Page 85 of Royal Bargain
Liam lets out a short laugh, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We sure did.”
I step back instinctively, giving them space, but the unease inside me doesn’t fade. It sharpens. Burns is basking in his win, but I can’t stop staring at the screen. At the words Volkov Syndicate in bold red letters. At the way Liam is still holding onto his phone, knuckles white.
I feel the truth straining at the edges of this moment—something just out of reach, something I’m not supposed to see.
And now it might be too late to ask.
I drift a few steps away, trying to ground myself in the music that’s started back up, the champagne flutes clinking again as the room recovers from the shock and leans back into celebration. But I can still hear Liam and Burns—just barely—voices lowered now but not enough.
Burns leans in, gripping Liam’s shoulder with a firm hand, his smile thinning into something tighter. Something calculated.
“Now that the real work begins,” he says, his voice just loud enough for me to catch the words, “can I still trust you to make the tough calls?”
Liam doesn’t answer right away.
The pause stretches long enough to make my stomach twist.
Then I hear him say, low and certain, “You can count on me.”
I swallow hard.
The champagne in my hand has gone warm. The music feels too loud now, the lights too bright, like the whole room has shifted a few degrees to the left and I’m the only one who noticed.
Because that wasn’t a victory lap. That was a pledge. And it wasn’t to me.
Liam’s world has always been complicated, messy, full of secrets and shadows. But this—this is different. This isn’t Mafia politics behind closed doors. This is power, out in the open, wielded like a weapon in suits and soundbites and votes.
And he just promised to be a part of it.
I weave through the clusters of people, heels clicking against the ballroom floor like the ticking of a clock winding down.
Liam spots me, and that flicker of concern is back in his eyes like it never left.
“Ana—”
“Something’s wrong,” I cut in, voice low and urgent. “Liam, it doesn’t make sense. The arrests, the timing—it’s too perfect. Sasha warned me something was coming. What if this wasn’t my family at all?”
His brow furrows. He opens his mouth to answer?—
And then it hits.
A crash near the back of the ballroom. Shouting.
Glass shatters.
A scream cuts through the air, and chairs screech across the floor as panic ripples through the crowd.
I whip around, heart hammering.
Someone’s pushing through the chaos—shoving hard, knocking a waiter aside. Moving with terrifying purpose.
“Get down!” someone yells.
“Liam!” I gasp, reaching for him.
But he’s already in motion.
He grabs my arm, eyes blazing. “We’re leaving.”
