Chapter 2 - The Shadows of Oak ParkTwo nights later, Chloe stood on the balcony of her new quarters—a luxurious, sunlit guest suite attached to the main wing of the mansion, miles away from the damp basement rooms where the staff slept.
She wore soft gray flannel pajama pants and an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and cedar. In her hand, she clutched her cell phone, staring at the screen as the call connected.
“Chloe?” Tommy’s voice came through the speaker, sounding brighter and stronger than it had in months. “Guess what? Dr. Alpert came by the clinic today. He said my account has a zero balance and my prescription refills are authorized for a full year. Did you get a promotion or something?”
A warm, heavy tear slipped down Chloe’s cheek, catching in the corner of her smile.
“Something like that, bug,” she whispered, leaning against the cold glass of the balcony door. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m great! I actually ate two bowls of soup today, and Mrs. Gable sent over a basket of fresh fruit with a card written in calligraphy. Who writes in calligraphy, Chloe? Are we rich now?”
Chloe’s eyes drifted across the courtyard below, where two men in dark suits patrolled the perimeter near the iron gates, their breath forming white plumes in the freezing night air.
“We’re just... adjusting to a new job, Tommy,” she evaded smoothly. “I’ll be home this weekend to check on you, okay? Make sure you’re doing your homework.”
“Okay. Love you, sis.”
“Love you too.”
She hung up, letting out a long, shaky breath. The safety net Victor Russo had thrown her was thick and unbreakable, but it was woven from steel cables. Everyone in Chicago knew what happened to people who owed favors to the Russo syndicate.
A sharp knock sounded at her suite door.
Chloe stiffened. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 11:45 PM.
“Come in,” she called out cautiously.
The heavy oak door swung open silently. Victor stepped into the room. He had discarded his suit jacket; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the dark, intricate tattoos of Italian classical art that wound around his muscular arms—tattoos he always kept hidden from the public eye.
He looked tired. Not the tired of a man who worked late, but the bone-deep exhaustion of a man who hadn't slept safely in a decade.
“You’re still awake,” Victor observed, his dark eyes scanning the room before landing on her.
“It’s hard to sleep when you realize your entire life was bought and paid for by a man who controls half the shipping docks in the Midwest,” Chloe said, her voice dry, though her heart fluttered traitorously against her ribs.
Victor walked over to the balcony doors, stopping just a foot away from her. The height difference between them was staggering; she had to tilt her head back just to meet his piercing gaze.
“I didn’t buy your life, Chloe,” Victor said quietly, using her first name for the very first time. The sound of it rolling off his deep, resonant voice sent a shiver straight down her spine. “I simply removed an obstacle that was preventing you from doing your job properly.”
“And what is my job, exactly?” she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. “Head housekeeper? Private nurse? Or is there a night shift I wasn't briefed on during orientation?”
Victor’s gaze dropped slowly to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes. A slow, dark intensity flared in his expression.
“Your job,” Victor murmured, leaning in just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest, “is to make sure the silence in this house doesn't drive me insane. You slept in my bed for four hours on Tuesday, Chloe. And for the first time in six years, I didn't dream about my brother's funeral.”
Chloe’s breath hitched. All the snarky retorts she had prepared evaporated instantly. She saw the raw, exposed vulnerability hidden beneath the terrifying mafia boss facade, and it terrified her more than any gun ever could.
Before she could form a reply, the secure intercom on the wall beside the door buzzed harshly, breaking the spell.
Victor’s jaw tightened into a lethal line. He tapped the receiver. “Report.”
“Boss,” a tense voice crackled through the speaker. “We have an uninvited vehicle breaching the secondary security perimeter on North Avenue. Black Lincoln Town Car. Plates are registered to the Moretti family.”
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Victor’s eyes flashed with sudden, blinding ice. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Moretti,” Victor muttered darkly. He turned his gaze back to Chloe, his expression hardening into absolute stone. “Stay in this suite, lock the doors, and do not open them for anyone except me.”
