Chapter 138: Maybes and Maybachs
The library door swung open without a knock.
The intimate quiet shattered like glass. Marco stood in the threshold, a trio of amber bottles dangling from one hand, his scar cutting a pale line through his raised eyebrow. “Am I interrupting a strategic planning session or a mutual therapy moment? Either way, beer’s here.”
Beth leaned back against Damien with a sigh, but a smile played on her lips. “Your timing is pathological, Romano.”
“It’s a gift.” He strode in, the heels of his boots sharp on the marble, and set the bottles on the low table with a clink. He dropped into the armchair opposite them, sprawling with an enviable ease. “You two were looking too serious. Bad for the complexion.”
Damien took a bottle, his thumb rubbing over the condensation. “We were discussing important cultural heritage.”
“Right,” Marco said, popping the cap off his beer with a quick twist. “Looked more like you were five seconds from rechristening the leather.” He took a long pull, his hazel eyes laughing at them over the bottle.
“Jealousy is an ugly color, Marco,” Beth said smoothly, taking her own beer. “You wouldn’t have to make a career out of interrupting sentimental moments if you had a person of your own to be sentimental with.”
He scoffed, the sound genuine. “I have people. Plural. Frequently.”
“I said a person. Not a rotation. A girlfriend. A wife. Someone who doesn’t think your job title is a euphemism.”
Marco’s smirk was lazy, but a flicker of something harder passed behind his eyes. “The job is a euphemism, Beth. ‘Enforcer.’ Sounds like a gym membership. Doesn’t exactly shine on a dating profile. ‘Likes long walks, fine whiskey, and making threats tangible.’ Swipe left.”
Beth studied him. He was one of the few people who could exist perfectly in both their worlds, who had never made her feel like an outsider or a casualty. He’d brought her coffee the morning after her first brutal argument with Vittorio. He’d been the one to find her, a decade ago, sitting in her car in the rain after she’d left, and instead of trying to talk her into going back, he’d just slid into the passenger seat and sat there in silence until she was ready to drive. His loyalty wasn’t divided; it was doubled.
“You’re using the job as an excuse,” she said, her voice quieter. “A shield.”
“It’s not a shield, it’s the goddamn wall. Who brings that home? To dinner? To some nice, normal woman who thinks a bad day is a missing Starbucks order?” He shook his head, taking another drink. “Not worth the risk. For her. Or for me.”
Damien watched the exchange, silent. He knew the weight Marco carried. The things he did so Damien’s own hands could stay, publicly at least, a shade cleaner.
“I’ll make you a bet,” Beth said, a familiar, dangerous spark in her green eyes. It was the same look she got before restructuring a hostile board or outbidding a rival at auction.
“I don’t bet against you. I’ve seen you play poker.”
“Not that kind of bet. I bet I could introduce you to the love of your life. A woman who wouldn’t blink at the job description. One who’d see right through the playboy bullshit and end it in a heartbeat.”
Marco laughed, a short, sharp bark of disbelief. “Yeah, right. And where exactly do you find this mythical creature? Hiding in your boardroom? Running your security? Beth, the only women who wouldn’t blink are the ones you pay to be discreet.”
“You’d be surprised,” she said cryptically. “So, do we have a bet? If I’m right, you have to buy Buttercup that absurd diamond-encrusted halter he saw in Equine Elite.”
“And if I’m right, and she doesn’t exist or tells me to get fucked within five minutes?”
“Then I’ll handle your ‘wet work’ logistics for a full quarter. No complaints.”
Damien choked on his beer. “Beth.”
She waved a hand. “He won’t win.”
Marco stared at her, calculating. The cocky smirk was back, but it was thoughtful now. He knew she never bluffed. “Deal. But I get veto power. No Russian arms dealers or Texan heiresses with Daddy issues.”
“Agreed.” She leaned forward, sealing it with a handshake. His grip was firm, calloused.
