10. Callum

The first sliverof moonlight cuts across the hotel room, and I watch Vogue as she lies on the couch, still lost in sleep. Her chest rises and falls with a rhythm that screams calm, but everything's about to change. She doesn't know yet who her old man really is, what he does, or how deep his roots tangle with The Crowned Syndicate.

"I'm telling her," I murmur to other guys, not giving a shit that I'm about to break protocol in the biggest way possible. However, today's shooting changed everything. It changed the game, and we don't know for sure if they were after Quen. For all we know, they were after Vogue, and she needs to be aware of what is going on around her. Secrets are all fun and games until someone gets hurt, and when that person is Vogue Jameson, the stakes are too high to fuck about.

Quentin shifts uncomfortably by the window. Harrison's brows knit together like he wants to jump in and stop me, while Thayer just stands there, arms crossed, the picture of silent disapproval.

"Not a great idea, Cal," Thayer says.

"We have no choice. For all we know, she's been made, which means she needs to be up to speed and on board before sunrise."

"This is breaking every rule in the fucking book," Harrison says.

"I'm aware, Captain Obvious," I snap. "But if you're worried about this coming down on you, don't fret your pretty, little head. I'll man up and take responsibility."

"Someone's going to have to," Quen mutters. "But I agree, she needs to know what's going down."

With that decided, I waste no more time. "Vogue," I say, my voice steady as I sit on the coffee table in front of her. "There's something you need to know."

She stirs, blinking up at me, unaware of the world's weight yet. But she will—in seconds—because I'm about to drop it on her.

"Hmm?" She looks around at the four guys all staring at her and sits upright, her hair a tumble around her shoulders, her eyes like molten chocolate, alert and wary. "What's wrong?" she asks, running her hands through the dark waves, momentarily distracting me.

"Your father," I start, no fluff, no soft landing. "Aaron McGowan. He is high up in The Crowned Syndicate. It is a large mafia family with ties all over the UK and Europe."

"What?" She shakes her head. "What are you talking about?"

"All this," I press on, needing to get it out now I've started. "All of us, we are part of the mafia, and you are too."

Her eyes go wide, so wide I can see the whites around the iris. She clutches at the blanket like it's the last solid thing in the world. It might be, for her, after this.

"I still don't follow. My father? I don't even know who he is."

"Aaron McGowen. He is The Crowned Syndicate."

Vogue blinks. "What?"

"You are mafia royalty, Vogue. He has power—lots of it." I keep my voice low, trying not to sound like the harbinger of doom, even though that's exactly what I am right now. "He plays a big game—dangerous stuff, and now, because of him, you're in play, too."

"Me?" She laughs, but there's no humour in it, just sharp edges. "I'm nobody. Just a girl from Westfield."

‘Nobody' isn't a word that applies to her—not anymore. She might hail from a modest background, but she's got a legacy, whether she likes it or not—a legacy written in blood and secrets. I see it—the way her mind races, how she tries to put together the pieces of a puzzle she never knew she was part of.

"Callum, why are you telling me this?" Her face is a mess of emotions, the kind of chaos that comes from having your reality ripped out from under you.

"Because you need to know. You have to understand what you're up against. What we're up against."

Harrison makes a noise like he's about to protest, but one look from me cuts him off. This isn't a debate. It's the cold, hard truth, served up raw and unflinching.

"Callum..." Vogue trails off, her voice thin, her gaze fixed on some point far away. "This is... it's too much. How do you know all of this about that asshole, and I don't?"

"I know everything." I sit next to her, giving her space but close enough to be a presence. "But we don't get to choose our battles, Vogue, or our family."

Now, there's a battle ahead, one I've been born into, and she's been thrust into. It's ugly, brutal, and waits for no one. For Vogue, the fight has just begun.

I reach out, my hand brushing against hers. "We've been looking out for you," I say, my voice steady. "From the shadows, without you knowing. Not us, but the Syndicate," I explain.

She flinches at the contact, eyes snapping to mine. The vulnerability is raw and unguarded. "Looking out for me?" Her voice is sharp, the pitch climbing with every word. "Is that what you call it? Watching from a distance while my whole life turns out to be some sick joke?"

"Vogue, it's not like that." My fingers tighten on her hand, willing her to understand. "It's complicated. Your father?—"

"Stop." She shoves my hand away, her own shaking. "Just stop. My father?" She laughs again, but it's bitter and painful. "You mean the man who left me and my mum to fend for ourselves? Who never so much as sent a birthday card? A man whose name I didn't even know until you vomited it all over me the second I woke up?"

