Published at 16th of May 2026 6:50 am

Chapter 30 - V for Victory (Vivienne POV)

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

(Vivienne POV)

They did it. They saved Miles. It’s not like I doubted that Hotpants, Rorschach, and Tuesday. It’s more like I hadn’t even considered a world where Miles would die. That’s why I didn’t feel like they needed me. The one time I saw Rorschach in the field, she forced an ink python into a man through his throat, suffocating and drowning him. When she volunteered, I knew that she’d do whatever it took to save him. Hotpants would die before he let Nobody down, and Miles might be the only person Tuesday cares about. He might be the newest member of the gang, but everyone loves the Boy Scout. He’s just so eager to please in a way that’s charming, instead of annoying. It’s like having a kid brother that I get along with, even though he’s older than me. He might be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

But the number one reason why I didn’t think Miles would die is that Nobody wouldn’t allow it. The man hates losing more than anything. Even though he’s still operating from the shadows, and Miles is undercover, he probably considers it a personal attack for Ares to injure Miles. The Olympians don’t know how lucky they are that Miles didn’t die. They’re all still going to die, but now their deaths have been prolonged by a bit. As someone who witnessed what happens to people who Nobody considers an enemy, the Olympians have no idea what they’re in for. Then there’s that robobitch up in space. It doesn’t matter that she’s a member of the Supreme Six. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been in the game. It doesn’t matter how many weapons or secret agents she has. Nobody beats Nobody.

 

Pulling into the employees-only parking lot of La Parca, the nightclub I own, located in the high-class part of Quinstin’s entertainment district. It's steadily growing through word of mouth toward becoming one of the more desirable nightclubs for Quinstin’s upper class to party at. Previously known as The Gallery, it was a pretty popular spot, and if the owners hadn't come under hard times, it would've continued to grow. But they did and didn't have the funds to stay open, so I bought it. Not actually me, Vivienne Caldera isn't connected to this place in any tangible way. I went to the lawyer that Nobody knows, Nicholas, and he helped me create a shell company to fund the renovations. According to the books and all legal documents, the official owners of this place are Casper and Goblin.

Rorschach was very clear that none of us could be attached to any illegal businesses or activities. I'm the CEO of Momentus Inc and the proud owner of Carmie's Confections; I can't be connected to a nightclub. Especially one that is rumored to be gang-affiliated and where wealthy patrons like to snort nose candy. Nobody was also very clear about not wanting to run a gang, so this undertaking rests solely on my shoulders. I can handle the weight; it's why I work out after all.

While I'm parking, I see one of my Scythes leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. Scythes, one of the three groups containing the remnants of the Pandilla De Los Muertos, the gang that Santiago Skull used to run. My Scythes are the right members of the gang who have caught bodies before. They're the ones who have tattooed skulls onto their faces and subdermal implants to make their faces look even more skeletal. They are the muscle and shooters. They're not afraid to get their hands dirty. The two co-leaders of the gang, Casper and Goblin, were previously part of that group, but they're not soldiers anymore. I've implemented a rigid structure of leadership according to Nobody's suggestions. He showed me that there needs to be a clear chain of command. So those two got promoted, because they were the only two to not be completely cowed by seeing my other form wreak havoc. There are Capes in the Heroes' Union with less balls than those two. Then, below them are the Skulls and Scythes, with the Cloaks at the bottom. I'm not a part of the gang, but it's a business I run.

Skulls, or Skullgirls as Hotpants likes to call them, are the faces of the nightclub. Twelve exceptionally beautiful women, with bodies that turn heads. Myself included. I would never cheat on Anika, and I'm their boss technically, but they are quite hot. They are my dealers, the ones who are going out to answer the requests from repeat clients and attend parties to offer our premium product. One hundred percent pure Colombian cocaine. These women work as bartenders for the club, and more than half of them weren’t part of the original gang. I don’t care what they were doing before; their pasts don’t matter, only their futures do. And now, they have income they can report and stability they might not have had before. Gotta have a real job to legitimize the money, or the IRS comes knocking. It also helps explain why they have so much cash if they're ever questioned.

