Chapter 32 VICTORIA
VICTORIA
The kitchen smells like butter and fresh spinach.
I stand at the stove, spatula in hand, watching the omelet take shape in the pan. Perfect golden edges. Fluffy center. The spinach wilted just right, dark green against the pale yellow eggs.
On the counter beside me, I've already arranged bowls of Greek yogurt topped with blueberries. Simple. Healthy. The kind of breakfast the men need but rarely make time for.
They have an early meeting today. I know they've been running themselves ragged for the past week, barely sleeping, barely eating. Especially Alexei with his diabetes. He needs proper meals, not whatever he grabs between crisis management.
So I woke up early. Came down to the kitchen while the house was still quiet. Started cooking with the particular satisfaction that comes from taking care of people you love.
The thought surfaces naturally. Without the panic it would have caused a month ago.
I love them. All three of them. In different ways that somehow complement each other perfectly.
And they love me. I can feel it in the way they touch me. The way they look at me. The way Alexei almost confessed it out loud while Zakhar showed it through worship and Maksim demonstrated it through vulnerability.
We're building something real. Something that goes beyond the contract we signed.
The omelet is almost done. Just needs another minute to set properly.
I'm thinking about my plans for after breakfast. Need to meet with Jelena. Run some ideas past her about the next operation. We're low on funds again, and I've identified a promising target. Clean extraction. Minimal risk. Should net us enough to keep operations running for another few months.
The domestic peace feels surreal. Standing in this beautiful kitchen, making breakfast for three dangerous men who've somehow become mine, while planning my next heist.
Two worlds that shouldn't coexist but somehow do.
Then I hear it.
"VICTORIA!"
Alexei's voice. Roaring through the house with rage that makes every muscle in my body lock up.
Footsteps thunder down the hallway. Multiple sets. Fast. Aggressive.
The kitchen door slams open.
All three men enter. Alexei first, practically vibrating with fury. Zakhar right behind him, coiled tension in every line of his body. Maksim bringing up the rear, his expression carved from ice.
Something is very, very wrong.
"What's going on?" I manage, setting down the spatula with trembling hands. "I was just making breakfast. I thought—"
"Breakfast." Alexei's laugh is cruel. Mocking. "How domestic. How sweet. Playing house while you've been fucking stabbing us in the back."
The words hit like a slap. Physical. Stunning.
"What are you talking about?" My voice comes out small and afraid.
Maksim's eyes travel over me. Taking in my dress. The way I'm already presentable despite the early hour.
"Were you planning to go out?" His voice is calm. Controlled. Which makes it infinitely more terrifying than Alexei's rage.
"I thought I might get my nails done later." The lie tastes biiter. "Why? What's happening?"
Zakhar moves toward me. Each step deliberate.
"The nail salon owned by C.H.T. Onix?" Another step. "Which is owned by Furies Corporation?" Another. "Which is connected to Eryan Nis?"
He's too close now. Sharing my space. Looming over me with barely contained violence.
My heart hammers against my ribs. My throat goes dry.
They know. Somehow, they know.
That's when the smell hits me.
Burning.
I spin toward the stove. The perfect omelet is now blackened. Burned. Ruined.
Instinct takes over. I reach for the pan without thinking.
My hand closes around the metal handle.
Pain explodes through my palm. White-hot. Searing.
I scream and drop the skillet. It hits the floor with a crash that echoes through the suddenly silent kitchen. Blackened egg fragments scatter across the tile like ash.
I cradle my burned hand against my chest, tears springing to my eyes from the pain.
"Let me see."
Zakhar's voice has completely changed. Gentle. Concerned. All the menace gone in an instant.
"It's nothing," I start, but he's already pulling my hand toward him with careful fingers.
His touch is impossibly gentle as he examines the burn. Red. Blistering across my palm.
Alexei appears at my side with the first aid kit. His fury momentarily forgotten in the face of my injury.
Maksim guides me toward the living room. His hand on my elbow is firm but not rough. Leading me to the sofa with the particular care reserved for something breakable.
I sit. Maksim settles on the coffee table in front of me, taking my injured hand in his. Opens the first aid kit with precise movements.
The burn isn't serious. Painful, but not dangerous.
He works in silence. Cleaning the burn with gentle efficiency. Applying ointment. Wrapping gauze around my palm with steady hands.
Behind the sofa, I hear Alexei pacing. Tight, restless steps that speak of rage.
Zakhar has taken one of the leather chairs. I can feel him watching me. Tension radiating from his stillness.
This is it. The moment where all my secrets come crashing down. Where I lose everything I've built with them. Where the truth destroys whatever we were becoming.
But maybe that's what needs to happen. Maybe secrets have been poisoning this from the start. Maybe honesty, no matter how devastating, is the only path forward.
I love them. I trust them. I don't want to lose them.
So I'll tell them everything. The whole truth. And whatever happens after, at least they'll know who I really am.
Maksim finishes taping the gauze. Holds my hand for a moment longer than necessary. Then releases it and looks directly into my eyes.
