19. Cian

Gently tuckingthe duvet around her body, making sure she's comfortable, I pause to take her in. She looks peaceful, exhausted but happy. Briefly, I feel a twinge of guilt for our actions, but it quickly dissipates. This is just how things are.

Gianluca glances at me, thinking the same thing. "She's tougher than I expected," he says quietly.

I nod, still fixated on Victoria. "She's stronger than we give her credit for. But all this fucked up shit that's happening to her has to end. We find whoever the fuck these assholes invading her space are, and we take them down."

"Do we need to talk about what Stroud said?" Luke asks as we gather up our discarded clothes from earlier and throw them back on haphazardly before we quietly back out of the room, leaving the door slightly open so we can hear her if she needs us. "I don't think I can just accept that this has been dealt with."

"His excuse is plausible, but I'm inclined to agree that it's a crock of shit. The bosses are being cunts, and we now need to sidestep them and their orders and do this ourselves. I'm making that an executive decision and they can all get fucked if they don't like it."

Luke raises his fist, and I bump it while G looks more pensive.

"What's up?" I ask him.

"Hmm. I have some things to sort out with these rebels."

"That's not what's bugging you," I state, gesturing with my head that we take this downstairs. "Spill it."

We are silent as we head to the living room, sitting and making ourselves comfortable. I take out my knife and press my fingertip to the sharp point, twirling it around and around until I bleed.

"I told Victoria that I wanted to ask her to marry me. Not yet, but in time. It is expected of me to have a wife and produce an heir. She is it for me."

I pause, taking that in, my eyes narrowed. Marriage. Kids. I'd never even contemplated it until Victoria decided she wanted to give this complex relationship a go. It has made me face my demons about bringing new life into this world, but is that even what she wants? We have never discussed it. "What did she say?" I ask eventually, as Luke appears to be shell-shocked into silence.

"Not much. She just asked if I was being serious. I told her I was, and then we got distracted."

"Distracted," I echo with a smirk, remembering how well we all got distracted. I lean back in my seat, thinking over G's revelation. It's a fucking minefield, but it makes sense for him to consider it.

"Look, G, if she's the one—if she's really it for you—then you owe it to yourself and her to talk again. Properly."

"You don't seem too concerned," he murmurs,

"Was that your issue? That you think I'd be pissed?"

"Well, yeah. This whole thing has moved really fast. We haven't even really talked about it properly."

"Yeah," I say with a sigh and lean back, twirling the knife again. I want that with her. Someday. But this isn't a simple situation. "What about you, Luke? Do you need a wife and heir?" I grin at him when he scowls at me.

"Suppose."

"You haven't thought about it?"

"Let's just say, it's a sore subject."

"How come?" G asks.

"My parents are pains in my ass. They want me to marry someone they choose."

"Eww," G murmurs. "Been there."

"What did you do?" he asks, leaning forward, genuinely interested.

This conversation interests me because we have never spoken so openly about shit before. It's not what we do. Tory has changed all of us, for the better, I think. It's hard to tell right now.

G shrugs, with a small smile. "I told them to fuck off. Honestly, they backed off for a while. But it's why I've kept things low-key ever since."

"Lucky you," Luke mutters. "My parents aren't the backing-off type. They threatened to cut me off if I didn't comply."

"Jesus," I drawl, shaking my head. "And here I thought we were all free men."

Luke's face twists into a grimace of frustration. "It's complicated, alright? There's family legacy bullshit tied up in all of this."

I nod, understanding the weight of those words. We might be running our own operation in the here and now, but family ties are thick, and they can strangle if not handled properly.

"So what's the plan?" Gianluca asks, shifting gears. His gaze is intense, clearly ready to tackle the situation head-on.

"Find out who's been creeping on Victoria and put an end to that shit. Then we can sort the rest out."

"Sounds good to me," Luke mutters, clearly happy to have the spotlight off him and his family.

"I have to go and oversee an arms deal," I say abruptly. "But we can't leave Tory alone, so who's staying? Who's coming?"

"I'll stay," Luke says. "I want to start a deeper dive on that Mullen guy, you know, the dead guy, and see if I can follow a trail back to either the Reapers, or someone looking to blame Victoria for his death."

"Okay. G, it's you and me."

"Where are we headed?"

"Where all illegal deals go to be dealt with. The warehouse district."

"Fun," he mutters, but stands up, ready to go.

I rise as well and turn to Luke. "If anything happens while we are gone, you know what to do?"

"Kill anyone who comes within five metres of her?

My smile is sinister. "Precisely."

"Don't forget the window guy will be back to fix her window properly later. I told him to leave it a while as we were… busy."

"Hmm," I murmur, remembering how busy we were. Busy forcing Victoria to submit to us. It was a sight I will never forget until my dying day. But the truth is, I don't want to see it again. I love her for being the strong badass mafia bitch she is. If I wanted some pliable little flower, I would've gone after someone else. "Let's go."

