36. Victoria

The coffee gurglesinto the mug, dark and bitter.

Me too, coffee. Me too.

The steam rises like whispers from the dark liquid as I pick the cup up. The townhouse is still; even the walls seem to hold their breath, waiting for the next move.

The doorbell goes, and I jump a mile, spilling coffee on the counter. “Fucking hell,” I mutter.

My dad, followed closely by Cian with a masked expression, strides in, his presence like a storm cloud snuffing out the morning light. Cian’s gaze flickers from me to him, and then he’s gone, leaving us alone in the charged silence.

Great. Thanks for that, asshole.

“Victoria,” Dad’s voice cuts through the air, sharp as a blade.

“Again?” My voice is flat, a blade laid bare on the cutting board between us. “You were only here a few days ago.”

He stands near the island, his eyes cold as they flick over my shoulder to where the guys’ jackets are slung over chairs, their phones and keys strewn across the counter like discarded poker chips. So much for keeping tidy. They’re pigging this place up like nobody’s business. This is going to go south quickly, I’m convinced. His visits are never for pleasantries, always for power plays. The coffee cup in my hand feels like a grenade without a pin.

He doesn’t answer; he just narrows his eyes further, scrutinising every inch of my space as if searching for cracks he can pry open. It’s like he can smell the scent of the guys lingering in the air, mixed with the dark roast, and it pisses him off.

“Interesting company you keep these days,” he finally spits out. “Your loyalty seems to have shifted.”

I keep my face still. “Family first,” I shoot back. “Always. Cian and I aren’t new.”

He gestures around the kitchen with a sneer. “Not just Cian.”

“Are you keeping tabs on me?” I ask shrilly, my temper rising with each word that comes out of his mouth.

His laugh is cold and hollow. “You acted surprised. You are my legacy, Victoria. You will keep in line. Cavorting with all these men is not a good look.”

“Men.” My grip on the coffee cup is tight enough to turn my knuckles white. “I’m not cavorting. These men have my back.”

“Ah, but every move you make says otherwise. You’ve always been too reckless for your own good.” The way Charles says it, it’s like he’s spitting out dirt. He isn’t my dad this morning. He’s the Stroud family boss on a mission to do something. Fuck knows what? But he is pissing me off. The unfortunate thing about this is that I can’t play him at his own game. I’m good. I learned from him, but he is still the master, and I’m a puppet on his string.

So, all I do is glare at him and drop my gaze. I’m too anxious to do this today. He is going to push me into saying something I will regret. I can feel it in my bones.

“You’re not untouchable.”

“Neither are you,” I snap back, meeting his glare head-on.

“Remember who you are, Victoria,” he says, but it sounds more like a threat than a reminder. “Remember your place.”

“Or what?” I ask, staring him down. “You’ll disown me? Cast me out?”

“Hardly, but I need to know your head is still in this game. Our game. Not that of these men. They may be tight here, but they are each next gen, just like you. They will lead their own families one day. Hell, one of them even does already. Do you think he will choose you over a Gannon? Hmm?” he murmurs, and the darkness in his eyes hits at that bruised spot the stalker has punched into my soul, and it affects me more than I’d care to admit.

My hands don’t shake. Coffee sloshes over the rim of my cup as I set it down, hard, on the kitchen counter. Charles doesn’t even flinch.

“Your little games end now,” he says.

“Games?” My voice cuts through the tension, sharp as broken glass. “I’m not playing any games. This is my life, and I’m going to live it how I see fit. I will never lose my loyalty to you or this family, but right now, you are making it very hard to like you.”

He glowers at me, but his eyes soften. “Ouch. You know how to fire a shot, don’t you?”

“Learned from you.”

He snickers, and the tension eases a little bit.

“Your lessons taught me well. How to endure. How to survive. How to fight back. I’m not just some girl with a warped sense of fun. I’m the real deal because you made me this way.”

“Is that an accusation?” His voice turns colder, more dangerous.

“Call it a fact.” My voice trembles, but not from fear. Anger simmers beneath my skin, hot and unforgiving. “You shaped me into this. You can’t take it all back.”

“Ungrateful,” he murmurs, but there is a hint of a smile.

My father’s face darkens, his jaw tightens, and I can sense the internal battle raging behind his steely gaze. He has always been a man of few words and emotions, but right now, I can feel the tension radiating from him like a force of nature.

“I never intended to control you,” he finally says, his voice low and deliberate.

“Then why did you push me so hard?” I challenge.

“It was for your own good,” he defends himself. “I wanted you to be strong, to be able to survive in this world.”

“Well, congrats,” I scoff. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“And that’s exactly what worries me,” he snaps back. “You’re reckless, Victoria. You act before thinking, and that puts not only yourself but our family at risk.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I retort, feeling my anger building. “I can handle myself.” He has no idea how calculated every move I make is. To him, it appears reckless, but that’s the fucking point of it all. Appear unhinged to them, and they make mistakes. I’ve seen it time and again.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect our family,” I finally say, looking my father directly in the eye.

His eyes search mine, looking for the lie. Finding none, he nods slowly. “Good,” he says, and there’s a finality in that one word that chills me to the bone.

It hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his expectations and my fears. It’s a constant battle, this dance we do, trying to find a balance between protecting the family and staying true to ourselves.

For as long as I can remember, he has instilled in me the importance of loyalty and family above all else. But sometimes, it feels like those values are tested when our world is ruled by violence and deception.

I push away those doubts and focus on the present moment. My father is not one for idle conversation, so I know that whatever he has to say next must be important.

“Just remember who you are. Act accordingly.”

“Or else?”

“Or else, you will force my hand, and that won’t end well for anyone.”

I swallow the threat, letting it sit heavy in my gut. He’s right, and we both know it. The Stroud name isn’t one to be taken lightly—it’s a legacy drenched in blood and ambition.

He seems satisfied with the silent promise of my obedience as I nod once, sharply for now.

“Victoria, watch your back with those boys. In our world, love is a liability.”

Love? No, not love. Lust maybe. A dangerous game, for sure. I shake off my father’s warnings and shove them into a corner of my brain where I can deal with them later.

For now, I need to prepare to go about my day like an ordinary girl with nothing to fear, no legacy to uphold, just me and my university classes ahead.

“By the way, an old friend will be visiting campus soon,” he says. “Make him welcome, okay?”

My blood runs cold, and I freeze to the spot. Does he mean Asher Quinn? He is no friend of mine, but did he mean his?

“Everything okay?” he asks, noticing my sudden change from fierce mafia princess to a deer in headlights impersonation.

“Always,” I say, forcing a smile.

He nods stiffly and then turns to leave the kitchen, his footsteps echoing with authority as he leaves me to grapple with the bomb he just dropped.

Danger has a name, and it goes by Asher Quinn. If Dad knows he is here, then that means it is all above board, and when he inevitably ends up dead by my hand or Cian’s, whoever gets to him first, the consequences will be far-reaching.

Maybe it’s time to come clean to my dad. Maybe all these years, keeping it a secret was a mistake. But the very real horror of not being believed, which is what stopped me in the first place, lingers, and I’m not sure I can go through that. So the instinct screaming at me to call my dad back gets ignored as I pick up my mug and sip my coffee, staring out the window into the abyss.