"Are you working for Eryan Nis?" The question is quiet. Careful. But weighted with implications I can feel pressing against my chest.
I shake my head.
"We're past lies!" Alexei explodes, stopping his pacing to lean over the back of the sofa. "We know, Victoria. So you might as well just say it."
I stand. Need to be able to see all of them. Need to face this on my feet instead of sitting like something small and cornered.
"I'm not lying." My voice is steadier than I expected. "I'm not working for Eryan Nis."
I take a breath. Brace myself.
"Because I am Eryan Nis."
The shock ripples through all three of them. Visible. Physical.
Zakhar speaks first, his voice barely above a whisper. "You are Eryan Nis?"
I nod. Force myself to continue before courage fails.
"Not alone. Jelena is Eryan Nis. Katarina is Eryan Nis. Other women too. We created the persona so we could hide behind it. So no single person would be the target."
"Wait." Alexei holds up a hand. Turns toward the kitchen. "Hold on."
He returns with a bottle of vodka and four shot glasses. Sets them on the coffee table with movements that are almost violent.
"We're going to need this," he says flatly.
I move to the kitchen. Return with a plate of nuts and cheese. Set it beside the vodka.
"You can't drink on an empty stomach," I tell Alexei, meeting his eyes. "Your blood sugar."
Something flickers in his expression. Softens fractionally. The reminder that I know him. That I care about his health even in the middle of this disaster.
We settle into the living room properly. Zakhar and Alexei on the sectional. Maksim and I in the leather chairs facing each other across the coffee table.
Maksim pinches the bridge of his nose. Takes a slow breath.
"Start from the beginning," he says.
So I do.
"Maksim already knows part of this." I look at Zakhar and Alexei. "When I was twelve, I was... something happened. At my father's house. A man drugged me and..."
I trail off. But they're both nodding. Understanding crossing their faces.
"After that, my father sent me to boarding school." The words come easier now. "There, I met Anne. She was my best friend. Her father was abusive. Beat her mother regularly. We watched it get worse over the years."
My throat tightens. I reach for a shot of vodka. Down it. Feel the burn chase away some of the nerves.
"When we were sixteen, Anne's father killed her mother." The words are flat. Factual. The only way I can say them. "Beat her to death in their home. Anne came from money. Old family wealth. And she wanted to do something. Help women like her mother. Women who couldn't escape."
I meet Maksim's eyes. Then Zakhar's. Then Alexei's.
"I felt the same. After what happened to me. We decided to build something. As soon as we were old enough."
I pour another shot. Don't drink it yet. Just hold it.
"At eighteen, we founded a shelter. Used Anne's trust fund. But we realized quickly it wasn't enough. Women couldn't always ask for help. And there were other victims. Sex trafficking victims. Women trapped in situations the legal system couldn't or wouldn't address."
The vodka goes down smooth. Warm.
"So Anne kept running the legitimate side. The shelter. The front-facing operations. And I..." I pause. Force myself to say it. "I became Eryan Nis. Trying to be a Robin Hood of sorts for women."
Alexei leans forward. "What does that mean?"
"We helped women escape. Trafficking survivors.
Abuse survivors. Women who wanted to fight back.
We gave them new identities. Gave them training.
Jobs. Purpose." I'm talking faster now. Words tumbling out.
"We created legitimate businesses. Maison Lyra.
The pilates studio. The spa. The salon. They make real money. Employ real staff. And they're cover."
"Cover for what?" Zakhar asks.
"Help." I look at him directly. "Katarina's daughter was trafficked and killed.
Now Katarina teaches self-defense to survivors under the guise of pilates classes.
The restaurant has a phone in the women's bathroom.
Direct line to the shelter. For women who need to disappear.
The other businesses serve similar functions. "
I stand. Need to move. Need the men to understand the scope of what we built.
"Eventually, we got intelligence on shipments.
Girls being trafficked through Chicago. Women being sold.
And we couldn't just stand by." My hands are shaking.
I clench them into fists. "So we created the Eryan Nis persona.
Someone separate from the legitimate operations.
Someone who could steal from criminals and traffickers to fund rescuing their victims."
Silence. They're all staring at me.
"Jelena was trafficked herself. She has tactical knowledge. Military training from before she was taken. Maia is a computer genius. Can hack any system. Others have different skills. Drivers. Linguists. Forgers."
A laugh escapes me. Self-deprecating. Bitter.
"We call ourselves the Furies. The Roman equivalent of Erinyes. Greek goddesses of vengeance. Hence the dissimultaion to Eryan Nis."
I'm almost out of breath. Almost out of words. Almost out of courage.
The men sit frozen. Processing. Their faces unreadable.
I've told them everything. Exposed the truth I've guarded for years. Handed them the power to destroy not just me, but dozens of women who depend on secrecy for survival.
The silence stretches. Heavy. Suffocating.
I wait for judgment. For rage. For rejection.
But they just sit there. Staring at me. And I have absolutely no idea what they're thinking.