“Maybe I like not getting nailed by the feds for conspiracy to assassinate a sitting district attorney. Maybe I’m your fucking boss and I don’t need to give you reasons.”
Brandon sighed. “You’re right. You’re right. I’ll clean it up.”
“You better. And keep it quiet. You don’t want Tristan pissed.”
Ahead, two cruisers had cordoned the alley; Dominic, cuffed and bloodied but alive, was already bundled into the back of one. A cop stood nearby, swabbing glass out of his knuckles.
I wondered what Dominic would say about me—whether my name would even come up. If the next time we met, he’d try again to finish what he started, or if he’d be too busy spitting out teeth.
He was stupid, but not stupid enough to be a rat.
The city was so bright and small from here. I rolled the window down and the night air lashed my face, cold and real.
You did what you had to. You kept her safe. That was all.
It was after midnight when I parked two streets over from Ruby’s brownstone and killed the headlights. I waited, watching the wide bay windows, but all the curtains were drawn. On the stoop, a small plastic tricycle glowed in the lamplight. The thought that the fire could have taken her away—taken my kid’s mom away—made my stomach curdle. It was almost reassurance to see that, whatever else, Rosie’s evening had been spent playing. Like there was a world in which things could be as simple as that.
So I sat. And I watched. And I waited.
Because I had to keep her safe. No matter what.
Chapter Twelve: Ruby
The room surged with light.
Not a nice, morning light creeping in through the curtains light. No…this was studio light—light that felt like it was buzzing your brain, harsh as hell, professional-grade. The light bounced off the polished floor, the slick wood of the podium, the nervous sweat on my palms.
My first press conference as District Attorney. Newly elected. Newly swore in. Newly in way the fuck over my head.
It had been three weeks since the attack, and it felt like I was drowning. Not because of the exhaustion that gnawed at me from the inside or the scar on my ribs that was a pulsing reminder of what I had to hide. Because the past had a way of creeping in no matter how far away I pushed it.
I kept my voice steady as I talked about transparency and rooting out corruption…all while Kieran’s voice was playing onrepeat in my head, telling me to touch myself, telling me to lie, telling me how to properly dispose of a body. The reporters were nice enough. This was just a formality. Another interview I had to give to make everything seem like it was going exactly the way it was supposed to.
The blazer fit perfectly, but I felt like I was wearing a costume. Turned out that impostor syndrome didn’t go away just because you were legally elected to office. It just came back worse. It felt like I’d put a spell on all these people, and part of me wanted to ask them if they were sure they had voted for me.
I told myself it was just nerves. A shaky start before finding my footing. It felt wrong. But it wasn’t any different than standing in front of a classroom, or at the head of a seminar, or on stage at graduation. My entire life, I’d been preparing for this. Every step leading me to where I was. To where everyone expected me to be.
“DA Marquez, how are you finding your first few weeks in office? Are you on track to fulfill the promises you made during your campaign?” Jason asked. Oh, he was around still. That was nice, I guessed.
I tried to refocus my attention on him. “We’re working on it. This office is committed to openness,” I continued. “To prosecuting crime. To ensuring the people of Boston feel protected.”
Protected. I almost laughed at the hypocrisy. Instead, I stood straighter, letting the words roll off my tongue with confidence I didn’t feel. The last three weeks had been a blur of decisions, of preparations, of filling in shoes too big and ambitions too small. And I would have been ready, if Mickey Russell hadn’t broken into my house to try to kill me.
At least that was what I told myself.
My head spun as I moved to the next question, trying not to focus on how surreal it felt to be there. It was a game of survival, and I had to pretend I was winning. Because if I didn’t, they would see the weakness. The vulnerability. The hesitation that threatened to undo it all. To undo me.
It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life, but I pushed through the exhaustion. I pushed through the pain. I pushed through the fear. The tension stretched between who I was and who I had to be, between what I was saying and what I was doing, between the truth and everything else.
Finally, the lights faded. The cameras lowered. I stepped away from the podium and felt my legs threatening to give out. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I wasn’t going to let them win.
Alek walked behind me, down the long hallway to my new office. We greeted a few people as we walked back to my new office. It was nice; since I’d worked here so long before getting elected, I already knew almost everyone.
Alek had been in charge of hiring an interior design firm before my appointment into office, so it didn’t look anything like DA Lenta’s, even though he’d spent the majority of his career in these four walls.
My new office was bright and shiny, like a car fresh off the lot. If, you know…that car had once carried a dead body. The kind that would look great until it fell apart. I closed the door, leaned against it, and tried to catch my breath after the chaos of the press conference.
It wasn’t enough. It never was.
