The knock at her door came just after dusk, three soft raps that somehow carried more weight than a sledgehammer hitting concrete.
Anna sat on the edge of her narrow bed in the cramped trailer she'd called home since her father's death, her American History textbook open but unread across her knees. The same paragraph about the Civil War had been blurring in and out of focus for the past hour as her eyes drifted again and again to the memory of blood spreading across the garage floor like spilled motor oil. Every time she tried to concentrate on the words (something about Union supply lines and Confederate cavalry), her mind would slip back to the sound Scarface had made when Victor's bullet had erased half his skull.
She jumped when the knock sounded, her heart lurching into her throat with the violent urgency of prey sensing a predator. The trailer's thin walls offered no real protection, just aluminum siding and false security that anyone with determination could punch through without breaking a sweat.
Before she could even call out, before she could ask who was there or demand identification, the door opened with the casual confidence of someone who didn't believe in asking permission. Victor Kane stepped inside without invitation, filling the small space with his presence like smoke from a house fire. Two men followed behind him: Iron Wolves she recognized but couldn't name, anonymous muscle carrying shopping bags with glossy logos she'd only ever seen in storefront windows, never in her own hands.
"Evening, Anna," Victor said, his tone casual and neighborly, like this was a social visit instead of the aftermath of him executing two men in front of her less than twenty-four hours ago.
Anna straightened on the bed, every muscle in her body going tense. The textbook slid off her knees and hit the carpet with a soft thud that seemed unnaturally loud in the confined space. "What is this?"
Victor motioned to his men with a subtle gesture that carried the weight of absolute authority. They set the bags on her bed with careful precision, then stepped back into the narrow hallway like well-trained servants, closing the door behind them with a soft click that sounded uncomfortably like a cell door locking.
"Presents," Victor said, moving deeper into the room with the fluid confidence of someone completely comfortable invading other people's personal space. "You've had a rough week. Thought you deserved something nice."
Anna stared at the bags arranged on her faded quilt (the same quilt her mother had sewn by hand during the long nights when cancer was eating her alive from the inside). One bag had fallen open enough for silk to spill out, pale fabric that looked expensive enough to cost more than Anna made in a month at her part-time job at the diner. Another bag jingled faintly with what sounded like jewelry, real jewelry with weight and substance. A third contained a box bearing the logo of the newest smartphone model, the kind of technology that belonged in the hands of people who didn't count pennies at the grocery store.
She blinked slowly, trying to process the magnitude of what she was looking at. "Why?"
Victor moved closer, his presence heavy and commanding in the small room. At six-foot-three, he had to duck slightly to avoid the low-hanging light fixture, but he managed to make even that gesture look graceful and deliberate. "Because you're under my protection now. And people under my protection don't live like they're picking through scraps. They live like they matter to someone who has the power to make a difference."
Anna's throat tightened with emotions she couldn't name. "I didn't ask for this. Any of this."
His blue eyes locked on hers with the intensity of someone studying an interesting specimen under a microscope. "You didn't have to ask. You've got my name on you now, whether you want it or not. That makes you mine to look after. And I always look after what's mine."
The word mine hung in the recycled air of the trailer like cigarette smoke, clinging to everything and impossible to wash out.
Anna reached for the phone box with trembling fingertips, barely brushing the slick cardboard surface. It was new, untouched, still sealed in factory plastic. More expensive than anything she'd ever owned, more sophisticated than any piece of technology that had ever belonged to someone in her family. The box itself felt like a doorway into a world she'd only seen in movies and magazine advertisements.
Victor's smile was the kind that looked warm and paternal to outside observers but felt sharp and predatory up close, like being smiled at by a shark. "Go on. Open it. No point in being shy about good fortune."
Her hands trembled as she lifted the lid, revealing the phone nestled in molded foam like a jewel in a presentation case. The device gleamed with the kind of perfection that only came from factory assembly lines and quality control testing. She powered it on with the reverent care of someone handling a religious artifact, and it hummed to life with a bright screen that reflected her own uneasy face back at her in high definition.
Victor's voice was smooth and coaxing, carrying the practiced warmth of someone who'd learned to make manipulation sound like generosity. "This isn't just about gifts, Anna. This is about trust. Building something between us that works for both sides. You want to stay safe? You help me help you."
Anna set the phone down slowly, like it might explode if handled incorrectly. "What does that mean, exactly?"
