29. Victoria

I wake up,cold air biting at my cheeks. Pushing the covers back, my nipples peak at the chill as I pick up my phone. It’s only 4:30 AM, but I’m awake. A body shifts next to me in the bed, and I glance over.

Cian moves slowly, his arm a band of steel around my waist. I move, and his eyes snap open, dark and intense. “You going down?” he murmurs.

“Need coffee,” I murmur, feeling the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

“Cover up.” It’s not a suggestion. Cian watches me, a predator. One corner of his mouth quirks up as if he knows exactly what effect he has on me. He always does.

I reach for the black satin robe at the foot of the bed, my fingers brushing against the fabric. It’s cold in here, colder than a grave. Pulling the robe over my shoulders, the smooth material glides over my bare skin. It’s like a whisper, all soft and deceptively comforting. Still, it can’t chase away the chill that’s settled deep into my bones that this stalker has thrust upon me.

Padding barefoot across the floor, I leave Cian sprawled in bed, his chest rising and falling with the steady breath of the still-sleeping. The house is quiet as a crypt, but something prickles at the back of my neck as I take the stairs slowly.

The kitchen light is on, and I hear a muffled voice.

Gianluca’s on the phone, his back to me. He speaks Italian, low and urgent, words flowing like rapid gunfire. There’s an intensity to him, coiled and ready to strike, even with the murmur of his tone as he holds a mug in one hand, his phone on speaker on the counter. I know little of his real world. He’s one of us, yes, but there are shadows in him that we haven’t even seen.

His gaze finds me, and he pauses, swiping the phone off as he hangs up. There’s a flash in his eyes—something fierce and unspoken. I wrap the robe tighter around myself, feeling suddenly exposed under his gaze, though he says nothing.

“Morning,” I say, my voice a low rasp. It’s all the greeting I’ll give him. I need that coffee, now more than ever.

Gianluca’s stare pins me to the spot, thick with things unsaid. His eyes are dark pools, curiosity and want etched into every glance. “Victoria.”

The way he says my name, makes me groan inwardly and turn from him to the coffee machine.

Grabbing a pod, I place it in and hit the button; a rich, dark aroma floods the room. It’s a scent that promises sanctuary, a fleeting peace in the chaos we’ve woven around ourselves. I watch the black liquid drip, steady and sure.

Gianluca’s gaze is heavy on me.

“Why did you let me touch you yesterday if you don’t like to be touched?” His tone is full of confusion, a need for understanding—raw and open.

I freeze, the coffee forgotten. My pulse thuds erratically. My eyes dart to him, then away. It’s a tightrope walk between yes and no, want and should not. The kitchen shrinks, the walls inching closer.

“Sometimes...” I start, my voice trailing off. I don’t owe him explanations, and I don’t owe anyone. My throat tightens around words I can’t form, won’t form. He watches me, waiting. “Sometimes things change,” I murmur. That’s it. That’s all. Emotions swarm like bees in my chest, stinging with every breath.

He steps closer, a silent question hanging between us. I turn back to the coffee, hands shaking lightly as I lift the mug to my mouth.

“I can’t pretend anymore.”

The weight of his stare pins me to the spot. I swallow, throat dry.

“Yesterday,” he continues, and there’s a tremor, something like fear—or is it hope?—in his tone. “Yesterday wasn’t nothing for me.”

The words hang heavy in the air, thick with meaning. His confession feels like a blade—sharp, unexpected, dangerous. I should look away; I don’t.

“Say something,” Gianluca pleads, and the desperation in his voice claws at my insides, shocking me that this cool, confident Prince is begging me to give him relief from a situation I don’t even understand.

“I can’t.” The words are a whisper, a ghost of a sound. My hands are steady, but inside, it’s havoc, fierce and relentless.

“Victoria...” His hand reaches out, hovering inches from my arm, a silent plea for connection.

“Stop,” I cut him off, sharper than I intended. “Just stop.”

