Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN AT HIS TABLE
Victor locked down the entire floor.
Hospital security protested.
Victor ignored them.
Two detectives arrived.
Victor ignored them too.
By noon, every elevator, stairwell, loading dock, and parking entrance had one of his men watching it.
Chloe sat beside Tommy, furious.
“This is insane.”
Victor stood at the window.
“No. Insane would be pretending someone didn’t photograph your brother from inside a secured hospital.”
“You’re making everyone stare.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
Victor turned.
“Why?”
“Because unlike you, I don’t enjoy entering rooms where everybody gets nervous.”
“You think I enjoy that?”
She looked at him.
“Don’t you?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
Victor had spent years building fear because fear was predictable.
People behaved carefully around men they feared.
Careless affection had killed more members of his family than open hatred ever had.
His father trusted the wrong partner.
His brother trusted the wrong friend.
Victor trusted no one.
Until recently, that system worked.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
Chloe laughed bitterly.
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“Ordering me to sleep.”
“You need it.”
“Interesting coming from the man who apparently hasn’t slept since the Obama administration.”
Tommy, awake now, whispered, “She has a point.”
Victor looked at him.
Tommy smiled weakly.
By evening doctors stabilized him.
He would remain hospitalized for several days while specialists determined the next step.
Chloe refused to leave.
Victor refused to leave her.
Neither admitted what that meant.
At ten, Marco entered.
“Victor.”
One word.
Victor understood.
He walked into the hall.
“Talk.”
“Salvatore wants dinner tomorrow.”
“No.”
“He specifically requested Chloe attend.”
Victor’s expression became dangerous.
“No.”
“He says if she doesn’t, he’ll assume you’ve declared hostility.”
“I have declared hostility.”
“Not officially.”
Victor looked through the glass.
Chloe was helping Tommy adjust his blanket.
Marco lowered his voice.
“Salvatore claims the photographs aren’t his.”
“He’s lying.”
“Probably.”
“Definitely.”
“But if he really doesn’t know who sent them, someone may be provoking you both.”
Victor considered that.
Salvatore DeLuca was arrogant.
Vindictive.
Traditional.
But anonymous threats were not usually his style.
He preferred sending men who introduced themselves.
“Where?”
“Bellini’s. Tomorrow night.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
The same restaurant where Salvatore had offered Francesca to him.
“Tell him I’ll come.”
“And Chloe?”
“No.”
A voice behind him said, “Why not?”
Victor closed his eyes.
Chloe stood in the doorway.
Marco suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
Victor said, “Because you’re staying here.”
“No.”
“Chloe.”
“If this man is threatening Tommy because of me, I want to hear what he says.”
“This isn’t a discussion.”
“That sentence is getting old.”
Victor stepped closer.
“Salvatore DeLuca is dangerous.”
“So are you.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“Occasionally.”
“I’m going.”
“No.”
Chloe folded her arms.
Victor folded his.
Marco stepped backward.
“I should probably…”
“Stay,” Victor and Chloe said simultaneously.
Marco sighed.
“Fantastic.”
Chloe lowered her voice.
“You said someone thinks I matter to you.”
Victor went still.
“If I stay hidden, they’ll keep believing I’m your weakness.”
“You are not going to prove otherwise by walking into a room full of armed men.”
“What if I go as your employee?”
“No.”
“What if I go as a server?”
“No.”
“What if—”
“No.”
She looked at Marco.
“Does he know any other words?”
Marco rubbed his jaw.
“Not when he’s terrified.”
Victor’s head turned.
Marco immediately regretted existing.
Chloe stared at Victor.
“Terrified?”
“No.”
Marco said, “I’ll wait downstairs.”
He disappeared.
Coward.
Chloe took another step.
“You’re afraid I’ll get hurt.”
Victor did not answer.
“Victor.”
“Yes.”
Her anger softened.
“That doesn’t give you the right to control me.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked exhausted suddenly.
Not physically.
Older.
“Chloe, people around me get hurt.”
“That isn’t an argument.”
“It is where I come from.”
“Well, where I come from, people get hurt too.”
She nodded toward Tommy’s room.
“Except we don’t have armed guards or helicopters when it happens.”
Victor had no response.
Finally he said, “If you come, you stay beside me.”
“Agreed.”
“You do exactly what Marco says if something goes wrong.”
“Fine.”
“You wear body armor.”
Her eyes widened.
“Under a dress?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to look ridiculous.”
“You’ll look alive.”
The next evening, Chloe stood in a private dressing room at the estate staring at herself in a mirror.
Mrs. Gable had found her a dark green dress.
Simple.
Elegant.
Nothing like the maid’s uniform Victor had always seen her wearing.
Her brown hair fell loose over her shoulders.
The concealed protective vest beneath the dress was less noticeable than she expected.
Mrs. Gable adjusted the hem.
“You look lovely.”
“I look like someone about to make several terrible decisions.”
“That too.”
Chloe looked at her.
“How long have you worked for him?”
“Nineteen years.”
“So you knew his family?”
Mrs. Gable’s hands paused.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
The older woman met her gaze in the mirror.
“That story belongs to Mr. Russo.”
Chloe nodded.
Mrs. Gable continued softly.
“But I will tell you one thing.”
“What?”
“He was not always this lonely.”
Chloe turned.
Mrs. Gable pretended to inspect the dress.
“Do not mistake hardness for absence of feeling, Miss Bennett.”
Before Chloe could respond, a knock sounded.
Victor entered.
He stopped.
His reaction was almost invisible.
Almost.
Chloe saw it anyway.
His eyes moved over her once.
Then again.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
Mrs. Gable looked offended.
“Try harder, Mr. Russo.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“You look beautiful.”
