Page 82 of Velvet Betrayal
Liam raised both hands like it was all a joke, then slid off the booth. “Fine. Message received.”
He didn’t look back as he left—just disappeared down the same hall he came in through, coat brushing the corner of the bar, footsteps soundless on tile.
The room felt colder after.
None of us spoke.
Tristan went back to his drink. I watched the door Liam had gone through, waiting for the echo of him to fade.
I used to know where the danger was. Lately, it felt like it lived at our own table.
And it was closing in fast.
Ruby
Ihated it…but I had to tell Rosie about what had happened with Mickey Russell.
Before I told Erica Fields.
Before the whole world knew.
Rosie was curled up on the couch, knees tucked to her chest, tablet propped up on a pillow. She was watching some unicorn cartoon—again—but her eyes were glazed, thumb unmoving. Waiting for me.
I hovered for a second, then sat down next to her, smoothing my palms over my jeans like that might steady me. “Hey, mi amor. Can we talk for a minute?”
She looked up, startled. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, tesoro. Not even close.” I let out a slow breath, the kind that rattled on the way out. “I just need to tell you something. About what’s going to happen tomorrow. And about something that already happened.”
Rosie set her tablet aside, folding her hands in her lap. Too grown-up for her size. “Okay. What happened?”
This was it. No do-overs.
“There was a man—a long time ago—who did some very bad things. He hurt people. He…tried to hurt me.” My voice cracked.She didn’t even blink. Maybe this was how daughters of mothers like me learned: collecting each sharp piece of the story, no matter how much it stung.
“Did you call the police?” she asked, automatic, like she’d learned it at school.
I shook my head. “I didn’t. I kind of am the police.”
She frowned, correcting me. “But you’re not. You’re just the boss of them.”
It was like she was reading a fact off a cereal box. It almost made me laugh.
“That’s true,” I said. “But sometimes people who do bad things don’t care about the boss. So I had to defend myself. And tomorrow, the reporters—the ones you see on TV—are going to ask a lot of questions about it. Some of them are going to act like I made mistakes, or like I’m not a good person anymore. Some will say things that aren’t true.”
“Why?”
I hesitated. “Because I’m going to tell everyone I did that.”
“Why?” she asked again, even smaller this time.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying not to let it be her trauma, too. “Because if you don’t tell your own story, someone meaner will. And I want you to know the real one, from me, before it’s on every TV in Boston.”
Rosie nodded, biting her lower lip until it turned white. She rocked on her crossed legs, nervous, but she didn’t look away.
“Are you in trouble, Mami?” Her voice was barely there.
“Not the kind you have to be afraid of,” I lied. “But yes, some people are going to say I did something wrong. That I hurt somebody who didn’t deserve it.”
