Riven's Very Bad, No Good, Terrible Date Night
Character Key:
Riven: The 22-year-old Head Enforcer, all muscle and menace, currently sweating over a baby monitor.
Juliet (Jules): Their 9-month-old sister, the tiny, drooling queen of the Fernandez empire.
So. This was it. Tonight was the night. Impress this girl Chloe—who, for the record, is literally an 11/10, and works at that bougie juice place downtown. I'd been on the grind for weeks. Liked all her pics, commented the fire emoji on her stories, the whole simp playbook. Finally secured the invite. Her, her bestie Maya, and Maya's man.
Major. W.
And why was I on solo babysitting duty? Because Elijah is the most paranoid dude on the planet. We finally decided to hire a nanny. We found one. Background was cleaner than a surgically scrubbed floor.
Passed every check Leo and Tim could run, digital and otherwise. But no. Elijah had to do a "personal interview."
Which, for him, is a three-hour-long interrogation that probably involves a lie detector and a blood oath. So he's gone to Hong Kong, and I'm stuck. Thanks, bro.
The doorbell rang. Showtime ,baby.
I gave myself a once-over in the hall mirror. Black tee, tight. Jeans. No visible weapons. Looked like a normal, hot, definitely-not-a-dad guy. I took a breath and swung the door open.
Chloe stood there, looking f***ing amazing. Behind her was her friend, Maya, and some dude, Brad or Chad or something, who looked like he ironed his polo shirt with the collar popped.
"Riven," Chloe said, a slick smile on her face. "This is... bigger than I expected."
"Yeah, well. Family place." I stepped aside, my body doing a pathetic attempt to block the view of the baby-proofed chaos behind me. Failed.
Chloe's eyes immediately laser-beamed onto the playpen. "Oh. My. God. You have a kid?"
The words hit me like a slug to the chest. "What? No. Heck no," I sputtered, the denial way too loud and way too fast. "That's my sister. Jules. My brothers and I... we just have her tonight. It's nbd."
Brad/Chad smirked, putting a possessive arm around Maya. "Sure, man. 'Sister.' Heard that one before. Daddy daycare, huh?" He said it like it was a terminal disease.
My eye twitched. I wanted to introduce his face to my fist. But Chloe was watching. "Something like that. Who wants a drink?"
I was pouring whiskey—the good stuff, not the stuff we use to clean wounds—when it started. A soft coo from the baby monitor. Then a little fussy sound.
Everyone froze.
"The, uh, TV's on in the other room," I lied, my voice tighter than my jeans.
Chloe's smile was getting brittle. "Sounds... realistic."
Another sound. A full-on, ticked-off grizzle. Sh*t.
"Be right back," I muttered, abandoning the drinks and speed-walking to the nursery.
"Dude, not cool," I whispered. "We talked about this. You sleep. I get to maybe second base. It's a simple transaction."
I walked back out, thinking I could just hold her and play it off like a cool, involved uncle. Nope. A cuddle wasn't cutting it. I had to bring the boss to the party. Big mistake. The second Chloe got close, Jules's face scrunched up. She grabbed a handful her shiny hair and yanked. Hard.
I winced. "Jules, no! Let go, little menace." I started priing her tiny fingers open. This was it. The final nail in the coffin of my rizz. Game over.
But Chloe just laughed. "Oh, it's okay! She's just playing." She freed her hair and even patted Jules's head. "You're a fierce little thing."
My jaw almost hit the floor. Was... was she for real? She was being cool about it. Maybe I'd read this all wrong. Maybe she was a legit one.
"I'm gonna get us some better drinks from upstairs," I announced, feeling the comeback. "The good stuff. Celebrate you surviving a baby attack.
Chloe smiled, all dazzling white teeth. "Perfect. We'll keep an eye on the little warrior."
I was at the top of the stairs, about to head down with the expensive bottle of tequila, when I heard it.
Chloe's voice, low and venomous. Nothing like the sweet tone she'd used two minutes ago. This was a cold, sharp dagger.
"...absolute little baby witch. I swear to god. This is so disgusting."
I froze on the steps, my blood going cold.
Maya shushed her. "Chloe, he'll hear you."
"Please. He's so far up my a** he can probably see my tonsils. He's the ultimate simp. The type who'll buy you a Birkin because you had a bad dream. A few months of pretending to think his gross little sister is 'sooo cute,' and I'll own this place. And that Ferrari." "
The word hit me like a slug to the chest.