G and I leave the house, sliding into my Porsche as I fire up the engine in the late morning sun and I pull out onto the narrow street. G is silent beside me, his mind clearly working through the warren of problems we're facing.

"So," I say, breaking the silence, "you think there's a link between Mullen's death and the Reapers?"

"Maybe. The timing's too convenient to ignore. Victoria's got plenty of enemies, though—no shortage of suspects."

"Yeah, well, let's hope Luke digs up something useful. We need to close this loop before it tightens around our necks."

We speed through the city streets, heading towards the darker side of town where legitimate businesses give way to dilapidated warehouses and abandoned factories.

Pulling into the old warehouse district down by the river, I park the car out of sight and step out, taking in our surroundings. G follows, his eyes scanning for any potential threats.

"This is going to be quick in and out. I don't want to leave Tory and Luke alone for too long," I say.

G nods in agreement but stays silent as we walk towards a nondescript building with boarded-up windows. It looks abandoned from the outside, but we know better.

Inside, it's a different story. Crates line the walls, stacked high with weapons wrapped in black plastic. A few men mill about, eyeing us warily as we enter.

"Gannon," one of them booms at me, a thick-set guy with a beard and more tats than you can count. "Sorry to hear about the old man."

"Yeah, I'm not," I snort and slap my palm against his. "Samson. Good to see you. What have we got here today?"

Samson, the middle-man in all Gannon arms deals, grins wickedly. His eyes gleam as he gestures to the crates. "Top-quality rifles, handguns, a few extra toys. All untraceable. Fresh off the boat."

I glance around, assessing the stash. Quality gear, no doubt. "Nice haul," I say, giving a nod of approval.

G moves in, examining one of the rifles more closely. His expression remains neutral. Can't look too impressed or the price will get bumped. These mercenaries don't give a fuck about honour among thieves. It's straight-up money, money, money. "Looks good," he mutters.

"Good isn't good enough," Samson says with a chuckle. "Only the best for you boys."

"Alright," I say, cutting to the chase. "Let's talk numbers."

Samson leans in, lowering his voice so only we can hear. "Fifty grand for the lot. Special price for old friends."

I raise an eyebrow. It's steep but fair, given the quality and our need to stay off the radar. "Done," I say without hesitation.

Samson's grin widens as he slaps me on the back. "Always a pleasure doing business with you Gannons. You know what the fuck you want and that's it."

Grinning back at him, I snap my fingers to Sinclair, who has shown up with Tank, our distribution guy.

Samson, not a small guy by any stretch of the imagination, gives Tank one look and raises his bushy eyebrow. "You're a big'un, aren't you?" he says with a laugh.

Tank grunts at him, a man of few words. He prefers to talk with his dinner plate sized fists.

Sinclair silently hands me a stainless steel briefcase, and I pop it open, revealing neatly stacked bundles of cash. Samson's eyes light up as he counts the money with an expert eye. He nods appreciatively, and I motion for Tank and Sinclair to start loading onto the back of their van. When they're finished, I grab Sinclair and haul him off to the side.

"You need to tell me whatever you know about the Reapers."

"Honestly, not much. Your dad, along with the other bosses, got word of them a few weeks back. It was weak intel, just a small faction looking to make waves. When they hit Dunsany, it wasn't expected. And Norwich was…"

"Was what?" I growl when he pauses and looks around nervously.

"Not a random attack."

"Who were they after?" I grit out.

"Not here," he says.

"Sinclair. You are testing my fucking patience, which is about as notoriously non-existent as Oisin's. So if you don't start talking, I'm going to cut your tongue out before I shove it up your ass."

He licks his lips and looks at G, hovering nearby, looking menacing. Not that it's hard for him not to. He has that stance, that attitude that screams, don't-fuck-with-me.

Sinclair shakes his head. "I'll tell you what you want to know, but seriously, not here. Trust me. You'll know why when I tell you."

Clenching my hands into fists briefly, hearing my knuckles crack, I huff. "If you are fucking with me?—"

"I swear. Tank can handle the arms, I'll come back to the townhouse."

"After you," I say with a slow smile. I will tailgate his ass the entire way back to Tory's so he can't slip out of this conversation. But I get the need for privacy. The wall, the sky, the cars have ears. At least we know Luke sweeps the townhouse frequently enough that there are no bugs where we're going. "Move."

Back in the car, G gives me a curious stare. "You trust him not to do a runner."

"He knows I'm not threatening him, but instead giving him insight into what will happen to him if he doesn't give me what I want."

"Fair enough," he mutters and shuts it for the rest of the way home, where I sit inches from Sinclair's SUV bumper, ensuring he can see me in his rearview every second of the way there.