Victor leaned against her dresser with casual grace, arms folded across his chest like a professor preparing to deliver a lecture. "It means you keep me informed about things that matter. You hear whispers about the Serpents sniffing around our territory again? You tell me immediately. One of my boys gets twitchy, starts talking rebellion or questioning orders? You let me know before it becomes a problem. Anybody gives you trouble, anyone makes you feel like prey again: I'm the first person to hear about it."
Anna's chest tightened as the real purpose of this visit became clear. "So you want me to spy on people. To inform."
Victor chuckled, the sound rich and indulgent, like he was dealing with a child who'd said something amusing but naive. "Spy is such an ugly word, don't you think? Makes it sound dirty, dishonorable. I'm asking you to protect yourself and the people you care about. If I'm going to keep a roof over your head and blood off your hands, I need your eyes and ears. That's how partnerships work: mutual benefit, shared information."
Anna swallowed hard, her throat feeling like sandpaper. The jewelry box glinted in the corner of her vision, and she could see a necklace inside: delicate gold chain with a small pendant, nothing like the cheap costume jewelry she used to buy at weekend flea markets with money saved from babysitting neighborhood kids.
"This isn't charity, Anna," Victor continued, his voice taking on the patient tone of someone explaining basic mathematics to a slow student. "This is survival. Pure and simple. The Serpents will come back (maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they will come back for revenge). The federal government will always be circling like vultures, looking for ways to tear down what we've built. And your brother Jason? He ain't walking through that door anytime soon. That leaves you alone in a world that eats people like you for breakfast."
He paused, letting the words sink in like poison into an open wound.
"You're not just some innocent kid sister anymore. You're in the middle of a war whether you wanted to be or not. You either help me keep you safe, or you're on your own against forces you can't possibly understand or fight."
The words landed like stones thrown into still water, heavy and suffocating and creating ripples that spread outward in all directions. Anna glanced at the shopping bags again, seeing them with new clarity: luxury goods that felt more like chains than gifts, golden handcuffs disguised as generosity.
Her voice came out small and uncertain. "And if I say no?"
Victor's smile never faltered, never lost its warmth or paternal quality. "Then you'd better pray to whatever God you believe in that I'm the only one who ever comes knocking at your door after dark."
The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, filled with the hum of the new phone's screen, the faint creak of trailer floorboards under Victor's boots, and the thunderous pounding of Anna's pulse in her ears. Outside, she could hear the distant sound of motorcycle engines and muffled conversations from other trailers, the normal sounds of compound life continuing around this moment that felt like the pivot point of her entire existence.
She thought about the garage and the way it had looked afterward: scrubbed clean but somehow permanently stained with violence. She thought about Scarface's knife glinting in the fluorescent light, about how close she'd come to disappearing entirely. She thought about her father's empty chair at the kitchen table, about Jason's prison letters that came less and less frequently, about the growing understanding that she was truly alone in a world that had no patience for weakness.
Most of all, she thought about how quickly Victor had ended the threat, how easily he had taken command of a situation that had seemed hopeless just moments before. How everyone (even her) had been able to breathe easier when he'd declared her safe.
Protection came with a price. She was finally old enough to understand that truth.
Her lips parted, and the words slipped out before she even realized she'd made a decision, before her conscious mind had fully processed the magnitude of what she was agreeing to.
"Okay."
Victor's eyes sharpened with satisfaction, a flash of something predatory and triumphant flickering behind the paternal mask. "Good girl. You're making the smart choice, Anna. The choice that keeps you alive and prosperous in a world that would otherwise chew you up and spit you out."
Her stomach twisted with a mixture of relief and dread, but she forced herself to nod. The weight of his approval felt heavier than she'd expected, like accepting a crown made of lead.
She didn't fully understand what she'd agreed to. Not then, sitting in her small trailer surrounded by expensive gifts that felt more like ceremonial offerings than genuine generosity. She didn't understand the full scope of what Victor expected from her, didn't grasp the comprehensive nature of the surveillance network he was building with her as a central node.
But she would learn. Over the following weeks and months, she would discover exactly what "helping him help her" really meant. She would learn about the reports he expected, the information he considered valuable, the way trust could be weaponized and turned into something that looked like love but felt like imprisonment.
She would learn, and by the time she fully understood the bargain she'd made, it would be far too late to renegotiate the terms.