Chapter 2 - A Claim in the Dark
Mick O’Shea dropped his phone.
Through the tiny speaker on the floor of the hallway, Sadi could hear the distant clatter of plastic on linoleum, followed by Mick’s frantic, stammering breath.
"Mr. Costello... I—I didn't know," Mick stuttered, his arrogant composure entirely demolished. "I didn't know the girl worked for you. She owed a debt to my firm—"
"She doesn't owe you a breath," Victor cut in, his voice barely louder than a whisper, yet carrying the weight of an executioner's blade. "Declan has thirty seconds to walk out of St. Jude's before my men in the lobby put a bullet in his spine. And if you ever speak her name again, Mick, I will personally pull your empire apart brick by brick."
Victor ended the call, crushing the burner phone in his fist until the plastic cracked and died. He threw the ruined device onto the floor carpet, his stormy gray eyes returning to Sadi.
Sadi shrank back against the baseboard, her red, bleeding hands pressed against her chest. She had spent eight months avoiding this man’s gaze, terrified that one wrong step would get her fired or killed. Now, she was kneeling at his feet, her deepest, most desperate secret exposed.
"Up," Victor ordered gently.
Sadi swallowed hard, struggling to push herself up, but her knees were shaking so violently she stumbled forward. Before she could hit the floor, Victor reached out, his large, warm hand catching her firmly by the waist.
The heat of his palm burned through her thin cotton uniform. For a fraction of a second, Sadi felt the massive strength beneath his tailored clothes—strength that could snap her in half, yet held her with startling restraint.
"You're bleeding," Victor noted, his thumb lightly brushing the raw, cracked skin of her wrist.
"It's... it's just the bleach, sir," Sadi managed to whisper, her throat raw from crying. "I'm sorry for making noise outside your office. I'll pack my things—"
"Who said you were leaving?" Victor interrupted.
He pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and began wrapping it around her left hand with careful, deliberate precision. Sadi stared at him, bewildered by the tenderness of the action coming from a man the entire state feared.
"Sixty thousand?" Victor asked, his voice steady.
Sadi blinked. "What?"
"The loan," he said, looking down into her wide brown eyes. "How much do you owe him in total?"
"Sixty thousand principal," she stammered. "With his interest... eighty."
"Gabriel," Victor called out without turning around.
From the shadow of the office doorway, his second-in-command, Gabriel, stepped forward. Gabriel had his tablet in hand, his face unreadable. "Boss?"
"Clear the debt," Victor commanded smoothly. "Send four of our private security team to St. Jude’s immediately. Post two men outside her brother's room twenty-four hours a day. Transfer him to the private penthouse suite on the ninth floor. Get the chief of oncology on the phone."
Sadi’s jaw dropped. "Mr. Costello... no. I can't repay that. I work forty hours a week here, but it would take me years—"
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Victor stepped closer, his shadow completely enveloping her. The faint scent of cedarwood, expensive bourbon, and leather wrapped around her senses.
"You don't work for the estate anymore, Sadi," Victor murmured, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a fierce intensity that made her heart leap into her throat. "As of tonight, you are under my personal protection. Anyone who touches you, answers to me."
