Chapter 4 - The Price of Loyalty
The silence in the solarium stretched out, broken only by the soft rustle of palm fronds in the morning breeze.
“Where is he now?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“Safe,” Vincent replied, taking a slow sip of his espresso. “At a secure safehouse in Wisconsin. He’s working off the debt by auditing digital ledgers for our legitimate import businesses. He won't see a dime of freedom until every penny of that four hundred thousand is accounted for, but he’s alive, eating three meals a day, and swearing off poker forever.”
I let out a long, shaky breath. The tension that had coiled around my ribs for three weeks finally loosened, leaving me dizzy and emotionally exhausted.
“Thank you,” I murmured, the words tasting strange and heavy on my tongue.
“Don't thank me yet,” Vincent said, leaning back in his chair and crossing one long leg over the other. “Charity doesn't run the Chicago underworld, Elena. Leo’s life was expensive to save. The Sinaloa cartel now knows we intervened, which means they’re looking for leverage against the Moretti family.”
“Leverage?” I repeated, my defensive instincts flaring up again. “What kind of leverage?”
“You,” Vincent said bluntly. “They know Leo has a sister working inside this estate. If they grab you, they can force Leo to give up our encryption keys, or force me to cede control of the North Side docks.”
I stared at him, stunned. “Then why am I still here? Why didn't you fire me and send me packing to Wisconsin?”
“Because sending you out into the city right now is a death sentence,” Vincent said, his jaw tightening. “The moment you step foot off this estate, you’ll be picked up within twenty minutes. The only place in Illinois where the Sinaloa cartel doesn't dare send a hit squad is inside these perimeter walls.”
He stood up, walking slowly around the table until he was standing right beside my chair. He towered over me, his presence absolute and suffocating.
“Starting today,” Vincent said, looking down into my eyes, “your job as an estate maintenance tech is suspended. You are moving into the east wing guest suite—the one with the functional plumbing.”
“Wait a minute,” I protested, standing up to face him. We were standing dangerously close now; I could smell the sharp, clean scent of his cologne and see the tiny gold flecks in his dark eyes. “I didn't agree to become a permanent prisoner in your gilded cage, Mr. Moretti. I have a life—!”
“You have a target on your back,” Vincent corrected, his voice dropping to a low, intense growl. “And until I figure out which of my captains leaked your identity to the cartel, you belong to me.”
“Belong to you?” I snapped, my temper flaring hot and fast. “I’m not property, Vincent! I’m a person!”
Before I could take another step back, Vincent’s hand reached out, catching my waist with surprising gentleness and pulling me flush against his chest. His fingers gripped the fabric of my turtleneck, holding me in place as his dark gaze swept over my face.
“You walked into my private strategy meeting with a blue plastic bucket and a mop, insulted my flooring, and demanded hand towels,” Vincent murmured, his face inches from mine. “Do you honestly think I view you as ordinary staff, Elena?”
My heart hammered against his ribs. The air in the solarium suddenly felt very thin.
“You’re insane,” I whispered, though my body refused to pull away.
“Probably,” Vincent replied, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. “Now, go upstairs and pack your things. Marco will move you to the east wing before noon. And Elena?”
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“What?”
“If another pipe bursts,” he added with the ghost of a smirk, “call a plumber. Don't try to wrestle it yourself.”
