Chapter Seventeen
VICTORIA
The words taste like betrayal.
Detective Moretti’s eyes narrow, and I watch her assess me—the wrinkled dress, the mark on my neck, the way I’m gripping my notepad like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. She gestures toward the hallway with a sharp jerk of her chin.
“Briefing room. Now.”
I follow her through the precinct, past the drunk tank and the processing desk, past cops who don’t even glance my way.
The fluorescent lights overhead hum that specific frequency that drills straight into my skull.
Everything about this place feels wrong now—the institutional light gray walls, the wanted posters curling at their edges, the burned coffee smell that permeates everything.
This was supposed to be my purpose.
My path to justice for Marcus.
Now it just feels like I’m walking toward my own damn execution.
The briefing room door closes behind us with a hollow click.
Moretti moves to sit, with her arms crossed, waiting.
Files spread haphazardly across the table, crime scene photographs, witness statements, surveillance logs.
A bureaucratic nightmare that she’s somehow supposed to wrangle into something presentable for the brass.
She looks drained. Not just tired—exhausted. The kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from fighting battles on too many fronts. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and gray strands escape from her severe bun.
“Detective Delaney.” Her voice is flat. Professional. Utterly devoid of warmth. “You’re late.”
“I know. I’m sorry, ma’am. Things got… complicated.” The words taste like fire on my tongue.
“Complicated.” She leans back in her chair, fingers steepled under her chin. “Last I heard from you was four days ago. Radio silence since then. I was beginning to wonder if I needed to send a team to extract you.”
The implication hangs in the air between us.
That maybe I’d been compromised.
That maybe I’d gone rogue.
That maybe I couldn’t be trusted anymore.
She might not be wrong.
“I’m fine,” I say, moving to the chair across from her and sinking into it. My legs feel shaky, unreliable. “The situation evolved rapidly. The Hidden Hand Alliance made a move, and I had to stay close to document it.”
“Talk,” she says flatly.
My body feels like it’s vibrating at the wrong frequency.
My hands want to shake, so I press them flat against my thighs, hidden under the table where she can’t see them tremble.
“There was an incident at the Hidden Hand Casino. A girl, Millie… she accidentally ended up there with friends. She has a history with the Alliance. A real bad history. She called Sin for help.”
Moretti pulls out her notepad. “And?”
“The club went in to extract her. I documented everything.” My throat tightens. “There was a tense standoff with Lorenzo, the Alliance leader. But not an altercation. They let us leave with Millie.”
“Us.” Maria’s pen stills. “You’re using ‘us’ now when referring to the club.”
The words hit like a slap.
She’s right.
I didn’t even notice the Freudian slip.
“Figure of speech, ma’am. I was present—”
“Victoria.” She cuts me off, and the use of my real name makes something crack in my chest. “How deep in are you?”
Too deep.
So deep I can’t see the surface anymore.
“I’m maintaining my cover,” I say instead. “Gaining their trust. It’s necessary—”
“That’s not what I asked.” She leans against the table, and I see something almost gentle in her exhausted face. Concern, maybe. Or recognition. “How deep?”
I can’t answer that.
I can’t admit that I don’t know who I am anymore, that Sin’s touch burns on my skin like a brand I can’t wash off. And when bullets flew, I wasn’t thinking about my mission, only about keeping him alive.
“I’m doing my job,” I whisper.
Moretti studies me for a long moment, her eyes sharp, her pen idle against the pad in her lap. Finally, she exhales, the sound equal parts weary and impatient. “All right,” she says. “Tell me everything.”
My throat tightens. “Where do you want me to start?”
“How about the casino?” Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Word is your biker friends made a scene.”
I swallow and nod, words tumbling out before I can second-guess them. “They didn’t hesitate. Millie, she was terrified and cornered, but the club moved fast, like a unit. It was… decisive. Organized.”
“Organized,” Moretti repeats, arching a brow. “That’s one word for it. Go on.”
I shift in my seat, picturing the moment all over again.
