Page 107 of Yours

That got Marco’s attention. He straightened slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. “What proof?”

Victor reached into his briefcase, pulling out a slim folder and sliding it across the table toward Marco.

“This,” the mayor said. “Surveillance footage from the night Lorenzo was killed. You’ll see for yourself that it wasn’t Ronan—or any of his men—anywhere near that explosion.”

Marco hesitated, his fingers hovering over the folder before he flipped it open. Inside were printed stills from security cameras, showing a group of men moving through the alleyways near Lorenzo’s estate. The images weren’t crystal clear, but the distinct features of the men—shorter builds, thick coats, anddistinct Russian tattoos visible on the back of one man’s hand—were unmistakable.

“It was the Ivanovich family,” Victor said, his tone matter of fact. “They’re the ones who planted the explosives and triggered the gas line that destroyed Lorenzo’s home and killed him. Not the O’Malleys.”

Marco’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking between the photos and me. “And how do I know you didn’t fabricate this? You’ve got resources. You could’ve made this up to save your own skin.”

I leaned forward, my voice cold as ice. “Because I don’t need to lie to you, Marco. The Ivanovich family played us both. They killed Lorenzo to light the match, and they took my sister to fan the flames. You were too blind with grief to see it, but they’ve been working you like a puppet from the start.”

Victor nodded, his expression grim. “Ronan’s right. The Ivanovich family wanted a war between you two. They thought they could weaken both of you and step in to take control of the city.”

“And they nearly succeeded,” I added. “But they made one mistake—they underestimated me. And to a lesser extent, you.”

Marco’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual venom. “Is that so? What makes you so sure they’re out of the picture now?”

“Because I made sure of it,” I said flatly. “My men and I wiped out their leadership. We hit their safehouses, their supply lines, their key operatives. The Ivanovich family isn’t going to be making any power plays anytime soon—not in this city, and not anywhere else.”

Victor leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. “What Ronan’s done has wounded the Ivanovich family enough to take them off the board. They won’t be a problem for either of you moving forward.”

Marco sat silently, his expression unreadable as he processed the information. The smug arrogance that had clung to him since the beginning of the meeting had faded, replaced with something colder, more calculating.

Finally, he closed the folder and leaned forward, his dark eyes meeting mine.

“You didn’t kill my father,” Marco said slowly, his voice low. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you, O’Malley.”

“I don’t need your trust,” I replied evenly. “I just need you to understand that I didn’t start this war. But if you want to keep it going, I’ll be ready.”

The challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy, as Marco considered his next words. Finally, he stood, his chair scraping against the floor.

“We’ll see,” he said cryptically, his lips curling into a faint smirk once again. “For now, I’m satisfied. But don’t think this means we’re friends.”

“Trust me,” I said coldly, rising to meet him eye to eye. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Marco turned and walked toward the door, his men falling in step behind him as the tension in the room eased slightly.

Then Kiera suddenly straightened in her seat.

“I have something to say,” she said, her voice steady, but carrying a hint of nervousness.

Both Marco and I turned to her, and I felt my chest tighten.

“Kiera,” I warned, my voice low.

She ignored me, her gaze locked on Marco. “About the drink that I threw in your face,” she began, her tone measured. “I shouldn’t have done that. You were being an asshole, sure, but I didn’t handle it the way I should have. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Her words landed in the silence, and for a moment, Marco just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips quirked.

Marco’s gaze flicked to me then, cool and calculating. He studied me for a long moment before turning back to her.

“Apology accepted,” he said smoothly, his smirk turning cold. “But only because I don’t want to fuck with your man any more than I have to.”

I stiffened, my jaw clenching as his words hung in the air.

“That’s smart,” I said flatly, my voice edged with steel.

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