“Alright,” he said, settling back. “Now that my future love life is a sporting event, do I get in on this lineage hallway action or what? I’ve been loyal. I feel entitled to a cool animal.”
Beth’s smile turned genuine. “You think you’re ready for that? It’s not taken lightly.”
“Try me.”
She looked at Damien, a silent question. Damien gave a slight nod. This was her domain.
“Fine,” she said. “Your plant is easy. Devils Ivy. Impossible to kill, grows anywhere, even in the dark. Thrives on neglect but can get toxic if you’re not careful.”
Marco’s grin was wide. “I’m touched. Really. The poetry of it.”
“Your animal,” she continued, tilting her head, “is a honey badger.”
Damien snorted into his bottle. Marco looked incredulous. “The fuck? That’s a real thing?”
“It is,” Beth said, deadpan. “Relentless. Fearless. Takes on lions and wins. Intelligent. And has a reputation for being, and I quote, ‘aggressively independent.’ It fits.”
For a moment, Marco was silent, then he burst out laughing, a real, deep sound that filled the library. “A goddamn honey badger. I’ll take it. Better than a panther, anyway. More relatable.”
“Don’t push it,” Damien murmured, but he was smiling.
The moment was broken by the vibrating buzz of Beth’s phone on the table. The screen lit up: Polina.
The lightness drained from the room. The compound’s perpetual tension seeped back in through the walls.
Beth stared at the name, her expression shutting down, going cool and remote. The business face. The fixer.
Marco saw the change. He finished his beer in one go and stood. “Right. That’s my cue. Sentimentality quota met, future marital status wagered upon. I’ve got rounds to make.” He pointed a finger at Beth. “Devil’s Ivy and a honey badger. I’m holding you to that frame.” He glanced at Damien, a wordless communication passing between them, and then he was gone, pulling the door shut behind him.
The library felt colder. The silence now was heavy, not peaceful.
Beth didn’t reach for the phone. “She doesn’t call. She emails. Formal, passive-aggressive missives. A call means she’s panicking. Or someone’s made her a better offer.”
Damien moved closer, his body a solid line of warmth against her side. “We don’t have to answer.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice flat. “We do.” She picked up the phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. The light from it cast her face in a harsh, blue glow. “This is the part they don’t carve into the hallway. The part that happens in the dark.”
She accepted the call and brought the phone to her ear. “Polina.” Her tone was arctic, devoid of the warmth that had been there moments before. She listened, her eyes fixed on a point on the far wall. Damien watched the subtle tighten of her jaw, the minute flinch at the corner of her eye.
“No,” she said after a moment, the word final as a gunshot. “You don’t get to set terms. You lost that privilege when you cc’d my husband’s rivals on our last proposal.” A pause. “Then let it burn. But when the flames reach your door, don’t call me. You won’t like the price of the water.”
She ended the call and dropped the phone onto the cushion like it was contaminated.
“She’s aligning with the Kovacs family,” Beth said, not looking at him. “She’s trying to force a renegotiation by showing she has other options. Amateur hour.”
Damien’s own mind was already mapping the implications, the movements of men and money. The Kovacs were small-time but vicious, the kind to use chaos as a strategy. “I can have a conversation with Miklos Kovac.”
“Not yet.” Beth finally turned to him. The strategic genius was fully present now, the woman who built empires from rubble. “Let her think it’s working. Let her feel secure. The betrayal will be cleaner once she’s committed.”
He saw it then, the full picture. She wasn’t just putting him on a hallway wall among plants and animals. She was weaving him into the darker fabric of her legacy, too. The fixer’s daughter and the don’s son. It was a different kind of promise, just as binding.
He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “However you want to play it.”
She leaned into his touch, a flicker of the woman from before returning. “The hallway is who we are to each other,” she whispered. “This… this is who we are to the rest of the world.”
Outside, a engine roared to life—Marco’s car, departing on his rounds. A reminder that the walls, for all their grandeur, were not just for show. The night beyond the blinds was vast and watchful.
But here, for now, they were the watchmen. Together.