“There was a standoff. Lorenzo was ice cold, calculated. The club was there on his turf. Dante was pure rage. And Sin…” I pause, pulse skipping at his name.
“Sin kept his cool. He was deliberate, diplomatic. He held it together when everything was about to spiral. He knew the club was there breaking their treaty, but he was willing to break it to make sure one of their own was safe. To bring Millie home. Somehow Sin was able to talk his way out of the Casino peacefully, and we all walked out of there… including Millie.”
Moretti taps her pen against the pad, the faint click echoing in the small room. “And after?”
My nails bite into my palms as I force the words out.
“The Alliance hit back at the clubhouse. A clear retaliation for setting foot on their turf and breaking the treaty. It was fucking gunfire everywhere. Bullets flying. I…” My breath stutters.
“I ended up pressed against Sin’s chest while everything around us just…
exploded. The clubhouse was on fire at one point, and I was holding the hose, putting it out. The Alliance made its voice heard.”
Her eyes narrow, reading between the lines I wish I hadn’t left open. “Pressed against Sin’s chest,” she echoes softly.
Heat flares in my cheeks. I glance away, focusing on the clock on the wall instead of her scrutiny. “He was protecting me. That’s all. It was chaos, and in his eyes, I’m a civilian who couldn’t protect herself in that kind of situation.”
A silence settles, heavy, suffocating. Moretti doesn’t write anything down this time. She just watches me, her expression unreadable.
What I don’t say is louder than what I do.
I don’t tell her about Ghost’s den and how I broke in.
I don’t tell her about the storage shed, and what Sin and I did in there last night.
I don’t tell her about the evidence that could bury them all.
I don’t tell her about the weight of gold beneath my fingertips, and that those fingerprints are all over it.
And I sure as hell don’t tell her that Sin’s hands on my body felt like home.
When I finally run out of words, the quiet stretches long between us, filling the room like water in a sinking ship.
“This is all you have?” Moretti’s voice is carefully controlled, but I hear the edge. “A biker club getting into a turf war with a rival gang? Victoria, I have six other cases on my desk. This needs to be bigger than some pissing match between criminals.”
The words sting. “Ma’am—”
“Captain Rourke is breathing down my neck for results.” She stands abruptly, moving to the window, arms crossed.
“Do you know what it’s like to report to that man?
He’s been on this taskforce’s ass since day one, demanding progress, demanding arrests, demanding something to justify the resources being poured into this operation. ”
I’ve heard about Captain Victor Rourke.
Everyone has.
He’s a legend in the department, but he’s also tough. Hardass doesn’t begin to cover it. People literally change their routes through the building to avoid passing his office. He’s the kind of superior who chews up cops and spits out their careers.
“I was only recently assigned to head this task force,” Moretti continues, still staring out the window.
“Rourke gave me a minimal briefing, handed me a stack of files, and told me to make it work. He wants results yesterday, but he hasn’t given me the tools nor the time.
And what you’re bringing me…” She turns back, and the exhaustion on her face is painful to witness. “It’s not enough!”
Guilt claws up my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t solve this.” She moves back to the table, both palms flat on the surface as she leans toward me.
“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go back.
Deepen that trust you’re building. I want photographs.
Hard evidence. Names, faces, connections to criminal activity.
Right now, you’ve got nothing that will hold up in court. ”
My chest tightens. “Photographs.”
“Yes! The photography angle, that’s your in, right? Use it. Get shots of whatever illegal operations they’re running. Document everything. Because right now, Detective, you’re giving me bar fights and pissing contests, and that’s not going to cut it with Rourke.”
The irony isn’t lost on me.
She wants photographs.
I have photographs of general day-to-day life in the club.
But that won’t cut it.
“Yes, ma’am,” I hear myself say. “I’ll get you what you need.”
“Good.” Moretti straightens, gathering her files with sharp, frustrated movements. “And Victoria? Be careful. I know you’re young. I know this is your first major undercover assignment. But getting emotionally involved with your subjects is a rookie mistake that ends careers.”
