Chapter 3 - The Price of a Secret
"She isn't yours," Lena lied, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Julian tilted his head, a wry, humorless smile touching the corner of his mouth. "You're a terrible liar, Lena. You always were. You looked at me with that same terrified defiance while you were pulling a ninety-millimeter slug out of my collarbone."
He looked down at the infant in his arms. Nora sneezed twice, a tiny, muffled sound. Julian immediately shifted his grip, shielding her from the draft of the underground cellar with his jacket. The gesture was so instinctive, so naturally protective, that Lena felt tears prick the backs of her eyes.
"She has eight months," Lena whispered, slumping against the door. "Julian... look at your world. Look at this room. Guns, guards, blood money. If your enemies knew she existed, she wouldn’t survive a week."
"Nobody touches what belongs to me," Julian said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, flat register that made grown men tremble. "Nobody."
Before Lena could argue, a sharp knock rattled the door.
"Julian?" a shrill, irritated voice called out from the hallway. "It's Diane. I need to speak to you immediately. One of the servers walked off during dinner rush, and Vincent is refusing to let me into the lower corridor."
Lena froze. Diane was ruthless. If she caught Lena down here, she’d not only ensure Lena was blacklisted from every restaurant in Chicago, she’d likely call Child Protective Services out of pure spite.
Julian didn't look bothered. "Enter," he said.
The heavy door swung open, and Diane marched in, clutching a leather order binder. Her sharp gaze took in the scene—Lena standing against the wall, Julian behind her—and then her eyes landed on the baby resting comfortably against the mafia boss’s chest.
Diane’s mouth fell open. "What is the meaning of this? Cruz, is that... did you bring a brat into Mr. Vance’s private office?"
Lena opened her mouth, but Julian cut in before she could utter a syllable.
"Diane," Julian said smoothly, stepping into the center of the room.
"Yes, Mr. Vance?" Diane stammered, her arrogance instantly withering beneath his cold stare. "I'm so sorry. I’ll call security to remove her immediately. I had no idea she was trespassing with—"
"You're fired," Julian said flatly.
Diane stopped dead. "What?"
"Pack your personal effects and leave through the front door. Vincent will escort you off the premises."
"Mr. Vance, I’ve managed this dining room for six years!" Diane’s voice squeaked in disbelief. "I run the tightest ship on the North Side! Why are you firing me over a negligent waitress?"
Julian stepped forward. He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer menace rolling off him made Diane take an involuntary step backward into the stone doorframe.
"You schedule a single mother for double shifts while knowing she has no family in the city," Julian said, each word deliberate and razor-sharp. "You dock her tips for five-minute delays. And today, you forced her to choose between feeding her daughter and leaving her in a freezing closet."
Diane’s face drained of color. "I... I was just enforcing restaurant policy—"
"My restaurant," Julian reminded her, his eyes flashing dangerous sparks. "My policy. And as of sixty seconds ago, you are trespassing on private property. If you aren't off this block in five minutes, Vincent will find a more permanent way to ensure your compliance."
Diane didn't say another word. She turned on her heels and practically ran up the stone stairs, the click of her heels echoing through the corridor until the outer door slammed shut.
The silence that settled back over the office was deafening.
Lena stared at Julian, stunned into speechlessness. "You... you fired your best manager for me?"
"I fired an insect who presumed to mistreat the mother of my child," Julian replied without missing a beat. He looked down at Nora, whose little eyelids were beginning to droop against the warmth of his chest. "Now, we have business to discuss. You’re done working tables, Lena."
"I have to work!" she protested, her hands clenching into fists. "I don't take charity. Especially not mob charity."
Julian walked over until he was inches away from her. With his free hand, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a heavy black leather wallet, and extracted a black credit card along with a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. He pushed them into Lena’s apron pocket.
"That's not charity," Julian murmured, his fingers lingering on her hip, sending a jolt of heat through her tired body. "That’s back pay for eight months of sleepless nights I wasn't there for. We’re leaving."
"Leaving? To where?"
May you like
"My home," Julian said, turning toward his private elevator behind the tapestry. "You and Nora are moving into the Gold Coast estate tonight."
***
