Page 87 of Velvet Betrayal
She shrugged, like she’d heard worse. “And you want this all to drop today?”
“Right after the press conference. You show up, ask the questions, I answer on record. You break embargo after. That’s the deal. No edits, no walk-backs, and no heroines. If you write halo-glow crap, I’ll spend the week feeding your dead leads to every reporter with a blog.”
She grinned, wide and wicked. “You’re better at this than anyone gives you credit for.”
“It’s not a compliment,” I said, and for the first time in a year, I meant it.
“Thanks for the scoop.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
She stowed her pen, gave me one last on-the-record: “Hell of a story,” she said. “Good luck, Madam DA.”
I watched her go, heels echoing up the stairwell, and realized I was gripping the bannister hard enough my knuckles had gone white. I took a breath, then another, each one less like a DA and more like a woman trying to remember what survival felt like.
Back in the ballroom, Alek was waiting. He looked up from his phone with an expression I knew: tired, proud, and bracing for impact.
“You did it, didn’t you,” he said. Not a question.
“Yeah,” I said. “She’s loaded up. Ready to fire.”
He checked his watch. “You have forty minutes to be a person. Then you’re public property again.”
“Sounds fun.” I tried to smile. “How drunk can I get?”
Alek poured us both a heavy drink from the real punch bowl—no water, no pretense. The booze burned, but it was the right kind of burn: the kind that made your nerves settle, just enough to get you through the next round.
“You think Kieran’s coming tonight?” I asked, like it was nothing, like I hadn’t seen his shadow by the coat check or noticed the security detail had quietly tripled since I walked in.
Alek shrugged. "If he was, he'd already be handcuffed to you." His smile faded. "I don't think you're as safe tonight as you’re pretending, Ruby."
"Nobody’s ever as safe as they’re pretending."
I put my back to the wall, tried to fade into the crowd. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw the lines converging: City Hall, the courthouse, the Callahan club, Julian’s condo. All roads leading to this sparkling, brittle moment. All of it ending on the second floor of the ballroom, where I’d step in front of the cameras and say my piece.
“Have you told Rosie yet?” Alek’s voice was soft, almost gentle.
I shook my head. “Some things. I wanted to do it myself. Before anyone else could.”
He nodded, and for a second, his hand hovered near my shoulder. “She’s going to be proud of you,” he said. “One day. Maybe not next week, but…” He let it hang. Only people who’d survived a few disasters knew how to do that.
“Erica Fields told me there were rumors I was quitting.”
Alek frowned. “There aren’t.”
“She said forty percent of the office is betting on it.”
He looked over at Julian, who was deep in conversation with some city councilman. Alek watched him for a beat too long, then glanced back at me. "Unless you think maybe…"
"No," I said, voice flat. "Julian’s not that type."
He looked at me, really looked—testing, careful. "You sure?"
"Positive," I lied. I was pretty sure. In this city, that was as close to certainty as anyone ever got.
And he was Rosie’s father.
Or at least, the closest thing she’d ever had to one. That had to count for something.
