22. Victoria

I watch him leave,my shoulders tense, and my heart aches. It's not easy seeing him like this, burdened by so much. The weight of family secrets and the chaos we've been thrust into is consuming all of us, especially him. I turn to the red rose again, its delicate petals hiding dangerous secrets. I bite my lip, wrestling with whether to push harder or just let him have his space. As much as I want to help Cian, there's only so much I can do without him shutting me out completely. The room suddenly feels claustrophobic. It's been invaded too many times. A shudder ripples through me as I glance around but shake it off.

Taking a deep breath, I head downstairs to join the others. The smell of something cooking drifts in from the kitchen—bacon, by the smell of it. My stomach grumbles, and I realise just how long it's been since any of us had a proper meal.

In the kitchen, Gianluca is frying away happily, looking more at home than I've ever seen him. Cooking is his happy place, and I love that for him. Luke is sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through something on his phone. They both look up as I enter.

"Smells good," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

"I figured we needed something that would fill us up. A full English breakfast. Brunch, whatever time it is," Gianluca replies without looking up.

"You making English breakfasts is… interesting," I reply with a smirk, to which he looks up at me and chuckles.

"I know my stuff."

"You sure do," I murmur, getting a bit heated all of a sudden, even as my entire body winces at the thought of being ravaged by them all again so soon.

Luke's eyes dart to me. "Where's Cian?"

"Needed some space," I say softly. "He'll be fine."

"He always says that," Luke mutters but doesn't press further.

"Yeah."

We settle into an uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional clink of utensils and the hissing of the frying pan as Gianluca cooks up a storm. My mind drifts back to Sorcha and her cryptic message. I'm guessing it's her calling card, but why is she calling? Is she looking for trouble, or is she trying to reach out? Either way, I prefer to face my enemies in the, well, face.

Cian reappears, looking marginally more composed, but the shadows under his eyes tell a different story. He slides into a chair next to Luke, who nudges a cup of coffee towards him without a word.

"Thanks," Cian grunts, taking a sip.

Gianluca finishes plating up the brunch and sets it down in front of us. "Eat up," he says, trying to keep things light.

We dig in, the food distracting us from our worries, if only for a moment. The bacon is crispy, and the eggs are perfectly fried. Gianluca really knows his stuff. This domestic scene is almost surreal. But the undercurrent of concern about Sorcha is etched into everyone's features. We are sitting ducks until we know her endgame, but I truly believe waiting for her is the right move. If we start hunting her down, she will bolt like a rabbit, and we will never find her in the underground warren of the mafia world.

"So? Classes?" I mutter, not particularly wanting to go back on campus after all the violence and bloodshed there lately, but I guess we have to attempt to get back to normal. Maybe it will ease Sorcha into a false sense of security if we go about our days like we have no clue who she is.

"You can. I have fixing to do," Gianluca says.

"And I have to speak to my parents," Luke says cryptically.

"About what?" I ask, being nosey.

"You," he says flatly, his eyes betraying nothing.

"Oh," I murmur but have nothing else to say.

We finish our meal in a tense silence, the gravity of our situation hanging over us like a dark cloud.

Gianluca stands and starts clearing the plates, and I help him. He gives me a brief smile, and I feel a bit better about things.

"Guess it's just you and me," Cian mutters, grabbing my hand and dragging me out of the kitchen. "I need you."

"Now?" I ask, wishing I didn't sound so reluctant.

His eyes shoot to mine, and he chuckles darkly. "Not in that way, but I wouldn't say no. I mean, I just need you."

"Oh, phew," I reply with a smile. "I don't think I can cope with another pounding just yet."

"You're so strong, Tory. Look at you."

"Strong is relative. What you see isn't always how I feel inside."

His eyes search mine for a long moment. "I feel that more than you know."

"And that's why we are such a great team. Neither one of us needs the overload of emotional spewage. Is that a word? It should be. We bury our shit and take it out on the fight."

"Just like our daddies taught us."

I snicker at the grim way he says this, but he's right. "Let me go and get dressed in something more appropriate, and then we'll fuck off."

"Okay," he says and waits for me as I scamper up the stairs, eager to get him out of this house and away from his maudlin thoughts for a while.

I toss on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, something comfortable and warm. The chill in my bones has nothing to do with the English winter. My mind is racing as I go through the motions, wondering what Cian is really thinking about Sorcha. Whatever it is, I hope he actually agrees with me that waiting is our best move.

