3. Cian

I’m pacingthe living room, phone pressed to my ear, as Victoria gets herself together. The sight of that fucking doll has flipped a switch inside me. It’s one thing to cross me, another entirely to threaten what’s mine—and make no mistake, she is fucking mine.

The doorbell chimes, and I break off to glare at it. Striding over, hanging up the phone, I yank it open to find myself face-to-face with Victoria’s dad, Charles Stroud. It’s not hard to see where she got her looks from as he glares down at me with those icy eyes. It pisses me off. I’m six feet, so being looked down on is not something I’m used to. He gives me as scathing a glare as I’m giving to him. There is no love lost between us.

“Gannon,” he sneers. “Why do I always find you here at odd hours?”

Giving as much sneer back as possible, I reply, “Maybe because you always show up at odd hours.”

He snorts, I want to say with humour, but I know Charles better than that. I wouldn’t say he hates me, but, yeah, he hates me. I don’t think it’s personal, our families get along fine—as fine goes in the mafia world—but it is all down to me dating his daughter.

Dating.

Fucking obsessed, one hundred per cent in love with her.

Whatever.

He shoves past me and enters the house, adjusting the cuffs on his black Hugo Boss suit. It’s like a fucking uniform for these bosses. My dad is the same. I shut the door and lean against it, watching him as he pauses in the entrance hall and looks around.

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs.”

My phone buzzing in my hand draws his attention when I don’t answer it. “Something important?”

“Nope.” No fucking way am I telling him about the box. That’s for Tory, if she wants to, which I’m pretty sure she won’t.

Charles simply nods, as if he’s already assessed the weight of my lie and deemed it unimportant or more likely, something to throw back in my face at a later date. He heads toward the kitchen with an authoritative saunter that is as casual as it is deadly. Before he disappears from view, he turns, fixing me with a look that’s part challenge, part warning.

“Next time I show up, don’t fucking be here, or you’ll have more than just me to answer to,” he says.

“I’ll try,” I say with a smirk, but I take that threat seriously. I’m not a fucking idiot. His enforcer will chop my head off and simply deal with every Gannon in the country who comes after him. The Butcher of Barnsdale has a reputation for a reason. But fuck that—let him come. I’m not about to let threats push me around, especially not in my own territory.

I watch Charles disappear into the kitchen and I pull out my phone again, dialling Luke’s number. The call connects, and I don’t bother with pleasantries.

“Luke, we’ve got a fucking problem,” I start, my voice low and dangerous. “Someone sent Victoria a message.”

I hear the soft click of a keyboard stopping mid-stroke—a Luke signature—before his voice, flat and calm, comes through. “What kind of message? And is it really bad, or just the usual mafia bullshit?”

“Not sure. But it’s creepy and a bit fucking gross. A fucking scorched doll that looks like her in a box with dead roses and maggots.”

“Maggots? Oh, fuck, no!”

His tone makes me snort. “Yeah, seriously fucked up. I know she’s a stubborn bitch, but I want cams up today.”

He blows out a breath. “She’s not going to like that one bit. You know how she is.”

Yeah, I fucking know. A badass motherfucker who can take care of herself, but this is different. I can feel it in my guts somehow. It’s personal. Not getting back at Daddy, nah. This is about her and any cunt who wants to mess with my girl, messes with me. But then my eyes land on the door to the kitchen, and a sinister smile crosses my face.

“Don’t worry about that. I think I have the right way to convince her.”

There’s a pause on the line, and then Luke replies, “Fine. I’m on it. But if I turn up there and she shoots me, I’m blaming you.”

“Please do,” I murmur. “Where is Gianluca?”

“The Fixer is fixing.”

“Fixing what?”

“Princely business. The heir apparent is currently trying to prevent civil war in his country.”

My eyes narrow. “Oh? He left to go to Esteria?”

“Nope, he’s on a video call.”

I can’t suppress the burst of laughter. “A video call?”

