RAFAEL
I didn’t suggest we have Riley over because it’s strategic. Or at least, that’s the lie I tell myself first, because strategy is a language I speak fluently. But the truth presses in anyway, quiet and insistent.
I invited Riley because Aisling lights up when she’s here. Because the tightness in her shoulders loosens and the guarded look in her eyes softens into something unarmored and real.
More and more, I find that’s what I want, because seeing her happy is making me happier than I ever thought I could be again.
I remind myself that it’s temporary. Everything about this is temporary.
Still, when Riley barrels through the front door like she owns the place, curls bouncing, laugh already echoing off the marble, my mouth curves upward before I can stop it.
“Dragon!” she shouts, throwing her arms wide.
I crouch automatically, catching her as she collides with my chest. She smells like strawberry shampoo and sunshine, a combination that doesn’t belong in my world but has somehow snuck in anyway.
“There you are,” I say, steadying her. “I thought maybe you’d decided not to come back.”
She gasps, offended. “Sissy says this is my home too.”
Aisling hovers behind her, hands twisting together like she’s bracing for something to go wrong.
Her eyes meet mine, cautious and hopeful all at once, and when I smile, those blue pools seem to melt.
The rest of the Murray family follows Riley in like a weather system.
Callum Murray fills the doorway, broad and watchful, eyes already scanning the corners of the room out of habit.
Lindsey trails behind him, polite smile, sharp gaze. Aisling’s brothers fan out, each one a different flavor of danger as they greet Sandro like an old friend—which is either comforting or deeply concerning, depending on how I look at it.
They even clap me on the shoulder in a way I can only describe as good-natured, greeting me with a quick “thought we’d drop in for a brief chat” before leading the way into the newly finished living room. I watch the Murrays closely as we settle in, the adults orbiting the low table, accepting a shot of whiskey when Sandro offers them one.
Riley ends up on the floor with Aisling, coloring books spread everywhere, narrating some imagined story in great detail asshe fills the pages with color, completely oblivious to the conversation taking place above her.
Aisling hums encouragement, brushing hair out of Riley’s eyes with practiced ease.
The movement is so natural, it makes my chest ache to watch it.
After a brief exchange of small talk, Callum clears his throat, crossing his ankle over his knee as he leans back against the freshly delivered couch that now furnishes the room. “You said you had updates.”
I nod, pulling my attention back where it belongs. “We had dinner with the commissioner last night.”
That gets the Murrays’ interest immediately.
“And?”
“He’ll be on our payroll within the week,” I continue. “He’s definitely in our pocket, and I think it’s safe to say we’re officially ghosts as far as the paperwork goes. Anything that happens in the near future, especially around the Chicago River, will be… overlooked.”
Ryan lets out a low whistle. “So, no one will be investigating any bodies that happen to crop up floating downstream?”
“Within reason,” I say dryly. “That doesn’t mean we can get sloppy.”
Callum’s mouth tightens, satisfied. “Good. That means we can finish this without worrying about uniforms showing up late to the party.”
“There’s more,” I add, glancing in Aisling’s direction. “One of Tatsuo’s men made an attempt on Aisling’s life on our way home from dinner last night.”
The air changes instantly, and Aisling’s eyes flick up to find mine, just for a moment before she’s drawn back into Riley’s story, but it’s long enough that I can see the lingering fear behind them.
Our passionate night together wasn’t enough to wipe the trauma completely from her mind—no matter how hard I tried.