33. Victoria

Petal.

No. Shaking my head, I refuse to believe this. It can’t be. It’s not. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.

I exhale sharply, my breath fogging up the glass further, obscuring the black letters. Heart jackhammering in my chest, I wipe at the message furiously. It smears but doesn’t dissolve; it’s not some trick of the mind—it’s real.

Panic scratches at the back of my throat like claws. I don’t let it out. Can’t let it out. Because that name, that fucking pet name... it’s from a ghost I buried deep.

My sanctuary has been breached, and with it, the illusion of control shatters.

The darkness descends, and my stomach lurches. I throw up in the toilet, a vile mix of coffee and the sandwich I ate at lunchtime.

Straightening up, I flush and stagger to the sink, clutching it in a death grip as I stare at the words written in blood. This can’t be happening. Not now, not after everything I’ve survived, after every bloody, brutal step I’ve taken to ensure my past doesn’t dictate my future.

When my hands stop shaking enough to be useful, I strip down and step into the shower. The scalding hot water is a baptismal fire, an attempt to cleanse this new sin from my skin.

By the time I’ve scrubbed every inch of myself raw, my mind is whirling dervish of thoughts. A mess of sheer terror, rage and something undefinable.

Wrapping a towel around my body, leaving my hair soaking wet and dripping down my back, I open the bathroom door and walk steadily, almost deliberately to the bedroom door. I open it and open my mouth, but no words come out.

I try again. “Cian,” I rasp, then louder, “Cian!”

The sound of my own voice jolts me back into reality. Cian is at my side in an instant from the room next door, the other two men just a step behind.

“What’s wrong?” Cian’s voice is rough with urgency, his blue eyes searching mine for answers I’m not sure I can give.

“There’s a message...” My voice trails off as I realise the futility of trying to explain with mere words. Instead, I grab Cian’s hand and pull him towards the bathroom.

Luke and Gianluca follow, knowing I’m rattled. They peer at the mirror, where the message smears like a scar across its surface.

“Who?” Gianluca asks, no trace of his usual charm in his tone.

“Not sure,” I lie, teeth clamped down on my lower lip so hard I taste blood. The name it evokes is one I swore never to utter again.

Luke’s got his phone out already, tapping rapidly. “I’ll check the security feeds,” he says with that steel-edge calm that both reassures and infuriates me. He doesn’t wait for permission; he’s already moving, leaving us grappling with the implications of these words.

“We need answers,” Cian declares, sounding every bit the mafia heir that he is. “Now.”

“They were in here,” Gianluca says. “While we were out, they came in here. A move so bold, we cannot fight this lying down.”

“But if we don’t know who the fuck it is, what are we supposed to do,” Cian grits out, glaring at me.

“We find the fuck out. Whatever it takes. This has gone way past surveillance and into the bait and trap territory.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“Agreed,” Cian says at the same time. He gives me that glare again. “Agreed with Gianluca. We need to trap this fucker so fast, his head will spin quicker than the fucking Exorcist.”

“Urgh!” I snap but then shake my head. This is going to end in disaster. You don’t trap my godfather. He traps you. I need to come clean. I need to tell them with words exactly who we are dealing with, but something terrifying stops me. I realise this is ridiculous because they need to know so they know what we’re up against, but the words just don’t come. The name won’t come.

There is also the tiny, niggling feeling I get that this isn’t him. Why now? Why, after all these years, when he lost interest in me before? Why? Why? Fucking WHY?

“Ahh!” I scream, slamming my hands to my head as the thoughts and the questions won’t stop.

“Victoria!” Cian’s panicked voice filters through the din in my head, but I can’t breathe, the walls are closing in…

His arms are around me in seconds, pulling me against his chest, away from the bathroom door that suddenly feels like a portal to hell. “Breathe,” he orders, and I can only obey, my lungs expanding with sharp, gasping breaths.

“Get her some air,” Cian orders, his voice a low growl of concern. He’s not used to this—not used to seeing me break, not even a crack. This is why I keep him and everyone else at arm’s length. So no one will see this side, this fearful side of me that shows weakness and vulnerability.

I shake uncontrollably, my knees weak as if they’ve been pummelled by a sledgehammer. Cian’s fingers dig into my arms, steadying me.

“The fucker who did this is going to pay,” he swears, his promise slicing through the chaos in my head like a knife through butter. “Luke?”

“He has a key,” Luke says grimly, looking up from his phone. His face swims into view as my eyes zero in on him, trying to focus.

“What?” Cian spits out, rage contorting his features.

And then he does something I have never seen him do before. He reins it in.

