Chapter 6 - The Midnight Drive
Jack didn't let me go back to the kitchen to collect my things. He sent one of his men to retrieve my canvas bag and my coat, while he escorted me down the private rear elevator directly to a black armored SUV waiting in the alley.
"I need to go home," I said, holding my coat around my shoulders as the cold night air hit my face. "My mother-in-law—my ex-husband's mother—is watching my son. I’m already late."
"I'll take you," Jack said, opening the heavy car door for me himself.
"Mr. Moretti, you don't have to—"
"Jack," he corrected. "And yes, I do. The men who worked with Marco aren't all in custody yet. You walked out of that room after destroying their plan. You aren't safe walking three blocks in a broken shoe."
I looked at the luxurious leather interior of the vehicle, then down at my damp, dirt-stained hem. "I'll ruin your seats."
Jack gave me a faint, genuine half-smile—the first real smile I had seen on his face. "Lily, you just ruined a fifty-million-dollar assassination plot with a pot of house roast. I think my seats will survive."
I climbed inside. The car was warm, smelling of cedar and expensive leather. Jack sat beside me, keeping a respectful distance, while his driver pulled out into the rain-slicked Chicago streets.
"Your shoe," Jack pointed down. "How long have you been walking on taped heels?"
"Two weeks," I admitted, looking at my lap. "Waitress shoes are expensive. My son needed new winter boots first."
Jack didn't offer pity. He simply listened, absorbing the factual reality of my life without making me feel small.
"What's your son's name?"
"Leo," I said, a soft smile finally touching my lips. "He's four. He collects broken things. He thinks everything can be fixed if you find the right missing piece."
Jack fell silent for a moment, looking out the tinted window at the passing city lights. "He sounds smarter than the men I work with."
"He's kinder, at least," I whispered.
We pulled up outside the worn, brick apartment building where I rented a tiny two-room unit. The neighborhood was loud and rough, a stark contrast to theMaragold room's crystal chandeliers.
"Stay here," Jack told the driver. He opened his door and stepped out into the light rain, offering me his hand again to navigate the slick pavement.
As we reached the front steps, the heavy oak entrance door swung open.
My ex-husband, Ethan, stood in the doorway holding a half-empty beer bottle. His hair was messy, his jacket stained, and his face instantly twisted into anger when he saw me stepping out of an luxury vehicle beside a tall, impeccably dressed man.
"Where the hell have you been, Lily?" Ethan barked, stumbling down one step. "My mom has been waiting upstairs for an hour! You're out running around in rich guys' cars while your kid is asleep?"
I flinched instinctively, pulling my canvas bag tighter against my chest. Years of Ethan's verbal abuse rushed back over me like cold water.
"Ethan, stop," I said quietly. "I was working."
Ethan snorted, his eyes dragging down my body, scrutinizing my apron, my hair, my shoes. "Working? Look at you. You look like a mess. You always look like a mess. Who's this guy? Your new sponsor?"
Before I could answer, Jack stepped forward. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply walked into Ethan's personal space, towering over him by three inches, his shadow completely swallowing my ex-husband.
May you like
Ethan's drunken bravado faltered instantly under Jack's icy, lethal gaze.
"You have five seconds to turn around, go back upstairs, and speak to her with respect," Jack said, his voice a dangerous, low purr. "Or I will personally teach you how to treat the mother of your child."