His hand drops, and the air between us shifts, charged with words unsaid. Every choice has its price. Cian, Luke, this thing with Gianluca—it’s a house of cards, ready to collapse with one wrong move.

“Understand this,” I say, turning to face him fully now, “what you want, what I want—it doesn’t matter. We play the hand we’re dealt.”

“Even if it’s a losing hand?” The challenge in his eyes is unmistakable.

“Especially then.” I take a sip of the coffee, let the bitterness ground me. It’s safer this way. For all of us.

“Then we lose together,” he murmurs, and it’s almost a concession.

“Maybe.” The word echoes between us, a maybe that feels like a noose tightening around our necks.

He steps closer, close enough that I can see the heat in his eyes—the same heat that’s got us caught up in this mess.

“Complicated doesn’t begin to cover this,” he says, and it’s like he’s read my mind.

“Understatement,” I shoot back, the corner of my mouth twitching in a semblance of a smile that feels more like a grimace.

“Tell me to leave then,” he whispers, and there’s a crack in his iron composure.

I should shove him away, put miles of cold air between us. But instead, I lean back a fraction, a silent dare. His hand finds my waist, a brand through the satin robe. Heat blooms where his thumb strokes my skin. It’s madness, this pull between us.

“Fuck,” I breathe out, closing my eyes against the onslaught of sensation. This is wrong.

“Go,” I manage, pushing against his chest. The lie of it burns my throat.

He steps back, and the loss of his heat leaves me hollow. We’re two magnets repelling, our connection severed by an invisible force.

“Scars,” he says, his voice barely above a growl. “We’ll just end up with more fucking scars.”

“Better than lies.” My voice is a whip-crack in the stillness.

He nods once, sharp, a soldier acknowledging the battlefield before him.

“War then,” Gianluca states, a grim promise hanging in the air.

“War,” I echo, and every cell in my body knows it’s true.

This isn’t love or lust; it’s a fight for survival. In the end, we’re all damned. But as I watch him walk away, regret wraps around my heart, tight enough to choke. I head out of the kitchen and come up short when Cian is lingering, eyes narrowed.

He saunters closer, and I can smell the danger on him. His eyes flick toward the kitchen. Cian’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a shift in energy around him—a gathering storm promising ruin or revelation. “Tell me again if you’re sure about starting something with Luke.”

“I am.” There is no hesitation. There doesn’t need to be. “If you’re on board.”

He smiles at my addition. Slow, sexy and in the way where he knows he’s in control. “Then so be it.”

We stare at each other. “So be it?”

He nods and slips past me to the coffee maker.

“How?”

“However you want, Tory. This is your thing, not mine.”

“What if I want the three of us together.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Really?” I don’t trust this.

He faces me with an amused smile. “Really.”

Cian leans in, a whisper of danger and promise. “You want depravity? I’ll give you fucking depravity.” His hand snakes around my waist, rough and unyielding. The heat from his body sears through the thin robe, branding me with his intent. “But remember, Victoria,” he breathes against my ear, sending shivers down my spine, “once we start this game, there’s no going back.”

I nod, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free. I feel the edge of the precipice beneath my feet, the void beckoning with open arms. “I know.”

His lips trace a path down my neck as he murmurs, “Let’s see how far you’re willing to fall then.” He steps back abruptly, leaving me bereft of his touch. His eyes lock onto mine—dark oceans threatening to drown me.

The challenge hangs heavy in the air. It’s maddening, this dance of shadows and secrets we’re all entangled in. Luke’s image flickers across my mind—those piercing green eyes that seem to see right through me, that calm exterior that somehow riles me up more than it should.

A shiver runs through me as I consider what I’m about to do—what we’re about to do. Cian watches me with an unreadable expression as I weigh the cost of this dark tryst we’re proposing.

“Thank you,” I murmur and duck out because I don’t want to give him an opportunity to backtrack. I head back upstairs to get showered and changed. I have early classes today, and I want to be out of this house to see if the stalker makes his next move, even with the guys here.

“Your hand, asshole.”