“Yeah, well, whatever works. I mean, you can’t make this fucking stuff up, and what a great ad that would make. Preventing coups by Zoom.”

We chuckle together for a second, but then I sober up. “Get him on this as soon as he is done preventing a rebellion.”

“Done.”

We hang up, and I pocket my phone. My trust in Luke is absolute; I know he’ll tear down heaven and hell to get shit done. He’s not just my right hand; he’s the fucking mastermind who makes things happen without leaving ripples in the water. Gianluca could charm the knickers off a nun and make her think it was her idea. Watching him work his magic is a thing of beauty.

Heading straight to the kitchen, I stop and fold my arms as I give Charles a glare. He looks up from his phone from where he’s perched on a stool at the immaculate, glossy white kitchen island.

“What?” he asks.

“My guy is on his way here to install cams above Victoria’s front door. I need you to convince her it’s non-negotiable.”

His eyes turn shrewd. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you know as well as I do that she needs the layer of security.”

He considers that and knows it’s true. It’s why I came to him. “You don’t think you can convince her?”

“Do you see cams above her front door yet?”

He sneers at my sarcasm, but I don’t back down. Never, ever back down. “Is there a reason why this is now?”

“You’re here, and you are the only one who will convince her.”

He sizes me up. I can see the respect in his gaze, if only for a second, that I’m not the kind of guy afraid to ask for help, especially when it comes to his precious daughter. “Fine.” He goes back to scrolling through his phone.

Raising an eyebrow as I turn to leave, that seemed way too easy.

Victoria walks down the stairs, as I meet her at the bottom, her raven hair swinging loosely, making me want to fist it tightly while I fuck her relentlessly. “Is he here already?”

“You good?” I ask, ignoring her question.

“I’m fine,” she replies with that fire in her eyes that tells me she’s anything but fine. She’s pissed off, ready to tear someone apart with her bare hands if she has to. Even in jeans and a tank top, Victoria Stroud is fiercely stunning.

“Where is he?”

“Kitchen.”

“Why at this godforsaken hour?” she mumbles.

“To catch you on the back foot. Get on the front and get there quickly.” I grasp her arm lightly as she passes and kiss the top of her head. “You’ve got this, killer.”

She pulls away from me and stalks to the kitchen, greeting her dad brightly.

I follow because there’s no fucking way I’m missing this showdown, plus I’m interested in what brings him here so urgently.

“You’re getting cameras installed today,” Charles says, not beating about the bush. I stifle my chuckle. It’s the only way with Tory.

“Huge pass. I don’t need babysitting,” she snaps at him, her hands on her hips. “And I don’t need my every move tracked by you and…” she turns to give me a vicious glare. “You.”

“It’s not about babysitting,” Charles retorts. “And who gives a fuck where you go and with whom. It’s about being smart.”

There’s a tense silence that fills the room as they lock gazes—the same stubborn glare shared by father and daughter. It’s like watching two panthers ready to pounce.

But Victoria isn’t one to back down easy. She stares right back at him, every inch the defiant daughter of a powerful man. “Being smart is my fucking speciality, Dad. Don’t play the protective card now.”

I step in before this escalates into something uglier. “This isn’t about control. It’s about shit hitting the fan and us being ready to wipe it off before it splatters all over the damn place.”

“Jesus,” Charles mutters at my shit analogy, which is gross, but accurate. “With those cameras up, we can keep a better eye on things. It’s precautionary.” He looks at her the way only a father who’s seen too much can look at his daughter.

Victoria chews on her lower lip for a moment before giving a curt nod. “Ugh! Fine. Whatever. I dislike this ganging up on me bullshit you two have going on. Quit it. Now.”

“Gladly,” Charles mutters and dismissively waves at me. Whatever he wants to talk to Victoria about is private, and I’m not invited. Turning on my heel, I stride out of the kitchen and head up to her bedroom to wait for her.