Chapter 6 - A Dinner at the Estate
The victory at the preliminary hearing bought us momentum, but the emotional exhaustion was catching up to me.
To escape the relentless media circus, Victor took me to his private estate in Greenwich, Connecticut—a sprawling, historic mansion nestled behind forty acres of private woodland and iron gates.
It was the first time I saw Victor outside his corporate armor.
Away from glass skyscrapers and tailored suits, he wore soft cashmere sweaters and spent his evenings reading in a massive library lined with antique leather books. He was attentive, remarkably gentle, and treated me not as an employee or a pawn, but as an equal.
On our second night at the estate, Victor cooked dinner himself—a simple, incredible Italian dish of fresh pasta and truffle sauce.
"I didn't expect the most feared man in New York to know how to roll pasta," I teased, sitting at the rustic wooden kitchen island with a glass of red wine.
Victor smiled—a real, genuine smile that transformed his sharp, intimidating features into something breathtakingly handsome. "My grandmother insisted that every DeLuca man learn his way around a kitchen before he was allowed to learn the family business."
"What was the family business back then?" I asked curiously.
"Importing olive oil," Victor replied, setting two plates down on the island. "Then shipping lines. Then real estate. My father expanded aggressively, but he lost his humanity along the way. When my sister, Elena, was targeted by entitled men like Ethan... my father swept it under the rug to protect a business partnership with the Caldwell family."
My smile faded. "Is that why you hate them so much?"
"Elena took her own life six months after my father silenced her," Victor said quietly, his gray eyes filling with an ancient, painful shadow. "I swore that day that I would tear down my father's corporate legacy and rebuild it into something that actually protected people. When I saw Ethan push you onto that floor, Anna... I felt like I was standing in that dining room ten years ago."
Tears pricked my eyes. I reached across the table and placed my hand gently over his. His fingers turned over, gripping mine tightly.
"You're not like your father, Victor," I said softly. "You are a good man."
Victor looked down at our joined hands, his thumb gently stroking the back of my palm. "I am a dangerous man, Anna. Don't mistake my protection for weakness."
"I don't think you're weak," I whispered, my heart fluttering wildly as he met my eyes. "I think you're brave."
The air between us grew electric, dense with a deep, magnetic pull that had been building silently since the night he held out his hand to lift me off the marble floor. Victor stood up slowly, stepping around the island toward me.
He reached out, his long fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was warm, sending goosebumps cascading across my skin.
"Anna," Victor murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper. "From the moment you looked up at me from that floor with tears in your eyes, I haven't been able to think about anything else."
Before I could answer, his phone buzzed violently on the counter. The screen flashed with an urgent alert from his head of security, Frank.
May you like
Victor sighed softly, breaking the moment, and picked up the call. "Speak, Frank."
"Mr. DeLuca," Frank’s frantic voice echoed through the speaker. "We have a massive problem. Richard Caldwell just executed a hostile takeover bid for your primary shipping logistics company—and someone inside your executive board leaked your private financial reserves."