When I get back downstairs, Cian is waiting by the door, his expression grim. "Ready?" he asks, not giving me much time to reply before he heads out.

Joining him, we walk side by side down the driveway. The air is crisp and biting and does nothing to lift our spirits. Students mill about in clusters, their laughter and chatter starkly contrasting with our solemn silence. The normalcy almost feels like an insult.

"Hey, Cian! Wait up!"

We both turn to the guy who shouted, and Cian grins. "Hey, Julian. How's tricks?" They slap palms and shake hands before stepping back.

"Pretty good, but I need a favour."

"What is it?"

Julian glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Can we talk somewhere more private?" His voice is low and urgent.

I look at Cian, who nods slightly. "Sure. Follow us," he says, leading the way towards a small, tucked-away courtyard behind one of the older campus buildings. The worn brick walls and ivy provide a semblance of privacy, though I keep an eye out just in case.

Once we're out of the earshot of others, Julian's relaxed facade vanishes. He's jittery, eyes darting everywhere but at us. "Look, I have this situation," he begins, wringing his hands. "A mate of mine is in deep with some people. They're talking about making an example out of him. Thought maybe you could help?"

Cian crosses his arms, studying Julian intently. "Who exactly are these ‘people'?"

Julian hesitates, then mutters, "Manchester Gannons."

Cian's expression darkens. "Fuck." He pauses with a frown. "Which ones?"

I press my lips together to stifle my snicker. The Manchester Gannons are a rather complicated network, but it's fun trying to figure them out.

Julian looks confused for a second and then shrugs.

"How bad is it?" I ask.

"Bad enough that I'm asking you," Julian says grimly to Cian, ignoring me, which makes me want to flick his forehead to get his attention. But I don't. I behave for once. "Word is they've got a hit planned for tonight."

Cian sighs deeply, rubbing his temples like the weight of the world rests there—and maybe it does for him today. "Alright, I'll handle it," he finally says. "Name?"

Julian's eyes dart to me, then back to Cian. "David Bates. He's my flatmate."

Cian nods, face impassive. I can see the gears turning in his head, evaluating the risk and reward. "Fine. But you owe me."

Julian swallows hard, relief washing over his features. "Anything, mate. Seriously."

"Go back and keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Cian instructs sharply.

Julian scurries off without another word.

We stand there for a beat, and I can almost feel the tension rising off Cian like steam. He runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. When he finally looks at me, there's a spark of something dangerous in his eyes.

"Where to start?" I mutter.

"I'm guessing Ciarán."

I nod knowingly, even though I have to take a moment to think. "Your cousin?"

"They're all cousins. There's like a hundred of us, but yeah, the triplets," he says with a snort as he pulls out his phone, dials a number, and puts it on speaker.

"What do you want, tosser?"

"Ciarán. Always good to talk. What's this thing with some douche named David Bates?"

"That fucker!"

Cian and I exchange a glance at the feminine voice yelling in the background.

"Summer," Cian says. "Hey. You got a problem with this idiot?"

"He fucking grabbed our girl's tits. Caden is about to blow a fucking gasket, and don't even get me started on Cathal," Ciarán spits out.

"You're down here?" Cian asks.

"Yeah, business. Black Sheep."

I purse my lips at the mention of the notoriously dodgy pub. Even for the likes of me. More basic thug than organised crime. It's not a place you want to go if you have any ties to mafia families.

"What are you doing in the Sheep?" Cian asks, his thoughts the same as mine.

Ciarán snorts. "Mind your fucking business, little punk."

Cian's jaw tightens. "You're a cock, you know that."

Ciarán laughs. "Look, forget about David. We're handling it. Cathal wants to rough him up a bit. Nothing permanent. Just a message that'll stick."

I exchange a glance with Cian. This isn't good. Sending a message is one thing, but Cathal has a reputation for taking things too far.

"Ciarán, listen," Cian starts, his voice steady but firm. "David Bates is under my protection now. Julian Thorpe asked me to step in, and I gave my word."

There's silence on the other end of the line, followed by muffled curses and what sounds like shuffling. Summer's voice emerges again, more controlled but still laced with anger.

"He's lucky it's you asking, Cian. Cathal's not going to be happy about this."

Cian sighs, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "I know, and I hate to pull this card, but Bates belongs to BlackBriar, which means he's mine. Just keep away from Bates for now. I'll make sure he pays for what he did."