The third and final group, the Cloaks, is what the majority of the gang are considered. They are the grunts, the faceless people who help make the gang and club run smoothly. They're stocking up bottles, processing shipments, weighing out bags, counting money, and ready for a scrap if it comes to that. Their numbers have swelled since I first took over, twenty-six members strong. They are whatever I say they are; they do what I tell them.

I switch my car off, taking a second to focus. The moment I step out of my vehicle, I cease to be Nobody's right hand; I'm the one in charge, and it's important I project confidence and stability. It's probably not necessary for me to try so hard, but I want to be a good boss like Nobody is. Ever since I took over, they have abided by my rules and changes like good little workers. It’s because they respect me. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that they’re probably still scared of me. And I’m sure that seeing the volcano woman they work for on the news for destroying a city block and beating the piss out of a Heroes’ Union squad didn’t affect them at all. They don't have any reason to be afraid of me. I won't hurt them unless they give me a reason to.

Alright, time to go. I take a look in my mirror, double-checking my outfit and makeup, before I step out of my SUV. Sunglasses, a black Quinstin Cavalry cap, baggy forest green cargo pants, and a blue cropped hoodie. A dark green lipstick that Anika likes and some mascara are all I can be bothered to put on. I pull the hood up for an extra layer of security and secrecy, just in case. You can never be too careful. The cold wind whips against my exposed stomach, but I worked too hard on these abs to not show them off. Cold be damned, I deserve to look hot regardless of the weather. The Scythe smoking at the back door flicks his cigarette to the floor, stomping it out as I walk up the concrete steps. He's wearing a navy blue suit coat with matching pants, and a dark red dress shirt underneath with the top unbuttoned enough to show off a silver cross necklace and the top of a chest tat. Diego. Because of the face tattoos and the subdermal implants, the Scythes all look very similar. I'm pretty sure that's Diego. He looks professional, which proves the dress code I implemented is working.

“Miss V,” Diego said, inclining his head respectfully and opening the door for me. “Good evening.”

“Diego.”

From the look on his face, he's surprised I remembered his name. Let's frickin go, Vivienne! V stands for victory. I keep my face passive, my emotions hidden. My reputation does the talking with these guys. I channel Rorschach to ooze boss ass bitch energy. Stepping through the doorway, I’m in the back hallway of the club. One of the Cloaks walks by me, carrying a crate of Dicerno bottles to restock the bar. That would be Miguel. The hallway is clean and organized, free of any garbage bags or trash. There are a few empty crates, but they’re stacked neatly on one side. Good, I hate clutter.

There are swinging double doors ahead that lead to the actual nightclub, and then there are two doors on either side of the hall. On my left are the staff bathrooms, and on the right is the back office and the stairs leading to the supply cellar. The Gallery had an extensive alcohol collection, and luckily, that came included in the asking price. I head straight for the office, and two people come through the double doors: a Skull and a Scythe. The Skull is a curvy, dark-skinned woman with thick curls that lightly bounce with each step she takes. It’s not the only part of her that bounces, either. Jesus, I'm no better than Hotpants. The black sleeveless dress she’s wearing goes right to her knees, but it fully covers her chest. The heels she has on look fantastic and are probably incredibly painful. It looks like one of Rorschach’s outfits. I don’t recognize her, so she must be new. The Scythe is dressed similarly to the one outside and nods silently at me.

I reach for the door to the office, and it looks like they’re both going the same way. The woman wants to say something, but I notice the Scythe shakes his head at her with wide eyes. Okay, so maybe they’re a little afraid of me. The fact that the gangster with a shaved head, yin/yang inch-wide plugs, who went through elective cosmetic surgery to make him look like a skeleton, thinks I’m scary says something about me, I think. It’s not like I’m oblivious to the effect my Shifter form has on people; I know what I look like when I transform, but I’m not sure if I want the gang under me to fear me. Passing through the doorway, I enter the office. It’s a very large room, but it doesn’t have much stuff in it. Goblin and Casper both have desks on opposite ends of the room, with the wall safe in between them. There are a few chairs for people to sit on if they have to bring someone back here, and they have an espresso machine set up on top of the filing cabinet where they’re keeping records.

