37. Cian

Alone in theliving room of Victoria’s townhouse, my body feels heavy with rage and betrayal. Memories of violence and death swirl in my mind, a constant reminder of the brutal reality of this world. Trust is a luxury I can’t afford, as every alliance is a potential betrayal waiting to happen. Soon, another ghost will be added to the haunting gallery of my mind - Victoria’s abuser, still out there breathing free while I plot his downfall for daring to touch what belongs to me.

I can feel it in my bones, the collision course set from the moment she told me what happened. I can almost taste the violence that’s coming. It’s sour, it’s metallic—it’s necessary. There’s no court in this world that will give her justice like the kind I’ll deliver. A judge with a gavel’s got nothing on a man with a mission and a knife in his hand.

This is the life I lead. It’s dark alleys and darker deeds. It’s knowing that some stains don’t wash out, and some debts are paid in blood. When it comes to Victoria, when it comes to making sure that bastard pays for every tear she shed, for every night she woke up screaming—there’s no line I won’t cross.

She thinks I don’t, but I see her sometimes, trying to stitch herself back together, putting on a brave face. But the mask slips. Each moment she feels fear is like a knife twisting in my gut, reminding me that justice delayed is justice denied.

The whiskey waits on the side table in a fancy crystal decanter. The packaging makes no difference. It all burns as it goes down, but it’s a candle to the inferno inside me. I lift the cut glass to my lips and drink straight from it. The darkness of this life, the one I was born into and the one I’ll die leading, is a shadow that stretches over everything I touch. But you don’t get to choose the hand you’re dealt, you just play it the best you can.

Footsteps echo past the living room, pulling me back to the present. Charles, Victoria’s dad, is leaving. I didn’t hear shouting, so I guess whatever it was went okay. I wanted to stay, to linger and protect her, but I forget sometimes she doesn’t need it, especially from Charles. That man would massacre a ten-thousand-strong army to defend her. Deep down, okay, well, not that deep; I hope she knows I would, too. Me leading the Gannon family now must be causing her to question my loyalty to her, but there is nothing I wouldn’t do for her. If it came down to a Gannon versus her, I would choose her, every single fucking time.

Does that make me a shit mafia boss to my family? Probably. But it sure as fuck feels right. The only option I find acceptable. I would lose my family for her. Hands down, no contest. The reason behind that is skewed, warped. I want to make her part of my family. I want to slide a ring onto her finger and give her my name, make her mine in ways that she can never fault.

My fingers twitch, restless on the cold glass of the decanter. The room is still, too silent, like the calm before a storm. It’s in these quiet moments that my mind wanders, strays to places it has no right to go.

A kid. The thought flits through my mind, unexpected and free. I imagine a little being untouched by the muck that stains my own life—joy and innocence, not the weight of dark legacies.

I can see it now: a child with Victoria’s fiery determination and maybe my eyes, playing in fields far from this urban grime. The life we could provide, all the pledges I could make…

But the image warps and darkens as quickly as a smile fades. My face screws up, revulsion gripping me hard. There’s no escaping this web we’re caught in. Any child of mine will be born into a world where shadows rule, where innocence isn’t spared, just devoured.

The truth seeps in like poison, and I can almost taste it—the same bitterness as the liquor in my hand. How can I dream of wanting these things when I know the cost? How can I wish for purity when all I touch turns tainted?

“Fuck,” I mutter, but it cuts through the silence sharp as a blade. The sickness in my stomach twists tighter. I’ve seen what this life does to people and families. It’s a legacy of violence, a birthright of pain.

The future I dream of seems out of reach; it is just a false hope teasing me. But reality forces me to confront the harsh truth - that things may not change for the better. No matter how much I want to shield them, any child of mine’s fate is already sealed, stamped with the same mark that’s burned into my skin.

Old memories claw their way to the surface, relentless as the tide. A flash of my dad’s cold eyes, the first time he showed me the family business—the blood, the fear. I was just a boy, but that’s the point, isn’t it? The family doesn’t wait for you to grow up. It pulls you in, brands you with its mark early on, a twisted tale of metal and mayhem, it’s what made me. But do I have the right to pass this curse on?

“Can’t fucking do it.” It’s a pipe dream, nothing more.

The silence hangs heavy, and the truth is always lurking, waiting for its moment to pounce. Once you’re in, there’s no escape. There is no exit plan or retirement package for being born a Gannon. It’s a lifelong commitment, with only survival as the goal.

The weight of my family name presses down on me. This is me, this is all I’ll ever be.

Fate. Destiny. Whatever fucked up myth you believe in, this is it for me. I can whine about it, or I can do what I do best and move forward.

I inhale deeply, the kind of breath that fills the lungs to bursting. It’s a line drawn, a marker laid down. I’m done with the wavering and the doubt. My back straightens, shoulders square up against the world. A soldier readying for war.

This is who I am. Cian Gannon. Not just some boy caught in the crossfire. I’m the one calling the shots now. Born into darkness, baptised in blood, I can’t shy away from it. I won’t. There’s no road out, only deeper in. This life demands everything, and I’ll give it—because there is nothing else.

“Here’s to the damned,” I mutter, voice stripped of pretence, and I gulp back the whiskey. The empty room doesn’t echo; it absorbs every syllable, every drop of truth, as if it understands the cost of this twisted crown I wear.

Replacing the decanter, now a few shots lighter, I go to find my girl.

Victoria is still in the kitchen when I find her, her body rigid, something wild and raw in her eyes. She’s not just shaken—she’s a storm about to break.

“Everything okay?” It’s all I need to say. The rest, the screams, the blood and the retribution, they hang between us unspoken. I see it there, reflected back at me in her gaze. This is our world, twisted and dark, where love and hate bleed into one.

Victoria’s face is white as she grips the mug. “I can’t wait, Cian. I won’t.”

I take the mug from her and set it down before I grip her hands in mine, feeling their tremble against my skin. The decision isn’t merely words; it’s life or death binding us together. “Victoria,” I say, my thumb brushing over her knuckles, “You’re my endgame. Fuck the world if it thinks it can take you from me.”

She inhales sharply, stepping closer until her scent surrounds me – a blend of bravery and something subtly sweet and floral. In this moment, it’s her courage that gives me strength. The same courage that will guide us through this shitshow.

“I need your word, Cian,” she whispers against my lips before our mouths meet, fierce and demanding. This isn’t just a kiss; it’s an oath sealed in desperation and desire.

My arm snakes around her waist, pulling her even closer as our bodies press together.

She’s a fierce blend of heat and cold, a storm cloaked in smooth silk. I won’t let go of her, not without a fight.

“Always,” I mutter. “You don’t ever have to doubt that. You know that, don’t you?”

I know my words aren’t enough, not when the world we inhabit is so uncertain and volatile. But I need her to know – she’s the one thing in my life that I can count on.

A small smile tugs at her lips, a hint of vulnerability in her gaze. “I do,” she says.

I cup her face in my hand, thumb rubbing gently over her cheekbone. She’s beautiful, fierce and strong and everything I never knew I needed until she came crashing into my life with her fist in my face.

“I’ll always be here for you, Victoria,” I say, hoping the sincerity of my tone conveys everything I feel.

She nods, understanding passing between us without words. This may be our reality – a life filled with darkness and danger – but we have each other, and that’s all that matters.

“I love you,” she whispers before pressing her lips to mine again.

“I love you.” Nothing else needs to be said. She has given me what I need to keep fighting.