"Fine. You've got twelve hours," Ciarán says begrudgingly.

"Only need one—" He blinks as the line is cut off. "Fucker." Cian pockets his phone and looks at me, irritation etched on his face.

"That was easier than expected," I say with a half-smile.

"Don't even," he replies. "They won't let this slide without something in return. We'll need to figure out how to make it right without sparking a bigger conflict. Bates is a nobody who thinks he's somebody, probably because he goes here. But he seriously picked the wrong woman to go to war over."

"Is she nice? She sounds nice."

He frowns at me. "Who?"

"Summer," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, yeah, I guess. Only met her once." He shrugs, and that's the end of that. Too bad. I need more mafia women to talk to. Maybe I should get in touch with Eliza and try to forge some sort of friendship there.

"Tory?" Cian snaps and clicks his fingers in front of my face.

"Huh?"

"Let's go."

"Where?"

"To go and rough David up a little bit, enough to appease the triplets."

I follow Cian, my mind racing through the possibilities of how this could end. We walk briskly across campus, a few students giving us strange looks, but they quickly turn away when they see Cian's determined expression. His reputation precedes him; nobody wants to cross paths with him when he's in this mood.

We find David Bates loitering outside a lecture hall. He doesn't see us at first, too busy chatting up some girl who looks thoroughly uninterested. Cian strides over and grabs David by the collar, yanking him forward so he stumbles.

"What the—" David starts, but his words are cut off by the look in Cian's eyes.

"Outside. Now," Cian commands, shoving him towards the door.

David stumbles but follows, mumbling protests under his breath. The girl he was talking to watches with wide eyes and a small smirk. Clearly, this fuckface doesn't know when to quit.

Once we're outside in a secluded area behind one of the buildings, Cian lets go of David and steps back, crossing his arms.

"You know why I'm here?" Cian asks coldly.

David looks around nervously but tries to play it cool. "Look, man, if this is about that girl?—"

"Woman," I cut in sharply, slamming my hand against his chest. This guy has wound me up just by existing. "And you're fucking lucky we're the ones dealing with you and not her men."

David's eyes dart between me and Cian, realising he's cornered. His bravado evaporates, replaced with a flicker of fear. He tries to backtrack, raising his hands defensively. "Alright, alright, I get it. I messed up. Just tell me what you want."

Cian glares at him, unimpressed by the weak apology. "What we want," he says slowly, stepping closer until he's inches from David's face, "is for you to understand the consequences of your actions. You touch a woman without her consent, you pay for those actions."

David swallows hard, nodding quickly. "Got it. Won't happen again."

I roll my eyes at his pathetic display of remorse. Typical dick trying to save his own skin when the heat's on him.

Cian steps back, knowing the protective tigress inside me is all fired up and raring to go. I grab David's wrist and twist it behind his back, pushing him face-first against the wall.

"Let me make one thing clear," I hiss into his ear. "You don't just get a slap on the wrist and go on with your life like nothing happened." I tighten my grip until he winces in pain. "You're going to stay away from Summer and any other woman you think you can intimidate or harass. Understand?"

"Yes! Fucking hell, yes!" David whimpers.

I pull his arm up further, hearing the satisfying pop of a dislocated shoulder. David screams, the sound echoing off the building walls. I release him, and he crumbles to the ground, clutching his arm in agony. But if he thinks that's the end of it, he's sadly mistaken. Grabbing his uninjured arm, I plaster it above his head, pressed against the stone wall behind him and then give his hand a swift kick with my heavy boot, crushing his knuckles as he screams some more. "Do. Not. Touch. A. Woman. Without. Her. Consent," I hiss in his face.

I don't wait for him to reply. Stepping back, I give him a death stare before Cian slams his foot into David's ribs, making him howl.

Grinning at each other, we walk away, feeling a bit lighter now that some pain has been inflicted, but it crashes quickly, leaving me feeling hollow as we pass the hall where I killed Quinn. Cian senses my mood shift and grabs my hand, giving it a kiss before he pulls me in closer. "The queen of BlackBriar strikes again."

"These fuckers need to know it's not okay," I spit out.

"I know. And you will break every last one of them until they learn."

He's right. My own abuse has shaped me into some kind of avenging angel for women in a similar position. I will never stop hurting those men who think this type of behaviour is okay. Never.