Once the club starts making money, they can get some actual furniture. I pumped enough money into this venture that it can operate at a loss for two years before my initial investment dries up. My deal with Gerald McKinney after I saved his son has continued to generate money. I transfer money into the investment account he manages, and that old guy does his magic. Is my sense of money fucked now? I spent more money to revive Carmie’s Confections than I’ve had my entire life. Nobody wasn’t kidding about how scale changes things. Lock in, V! The two co-leaders are sitting at their desks. Goblin is steadily typing away on his laptop while Casper continues to argue with someone on the phone.

Both of them have changed significantly in the months since they came under my supervision, thanks to my influence. Casper, real name Veronica Marte, known to friends and gang members as Ronnie, is a short woman who makes me feel tall. Her bleached white hair makes her look like a banshee, which is what gave me the original idea for the nickname I bestowed on her. Her roots are starting to show, the black sprouting from the top of her head. She’s since gotten a one-side undercut, keeping it buzzed down. I wonder where she got the idea. Her nose healed well after I broke it. Goblin, real name Greggory Hawls, is dressed in a nice white sweater and black slacks. The admittedly pudgy man seems to have slimmed down slightly. Instead of wearing basketball jerseys and shorts with boots, he’s started dressing like an actual businessman with clothes that fit him. Like Casper, he’s changed his hair as well. The precise five o'clock shadow and tapered fade help to make him more presentable. He looks clean as hell. Which reminds me that I should ask Kai if he can remove the implants and tattoos for them. They can’t continue to look like high schoolers on Halloween. From behind me, I hear the Skull clear her throat, and that causes my two underlings to turn to look at the source of the noise. Goblin shuts his laptop and stands up immediately.

“Freddy, you can fuck yourself if you think I’m paying more than seventy-two a bottle. Don’t call me with that stupid shit again, or I’ll find another distributor,” Casper shouted into her phone, tossing it onto her desk. She follows Goblin in standing up for me. Her outfit is a white button-down shirt with a caramel tie and tan pants. The J’s on her feet are the only clear sign she might not be a regular business owner. I spot Goblin’s black Air Force 1’s. Some things never change.

“Hello, Miss V,” they said in unison.

That’s cute; did they practice it?

“So you’re the Miss V that everyone talks about,” the pretty woman said from behind me.

She has a British accent, something very rare around here. How did a foreign girl end up working here? She enters the room with the Scythe following quietly after her.

“Miguel, what the fuck are you doing? Take her and leave us,” Casper ordered.

Miguel wordlessly nods his head, reaching for the Skull, but she nimbly dodges his hand in a maneuver that makes me think she dances. Or used to.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss V,” she said, extending her hand to me.

“Sorry, Miss V,” Goblin started to say, but I held a hand up to stop him.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m Hannah, darling. Spelled with two of everything,” Hannah said, still holding her hand out.

Oh, you are BALLSY girl. I love it.

“Ok, Hannah, get out of here,” I said.

Before she can say anything, the Scythe, Miguel, yanks her out of the room. He shuts it behind them, and I’m left with my two underlings. Nobody mentioned bringing others into the fold; would I even want them to join? Would he want them to join?

“I’m so sorry,” Goblin apologized.

“Yes, we’ll do something about her so she doesn’t do that shit again,” Capser continued.

“Alright,” I said, dropping down into one of the seats. “So what’d you call me down here for? Tell me it’s not about a distributor issue.”

“The primary reason is that we’ve been having altercations with another group. We know how Santiago would’ve handled it, but we wanted to know what your thoughts on retaliation are,” Goblin answered.

“Yeah, and the other reason is we’re gonna be out of coke in like a month unless we start cutting that shit. You know what? I guess it is a distributor issue,” Casper said sarcastically.

Share