FRACTURED ALLIANCES

Ronan’s POV

The safe house was suffocating.

For three days, I had been stuck in a cramped old brownstone in a neighborhood that smelled like old grease and unfulfilled dreams. The thin walls allowed me to hear Jaxon pacing restlessly above me, his footsteps matching the chaos in my mind.

Sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop open, I was trying to make sense of Hart’s threats. He was someone deeply entrenched in illegal activities, and he had a lot to lose if we exposed him. The idea of him accusing us of serious crimes like human trafficking seemed ridiculous and dangerous at the same time.

“He’s just putting on a show,” Maddox said as he walked in, carrying two cups of coffee. He set one down in front of me without asking, always knowing what I needed before I did. 

“Not entirely,” I replied, scrolling through files left behind by Tommy before he disappeared to lord knows where. Those digital clues painted a revealing picture. “Hart is trying to gain an advantage. He can’t just arrest us—doing that would expose his own corrupt activities. If the federal agents start looking into him, they’ll uncover all his dirty secrets.”

“Then why are we hiding out here?” 

“Because the way things look is important. Hart will attempt to spin the story in his favor, portraying himself as a protective father defending his daughter from dangerous criminals. It’s all about controlling the narrative.” I studied Maddox, usually so charming, but now deep in thought. “Where’s Jaxon?”

“Where he’s been for three days. Sulking about Alina like a lovesick teenager,” he replied.

“He’s obsessed with her.”

“So are you,” Maddox held my gaze. “But you’re pretending it’s just about strategy.”

I chose not to respond. Instead, I pulled up recordings that revealed Hart ordering the destruction of evidence, conversations with corrupt officers about laundering drug money through police operations, and the most shocking where he talked about dealing with us—”handling the serpent problem”. A problem for him meant anyone who stood in his way.

“Alina needs to see these,” I said.

“Does she really need to know?” Maddox raised an eyebrow. “She’s already made her choice. Adding more chaos—”

“Is exactly how we turn this around. She’s driven by her feelings and a desire for freedom. If she sees her father’s true nature, she can become more than just someone on the run—she can be a force for justice.”

“Or it could shatter her.”

“If that’s the case, she wasn’t strong enough for this fight anyway,” I said bluntly.

Maddox smirked, sensing the respect he had for my decisiveness. “Cold. I like it.”

I found Alina in the basement of the safe house, which had been converted into a makeshift gym. She was hitting a heavy bag with surprising ferocity, her borrowed tank top soaked with sweat. She’d been here for hours, based on the dampness of her hair and the raw skin on her knuckles.

She didn’t stop when I entered, lost in her rhythm—left hook, right cross—each move precise and powerful. Jaxon had clearly been training her hard.

“You’re going to hurt your hands,” I commented.

She paused, panting, and turned to look at me, her grey eyes burning with intensity. 

“I need to hit something.”

“I get that. But injuring your hands won’t help.” I crossed the room and grabbed her wrists gently before she could throw another punch. Her heart was racing beneath my grip. Carefully, I began to unwrap her hands. The skin underneath was raw but still intact.

“If you understand how to use your father’s threats to your advantage, they can be powerful tools,” I explained as I worked. “He can’t risk arresting us because it would bring too much attention to his own wrongdoings.”

“He sounded very sure of himself,” she said quietly.

“Confidence can be deceiving. Hart knows how to make people think he’s more powerful than he really is.” I offered my hand for her other wrist. “He built his entire career on creating that illusion.”

She allowed me to unwrap her hands, and I felt her gaze on me with an intensity that was almost dangerous. Alina Hart was becoming skilled at reading people, and I wasn’t sure I liked being read.

“What do you want to show me?” she asked.

I hadn't said anything yet, but she knew. That was the intriguing part about her—she had a knack for seeing through the surface, which made her incredibly valuable. But it also meant she was hard to manipulate, which was… inconvenient.

“Come with me,” I said.

The upstairs study was sterile, nothing personal. I preferred it that way. I locked the door behind us and brought up the audio files on my laptop. Then I turned the screen toward her.

“Listen,” I instructed.

I watched her face as the recordings played. Her father’s voice, giving orders and casually discussing how to destroy evidence. A phone call where he discussed her specifically—how to keep her sheltered, controlled, making sure she wouldn’t ask questions. The moment he admitted to covering up a Serpent case that should have been prosecuted.

And then the worst one. A call where Hart discussed a “woman problem” that needed to be handled. The tone was vague, but the meaning was clear.

“My mother,” Alina whispered.

“Your father was trying to protect you by keeping you in the dark,” I said softly.

She stood up and started pacing, her hands trembling. “These are recordings. How did you—”

“We have informants in the Commissioner’s office. People who owe us favors. And a former police detective who recorded everything.”

She turned to face me sharply. “You.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I found out my partner was selling evidence to criminals. I spent months gathering proof to take him down, only to realize it went higher—much higher than I thought.  I leaned back in my chair. “Your father was one of the architects.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to know what you’re up against. It’s not just your father trying to control you; it’s a corrupt system that runs deeper than you can imagine. You’re not just running from him, Alina. You’re trying to expose him, are you okay with that?”

For a long moment, she was silent, her eyes fixed on the laptop screen. I could see the moment comprehension dawned on her—the moment her rebellion turned into something colder and more determined.

“If I use these recordings—”

“Your father goes to prison. His career ends. Everything he built crumbles.” I let that sink in. “And you become infamous. People will call you the cop’s daughter who brought him down. Some will see you as a hero, others as a traitor.”

“And you don’t care which?” She asked.

“I care about survival. The Serpents survive when Hart is exposed. Everything else is secondary.”

She turned to look at me then, really look at me, and I felt something shift in my carefully controlled demeanor. She was seeing beyond the strategy to the person underneath. It was unsettling.

“You recorded him without him knowing,” she said. It wasn’t accusatory, just an observation. “You have leverage over him.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re giving it to me instead.”

“I’m giving it to you because it’s what you need. And because…” I hesitated, an unfamiliar uncertainty creeping in. I wasn’t supposed to hesitate. I was all about strategy and control, ensuring everything accounted for every possibility.

“Because?” she prompted.

I stood up, and suddenly the space between us felt charged. “Because I want you to decide this—to choose *us*—with full awareness of what’s at stake.”

“That’s not how control works,” she countered, stepping closer. “Control is about keeping information hidden.”

“Yes, it is.” I met her gaze and could see her understanding settling in. “I’m not like Jaxon. I won’t pretend I don’t want to control you. But I believe in controlling through awareness, not ignorance. The more you know, the more you choose to stay, and the stronger my hold becomes.”

She reached out, her fingers brushing my jaw. It was a simple touch, but it sent a rush through me that threatened to disrupt everything.

“That’s honest, at least,” she murmured.

I caught hold of her wrist, stilling it. I knew my control was a fragile thing, and she was a force of change. “Don’t,” I warned quietly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make me want things that complicate our mission.”

But I was already complicated. Already at risk. When she looked at me like that—like she could see the man behind the strategist—I felt my carefully constructed walls developing cracks.

“What if complicated is exactly what you need?” she asked.

I let go of her wrist and stepped back, creating space between us. “We need to discuss your father’s next move. He’ll likely become more aggressive.”

“Ronan—”

“Not now, Alina.” I turned back to the laptop, hiding my expression. “We have work to do.”

But as I felt her studying me, I realized I’d made a mistake. I’d given her too much power and let her see too much of my vulnerability. Now she knew that beneath the cool exterior, I was burning.

And that made everything complicated .