Simp.
She thought I was a simp.
I saw red. Not like, metaphorically. The edges of my vision actually pulsed with it. The monster I keep on a leash, the one I only let out for business, snarled and snapped its chain.
Chloe was still talking. "..Then we can 'accidentally' lose the little beast at the park or something—"
I must have made a sound. She turned. Saw me. Her face did this crazy gymnastics routine from shock to fear to a sickly-sweet smile in half a second.
"Riven! Hey! We were just joking! I was saying how Jules is such a little firecracker, you know? A real handful!" She let out a fake, tinkling laugh that made my teeth hurt.
I didn't say a word. I just stared. My face was a blank mask, but my eyes? I let her see it. Just a glimpse of the thing underneath. The thing that makes grown men cry for their mothers.
Her smile died. The color drained from her face.
"You," I said, my voice a low, dangerous growl I barely recognized, "are going to get out of my home. Right now."
"It was a joke!" she pleaded, real panic setting in.
"GET. OUT!" I roared.
The command wasn't just loud. It was violent. It was final. It was the sound of a man who was one more word away from putting her in a coma.
They scrambled, a tangle of limbs and fear, tripping over themselves to get to the door. It slammed shut behind them.
I stood there, shaking. Not with anger. With the aftershock of the memory. I stumbled to the playpen and scooped Jules up, holding her tight against my chest, her head tucked under my chin. I could feel my heart hammering against her little body.
"I've got you," I whispered, my voice rough. "I've got you. I won't... I won't ever..."
Then, a calm, familiar voice came from the doorway to the study.
"You passed."
I whirled around. Elijah stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his phone in his hand. He wasn't in a suit. He was in a sweater and jeans. He'd never left.
My brain short-circuited. "Elijah? What the hell? l thought..."
"I know what you thought," he said, his voice low and even.
The pieces crashed together. The conveniently timed trip. The insistence I babysit alone. The specific girl I'd been trying to impress for weeks showing up exactly tonight.
"You set this up. You knew. You listened to the whole thing."
"Every word," he confirmed, his eyes glacial. "Through the monitor. Timothy patched the feed."
"Why?" The word came out as a snarl. Jules whimpered at the tone, and I forced myself to relax my grip. "You didn't trust me? You had to test me like some— some rookie?"
Elijah finally moved, stepping out of the shadows of the study. The usual power radiating off him was tinged with something else. Something raw.
"It wasn't about trust, Riven." He stopped a few feet away, his gaze flicking to Jules, safe in my arms, and for a split second, his mask cracked. A flicker of pure, undiluted agony. "It was about fear."
He looked me dead in the eye, and for the first time, I saw the ghost haunting my big brother.
"It was about the time you were supposed to be watching Enzo."
The air left my lungs. The memory hit me like a physical blow: a sunny day, a distracted 16-year-old me looking at my phone, a two-year-old Enzo wobbling into the street, the screech of tires, the scream... I hadn't been fast enough.
"You got distracted by a girl then, too," Elijah said, his composure finally breaking. "It almost cost Enzo his life. It would have destroyed us. And tonight, I saw you doing it again. Letting another one into our home. So tell me, Riven. Did you pass my test? Or did you just get lucky that your distraction didn't get our sister killed this time?"
The anger drained out of me, replaced by a heavy, awful understanding. This wasn't the Don testing a soldier.
This was a terrified big brother, still haunted by a nightmare I'd created, making sure it would never happen again.
He took a shuddering breath, the most vulnerable sound I'd ever heard him make.
"I couldn't lose another sibling because one of us was looking the other way. I had to know. I had to be sure that when it mattered, you'd see the threat. That you'd choose her." His eyes glistened under the dim lights. "You passed."
He wasn't manipulating me. He was protecting us. In the only way his broken, burdened soul knew how.
I looked down at Jules, then back at him. I just nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
Elijah gave a single, sharp nod in return. The moment of vulnerability was over, sealed shut. The Don was back.
"Good," he said, his voice returning to its usual steel. "Now get her to bed. We have business tomorrow."
He turned and walked back into his study, closing the door behind him.
I stood alone in the living room, holding the reason for all our sins, understanding the true cost of our love for the first time.
It wasn't just violence. It was this. The paranoia. The tests. The ghosts that forever lived in my brother's eyes.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I would never, ever look away again.