"Okay, gross," I point with a soft laugh. "And I know. I'm sorry this is a lot but today changed things. Aaron has his reasons—" I start, trying to sound reasonable.

"Reasons?" Vogue stands up, pacing like a caged animal. "What reasons could possibly justify this? Why didn't he tell me? Why did he leave us alone, let me believe we were nothing, that I was nothing?"

"Vogue..." I get up too, aware of Quentin's stare drilling into me, Harrison's frown, Thayer's quiet presence. But they don't matter right now. Only she does.

"Was it fun for you all?" Each word is a bullet, shot through with betrayal. "Playing guardian angels to the ignorant idiot?"

"It's about protection, about keeping you safe."

"Safe from what?" She stops and turns to face me, her chest heaving with emotion. "From my own family? From who I really am?"

I'm silent because there's no easy answer, but Vogue doesn't do easy. She sees through bullshit like glass, unfortunately, right now, I can't offer her the truth she wants—because it's not mine to give.

"Vogue, please." My voice breaks through the tension between us. "You have to believe me. We wanted to shield you as long as we could."

"By lying?" Her eyes are blazing, her spirit as untameable as fire. "By letting me live a lie?"

"Because sometimes," I take a step forward, close enough to feel the heat of her skin, "the lie is safer than the truth. Aaron didn't want this life for you. He tried to keep the dirty and dangerous separate from what he hoped would be your normal life."

"Normal?" Vogue echoes, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. She rubs at her temples like she's trying to wipe away the confusion. "You call this normal?"

"Compared to what could've been? Yeah, I do." My hands clench at my sides because the urge to reach out to her is strong, but restraint is necessary—she needs space. "He wanted you to have a shot at something better, something clean."

"Better?" Her voice breaks, and she looks up at me, her gaze searching mine as if the answers might be written there.

"I know it's hard to wrap your head around. But you were always going to find out, one way or another. Today just forced the situation to a head and you are being inevitably pulled in."

"And what does ‘inevitably pulled in' mean, Callum?"

"You're his blood, Vogue." I watch her face, trying to gauge her reaction. "And blood, it pulls us in directions we can't always control."

"Directions..." She trails off, frowning like she's piecing together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. "Does my mum even know any of this? Or has she been telling the truth the whole time by saying he left us because he couldn't hack the responsibility?"

"You would have to ask her that. As for the rest… you will have to ask your dad."

"Dad," she scoffs. "He's not my dad."

Sighing, I accept her anger. She is confused and upset. "I'm just trying to be honest with you. So you understand why things are the way they are."

"Understand," she murmurs, more to herself than to me. "Is there even anything to understand anymore?"

"More than you know," I say quietly, reaching out again, my hand wrapping around hers. Her skin's soft and delicate, but I grip it like I'm holding on to something more than just flesh and bone. It's a claim, a silent vow that I'll keep her safe, even though every inch of me screams to pull her close and never let go. "This wasn't easy to decide. But lying to you would have been worse."

Her eyes, wide and drowning in distress, lock onto mine as I hold her hand. She doesn't pull away, but the tremble in her fingers tells me she's teetering on the edge of breaking down.

Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper, "Why couldn't you just leave me out of this? I don't want any part of this mafia crap. I can't even believe I'm saying this out loud, for fuck's sake!" Her voice rises again in anger.

"Because it's not just about what we want," I say gently, trying to keep the rawness from my tone. "It's about what is, and what is, Vogue, is that you're in danger whether you know it or not, whether you want it or not. That shooting today, we can't say for sure they were after Quentin."

Her free hand clenches as she brings it up to her mouth, knuckles whitening as if she's fighting a battle within herself.

"Being left alone was never an option," I add, the truth bitter in my mouth. "Not with your blood, not with your father's enemies lurking in the dark. We needed to step in before they did."

"Enemies..." she murmurs, her voice trailing off into the silence of the room.

"Yeah, and we're going to face them, one way or another."

"I don't know my father," she spits out, her voice hard and cold. "And I don't plan to. You and your secrets, your inevitabilities, you can shove them all up your asses." She glares at the other guys, but there is nothing anyone can say. I made a decision to tell her for her own safety.

Her fury doesn't scare me; it's a fire that tells me she's alive, kicking against a fate she didn't choose.

But the words are out now, and there is nothing for it but to keep moving forward and hope to fuck Aaron doesn't string me up and peel my skin off inch by inch for telling her.