Her words land like physical blows. She knows. Maybe not the specifics, but she knows.
“I’m not—”
“Yes… you are.” Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something almost gentle in them now.
“I can see it all over you. The way you talk about them. The way you say ‘us’ instead of ‘them.’ The way you’re sitting here, still wearing last night’s clothes, looking like you’ve been through hell and aren’t sure which side you’re fighting for anymore. ”
My throat closes. “Ma’am—”
“I’m not saying this to judge you.” She moves around the table, and for a moment, she’s not my superior, she’s just a woman who understands.
“I’m saying it because I’ve been where you are.
I know what it’s like to live in the gray.
To forget which face you’re wearing. But you need to remember your oath.
You need to remember why you’re doing this. ”
Marcus.
She means Marcus.
The whole reason I joined the force.
The whole reason I’m undercover in the first place.
But when I try to picture my brother’s face, it’s Sin’s eyes I see instead.
“I remember,” I whisper.
“Then prove it. Get me evidence. Real evidence. Something that will make Rourke back off and justify this operation.” Moretti walks to the door and opens it. “And Detective? Don’t take too long. We’re running out of time and patience.”
I stand on shaky legs. As I pass her, Moretti touches my arm briefly. “Whatever connection you think you have with them, it’s not real. It’s your cover. Don’t lose sight of that.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
But as I walk out, down the sterile hallways, past the desk sergeant, I know Moretti is wrong.
What I feel is real.
Too real.
The parking lot air hits my face like a wake-up call. I lean against my car, hands braced on the hood, trying to breathe through the panic constricting my chest.
I’m failing at my job.
Protecting people I’m supposed to investigate.
Lying to my superior.
Crossing every ethical line.
And the worst part? I’m not sure I care anymore.
I slide into my car, gripping the steering wheel with both hands so hard my knuckles turn white. The weight of it all presses down like I’m drowning in open air.
I came here to find the truth about Marcus.
To get justice.
But what if the club didn’t kill him?
What if they tried to help him?
What if everything I believe is wrong?
Marcus deserves the truth. The real truth. Not the version the department gave me. Not the version the club might be hiding.
The actual truth, no matter where it leads or who it implicates.
Even if it means burning down everything I thought I knew.
I start the engine, but I don’t pull out immediately. Instead, I sit here, staring at the precinct in my rearview mirror. This building is supposed to represent everything I’m supposed to stand for.
Justice. Truth. Law and order.
But now it just feels like another cage.
I need to go home.
I need to shower off this dress, this night, this feeling that I’m unraveling at the seams.
And I need to wash away the evidence of what happened between Sin and me, even though I know his touch has marked me in ways water can’t reach.
I pull out of the parking lot, heading toward my apartment. The morning sun turns everything bright and shiny, but it feels more like a spotlight on my guilt than a promise of a new day.
My apartment.
Neutral ground.
A place where I can be Victoria again, even if just for a few hours. Where I can try to remember who I was before Sin’s hands rewrote every rule I thought I knew.
The drive feels both too long and too short. When I finally pull into my building’s lot, I sit for a moment, gathering the courage to face myself in a mirror because I know what I’ll see there.
A woman caught between two worlds. A cop who’s protecting criminals. A sister who’s forgetting her brother’s face. A person who doesn’t know which name is real anymore.
Victoria or Elizabeth.
Elizabeth or Victoria.
Betrayer or savior.
I don’t know which one I am.
Maybe I’m both.
Maybe I’m neither.
Maybe I’m just someone who’s in too deep to find her way back.
I gather my things and head inside, every step heavy with the weight of secrets I’m carrying.
A hot shower is calling my name, promising to wash away at least the physical evidence of my choices, even if it can’t touch the guilt that’s settled into my bones.
But as I climb the stairs to my apartment, I know one thing for certain—when I go back to that clubhouse, and I will go back, I’ll be crossing a line I can’t uncross.
The only question left is whether I’m strong enough to do what needs to be done.
Or if I’ve already lost myself completely to the man I’m supposed to be destroying.