The clubhouse buzzes around me, warm and alive and familiar.
And underneath all of it, I can still feel the clock ticking down.
One weekto go.
The room settles back into its usual warmth after Queenie turns away.
Victoria slides into the seat Queenie just abandoned, moving a little more slowly these days as she adjusts to the changing shape of her body. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Just settles in beside me with one hand drifting automatically to her stomach, that tiny unconscious habit she’s picked up lately.
Now and then her fingers brush over the curve of it, and her whole face softens for a second, like she still can’t quite believe this is real.
She looks at me for a moment. Not the sharp, professional look she sometimes has, the one left over from the years of reading people for a living. This one is softer and more direct. “Can I ask you something?” she says, and her voice is gentle enough to be just for me.
“Yeah?”
“How much do you know about the Alliance?” The question lands differently than I expected. I set my coffee cup down carefully. “What Sin has told me, and my personal experience,” I say. “Which is what I need to know to stay safe. Which isn’t the same as the full picture.”
Victoria nods slowly, like this confirms something. “Sin dealt with them before you were ever involved with the club,” she says. She keeps her voice level, informational, the same register she uses when she’s explaining something she’s decided the other person deserves to hear straight. “Last year, it was a significant operation. Detective Rourke, the casino, the sting that put Lorenzo, Dante, and most of the leadership structure in federal custody…” She pauses. “It was supposed to be over.”
Something in my body goes tight.
Not gradually.
Not subtly.
Immediate.
Instinctive.
A wire pulling hard through my spine.
My fingers curl into my palms before I realize I’ve moved them. My lungs forget what they’re doing for half a second, like breathing has become optional and my body hasn’t decided whether to resume.
‘It was supposed to be over.’
I watch her face.
“But?” I say.
The word comes out steadier than I feel.
She exhales through her nose. “But criminal organizations don’t have an off switch. They’re not a person you can arrest and be done with. They’re a structure, and structures absorb the loss of their leadership. They reassign and keep moving because the infrastructure underneath is what matters, not the names at the top.” She glances toward the door briefly, then back to me. “Whoever is running things now has been moving under the radar… months of silence. No face, no name… Ghost is still building the picture. That’s what worries Sin more than anything else, I think. He knows how to handle the version that makes noise.”
My heartbeat is too loud. It sits high in my throat, like it’s trying to force its way out of me. For a second, the room tilts—not enough to move, not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough that I am suddenly, vividly aware of how easily it could.
The smell comes back first.
Metal.
Concrete.
Mildew and stale piss.
I blink once, hard, dragging myself back into the room before the memory can finish forming.
“And this one doesn’t make n-noise?” I ask. My voice is wavering now.
“This one watches,” Victoria says. “Maps access points. Routes payments through shell accounts. Sends formal offers to buy property it has already decided to take.” She holds my gaze steadily. “The old Alliance under Lorenzo was about fear. Control through presence. Whatever this is, it’s trying to build something. Rebuild, maybe. They lost their casino infrastructure when Sin took down the old guard, and they need a new financial base. Something legitimate on paper. My guess… they want to take the mine, Millie.”
