Chapter 4 - A Quiet Intrusion
By the end of the week, Chloe’s world had been completely upended.
Tommy had been transferred from the drab, overcrowded public ward at St. Jude’s to a private corner suite at Chicago Presbyterian—a state-of-the-art facility funded heavily by Russo enterprises. He had his own private nurse, high-speed internet, a gaming console, and access to the best nephrologists in the Midwest.
When Chloe visited him on Thursday, Tommy had color in his cheeks for the first time in six months.
“He’s crazy, right?” Tommy had whispered, leaning over his hospital bed while Chloe peeled an apple for him. “The guy who owns your estate? Is he... like, mob-connected? Everyone at the desk speaks his name like he’s the Pope or something.”
“He’s just a powerful businessman, Tommy,” Chloe lied gently, her heart hammering. “He appreciates my work.”
“Right. And powerful businessmen routinely pay off fifty-grand hospital bills for their maids,” Tommy snorted, though his eyes were warm with profound relief. “Whatever he is, Chloe... thanks. I know you’ve been dying for me.”
Her brother’s words echoed in her mind as the sleek black town car Victor had provided dropped her back at the gated estate that evening.
The mansion was quiet. The staff had been instructed by Mrs. Gable to treat Chloe with a strange, hesitant respect. She was no longer handed mops or feather dusters. Instead, she spent her days reading in the grand library, recovering her strength, and waiting for the sun to drop behind the snow-draped oak trees.
At 11:30 PM, the heavy front doors groaned open.
Chloe stepped out of the library wearing a simple cream cashmere sweater and dark trousers Victor’s tailor had delivered earlier that week. She walked down the marble hallway toward the kitchen, intending to make tea, when she saw him.
Victor was sitting at the dark mahogany table in his private study. His coat was off, his silver tie hung loose around his neck, and his head was buried in his hands.
Beside him on the desk lay a scatter of leather-bound ledgers, a half-empty glass of scotch, and a small silver signet ring coated in dried blood.
Chloe paused at the open door. “Mr. Russo?”
Victor’s head snapped up. For a fraction of a second, his eyes were wild, dangerous, and predatory—the eyes of a man who lived on the edge of violence every second of his existence. But when his gaze locked onto her, the tension drained from his shoulders, replaced by pure, crushing exhaustion.
“Chloe,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You’re still awake.”
She walked softly into the room, ignoring the instinct that told her to run from the bloody ring on his desk. She picked up the decanter, poured a fresh splash of water into a clean glass, and placed it near his hand.
“You look the way I felt four days ago,” she said quietly.
A faint, self-deprecating smile touched the corner of Victor’s lips. “A rival family from Detroit tried to hijack one of my freight yards in Gary tonight. Two of my men are in the hospital. Their leader... is no longer a problem.”
Chloe didn't ask what happened to the leader. She didn't want to know. Instead, she pulled up a leather chair across from him and sat down.
“You don't have to carry it all at once,” she said softly.
Victor stared at her, genuinely surprised. “In my position, Bennett, if I put down the weight for five minutes, ten men step up to put a bullet in my spine.”
“Then don't put it down,” Chloe said, reaching across the table. For the first time, she took the initiative, placing her small, warm hand over his cold, calloused knuckles. “Just let someone sit with you while you hold it.”
Victor looked down at her hand covering his. He didn't pull away. Slowly, his long fingers turned over, interlacing with hers. The contrast was striking—her smooth, delicate skin against his scarred, powerful grip.
That night, Victor didn't go to his bedroom. He leaned back in his leather chair, holding Chloe’s hand across the desk, while she read aloud to him from an old leather-bound copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.
May you like
Within an hour, his breathing evened out. His grip relaxed.
He fell asleep right there at his desk. And Chloe sat beside him, watching over the monster who had saved her life.
