut it. I'm not ashamed to admit I miss the tiny sounds they make, their plump little fists reaching for whoever walks by, and the way Willow scrunches her nose when she's concentrating like she's solving taxes and not trying to hold her head up.
But Valentina misses them in a way that guts her. Zara's babies became an anchor for her when everything else in the world was smoke and mirrors. She needs them today.
So whatever stopped her from walking out this door is something I need to solve, fast.
I step closer. "Before what?"
She hesitates one heartbeat too long. "Before Zara called."
I tense. "What did she say?"
"We can't go." She steps out of the bedroom.
I follow her. "What's going on, Minx?"
The muscles in her shoulders tighten, then sink as she releases a slow exhale that carries more defeat than she ever willingly shows me. She repeats, "We're not going. Just leave it at that."
I move closer. "Not happening."
She picks up her purse, sets it back down, presses her palm to the counter, and stares at nothing.
I spin her into me. "What did Zara say?"