“Victoria,” he says calmly. “I know you know who this is. Give me a name.”

“I don’t know. Not for sure,” I mumble, and not even Cian’s grip on me can keep my legs from turning to jelly, forcing me to my knees.

He drops with me. “A guess is a good start.”

My mind is screaming at me to run, to hide to go and never look back but when I force my gaze to meet his, those blue eyes that seduced me, drew me in soften, my shoulders slump.

He knows. I can see it in the way he studies me, his gaze sharpening, the cogs turning. He knows I’m holding back the tide, the dam about to break.

I swallow hard, my throat raw, and as I part my lips, it’s like every demon I’ve ever danced with is clawing at my insides.

Gianluca crouches beside me, his princely poise forgotten, replaced by the raw determination of a man willing to wade through hell for answers. “Cara, we’re blind without it. Tell us so we can fix this,” he urges.

Fix this.You don’t fix this man.

The name finally claws its way up from my throat. “Asher Quinn.”

Silence crashes over us like a tidal wave.

“Asher Quinn,” Cian repeats, venom dripping from each syllable. “That fucking bastard has no idea what he’s just started.”

“He is my father’s friend. My godfather,” I whisper into Cian’s chest, a confession laid bare for the first time. Every muscle in my body tenses as I brace for their reactions, but none comes with judgement. Probably because they don’t know the full story.

“Was,” Gianluca says firmly, standing up now, his eyes ablaze. “Past tense. Permanently.”

Cian helps me to my feet, his touch scorched with a protective fury that sears away some of my dread. “We’ll end him. Painfully. Slowly. Without mercy.”

Luke nods in agreement from where he stands. There’s no backing down; they’ve accepted this mission as theirs. Luke holds his phone out to me to show me a paused feed of a man dressed all in black with a mask, wider than the other guys we’ve seen, taller. Luke presses play and I watch as the man stares directly at the cam as he inserts a key into the door and shoves it open deliberately slowly, for show. Always for show.

But something still doesn’t sit right with me. Does it appear to be Quinn? On the surface, yes. But I can’t shake this gnawing at my insides that there is more to this.

I grab the phone from Luke, my hands steady now as steel. The footage taunts me, a ghost behind a mask. I’ve seen Quinn move, I’ve seen his arrogance and his cruelty. This man’s stride is all wrong, too cautious, too calculated.

“That’s not him,” I say flatly. “It’s a fucking decoy.”

Cian snatches the phone from my hand, and he stares at it, replaying the video with narrowed eyes. “Then we’re back to square one.”

“No,” Gianluca interjects, the accent thickening with his rising ire. “We’re not. He’s playing games, and he’ll slip up.”

Luke’s gaze shifts between us; the strategist is already forming plans. “Whatever, whoever, we need to get the locks changed.”

“And don’t tell your father,” Cian grits out.

My eyes shoot to his. “You think my dad knows about this?” I squeak.

“No,” he says grimly. “But I think your dad has a spare key that he has copied.”

“Oh,” I say flatly. “Yeah, maybe.”

Cian’s jaw is tight as he draws in a sharp breath. “Is this the man who?—”

“Yes.”

“Fucking cunt!” he hisses. “I’ll chop his fucking dick off and shove it down his fucking throat to choke on before I remove his head and shove it up his ass.”

Despite the seriousness of this, I giggle. It’s inappropriate, but the mental image has me choking back a laugh until I can’t anymore, and it explodes into full-on hysteria.

Suddenly, Gianluca stands up and backs away, a look on his face that sobers me instantly. “Did you say Quinn?”

I nod, gulping back the shock, the fear, the tears.

“Wouldn’t happen to be a high-ranking member of the English nobility, would he?”

His face has me extremely concerned. I stand up, using Cian for leverage, and lurch towards Gianluca. He reaches out to steady me as I stumble, but I stare up into his face. “Why? Why are you asking that?”

He lets go of me as Cian takes me from him, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Does he?”

“Yes,” I murmur. “He’s a Marquess.”

“Does he enjoy Medieval European History?”

I blink.

He blinks.

I blink again. “Why?”

“Answer the fucking question, Victoria.”

His tone rushes over me like arctic seawater. “Yes.”

“Son-of-a-bitch!” he roars and shoves his hand through his hair, turning from us.

“What do you know?” Luke asks, the only one of us able to form words in the face of Gianluca’s sheer rage, by the looks of it.

Gianluca turns to me, his face a blank mask now. “He is here, cara.”

I lick my lips. “Here?”

“He is the new History Professor at BlackBriar.”

My world drops out from under my feet, and everything goes black.