Chloe’s cheeks warmed.
Mrs. Gable nodded approvingly and left.
Now they were alone.
Victor wore a black suit.
No tie.
He looked exactly like what he was.
Power dressed as a man.
Chloe said, “You clean up well.”
His mouth curved.
“So do you.”
Bellini’s closed its upper floor for the meeting.
Salvatore DeLuca was waiting.
So was Francesca.
She wore silver.
Her smile disappeared when she saw Chloe on Victor’s arm.
“Well,” Francesca said. “This is interesting.”
“She’s here as a witness,” Victor said.
Chloe glanced at him.
Technically true.
Salvatore rose.
At sixty-three, he had white hair, expensive cufflinks, and the calm demeanor of a man who had spent decades giving orders others feared refusing.
“Miss Bennett.”
“You know my name.”
“I make it my responsibility to know everyone around important men.”
Victor’s voice hardened.
“That habit is becoming unhealthy.”
Salvatore smiled.
Dinner began.
Nobody ate much.
Salvatore denied sending the photographs.
Victor did not believe him.
Francesca watched Chloe constantly.
Finally she said, “So this is why you refused me.”
Chloe nearly choked on water.
Victor answered, “I refused you before I knew Chloe existed.”
“How reassuring for both of us.”
“Francesca,” Salvatore warned.
She ignored him.
“What does she have that I don’t?”
Victor’s gaze went cold.
“This conversation is over.”
But Chloe surprised him.
She looked at Francesca.
“He doesn’t owe either of us that answer.”
Francesca blinked.
Chloe continued.
“And for what it’s worth, I work for him. That’s all.”
Something tightened in Victor’s chest.
He had wanted her safe from implication.
He had not expected hearing her dismiss their connection to bother him.
Francesca smiled.
“Of course.”
The dinner continued another twenty minutes.
Then Salvatore placed his napkin beside his plate.
“I did not threaten the girl.”
Victor watched him.
“Convince me.”
“I don’t photograph sick children.”
“Tommy is fifteen.”
“Still a child.”
Salvatore leaned forward.
“And if I wanted to hurt you, Victor, I would choose someone you already admitted mattered.”
Victor’s expression changed.
Chloe saw it.
Salvatore did too.
Interesting.
He had been fishing.
Victor had reacted.
Francesca slowly smiled.
Salvatore continued.
“Someone wants you angry at me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
A server entered carrying wine.
Victor looked at him.
Something felt wrong.
The man’s shoes.
Restaurant servers wore black rubber soles.
These were polished leather.
Victor moved instantly.
“Down!”
He grabbed Chloe.
The server reached beneath the tray.
Gunfire shattered the room.
Victor threw Chloe behind the stone bar.
Marco fired from the doorway.
Salvatore overturned the table.
Francesca screamed.
The attacker fired twice more.
Victor felt one bullet tear across his shoulder.
He barely noticed.
The man ran toward the service exit.
Marco pursued him.
Victor looked down.
“Chloe?”
She was staring at his shirt.
Blood spread across the white fabric.
“You’re hit.”
“Scratch.”
“That is not a scratch.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“Tommy?”
“At the hospital.”
Victor pulled out his phone.
Nothing.
No signal.
Jammer.
His blood went cold.
“Marco!”
Marco returned.
“He got downstairs.”
“Hospital.”
Marco understood instantly.
They ran.
Chloe followed.
Victor turned.
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
They drove faster than Chloe had ever moved on land.
Victor called every guard.
No answer.
Finally one picked up.
“Boss—”
Gunshots echoed over the phone.
Victor’s face changed.
“Where’s the boy?”
“Fourth floor—”
The line went dead.
Chloe stopped breathing.
“Victor.”
He grabbed her hand.
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
“Chloe.”
“No!”
Tears filled her eyes.
“He’s all I have.”
Victor squeezed her hand.
His voice became deadly calm.
“Then whoever touched him just made the worst mistake of his life.”
They reached the hospital nine minutes later.
Police cars surrounded the entrance.
One of Victor’s guards lay wounded in the lobby.
Chloe ran toward the elevators.
Victor caught her.
“Wait.”
“My brother is upstairs!”
“You running into an armed situation helps nobody.”
Then the elevator doors opened.
A wheelchair rolled out.
Empty.
A nurse stumbled behind it, crying.
Chloe grabbed her shoulders.
“Tommy Bennett. Room 412.”
The nurse stared at her.
“They took him.”
Everything inside Chloe stopped.
“Who?”
“Two men.”
“When?”
“Five minutes ago.”
Victor’s hand moved toward his weapon.
The nurse continued.
“The boy fought them.”
Chloe covered her mouth.
“He kept yelling your name.”
She looked at Victor.
Not Chloe’s name.
Victor’s.
The nurse whispered, “He said, ‘Tell Russo not to give them what they want.’”
Victor’s phone rang.
A distorted voice spoke.
“We have the boy.”
Victor’s face became stone.
“What do you want?”
The answer came immediately.
“Tomorrow night.”
A pause.
“Victor Russo gives up the South Harbor terminals.”
Victor looked at Chloe.
“And if I don’t?”
The voice laughed.
“You’ll receive Tommy Bennett one piece at a time.”
The line disconnected.
Chloe’s knees gave out.
Victor caught her.
And for the first time in almost fifteen years, Victor Russo stopped thinking like a boss.
He stopped thinking about territory.
Reputation.
Consequences.
He looked at the woman shaking in his arms.
Then at the dark hospital doors.
And made a decision that could destroy everything he had built.
“They can have the harbor.”
Marco stared at him.
“Victor.”
“Every inch.”
May you like
Because there were things more valuable than empires.
Victor had simply never possessed one until now.
