Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Room
By six o'clock in the morning, the rain had stopped, leaving the sky over Philadelphia a pale, bruising shade of purple and gray.
Delphine had finished both pastrami sandwiches, the large order of fries, and the apple pie. She sat on the leather sofa with an ice pack resting against her swollen arches, her red Impala parked safely in the garage below.
The door to the office opened slowly.
Victor Ashford walked in.
He was stripped to the waist, heavy white gauze wrapped tightly around his broad chest and ribs. He leaned on a sleek silver cane, his dark hair damp, his face still pale but his eyes burning with renewed strength. He wore a pair of clean black trousers, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow across the office floor.
Sal immediately stood up. “Boss, you shouldn't be walking.”
“Sit down, Sal,” Victor commanded flatly.
He walked slowly toward the sofa, his dark eyes fixed entirely on Delphine. He stopped two feet away from her, leaning slightly on his cane.
Delphine looked up at him, her chin tilted defensively. Up close, without the chaos of gunshots and blood, Victor Ashford was an undeniably imposing man. He had sharp, angular cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a long, faint scar running from his left collarbone down toward his ribs. He looked like a man built from solid granite and dark intentions.
“Miss Mercer,” Victor said, his voice deep, gravelly, and entirely stripped of its earlier weakness.
“Mr. Ashford,” Delphine replied, setting her ice pack aside. “You look better than you did an hour ago. Less blood.”
“You saved my life,” Victor said simply.
“I shot a man because he made fun of my weight and pointed a gun at my head,” Delphine said, crossing her arms over her thick chest. “Don't make it sound like a romance novel.”
A subtle smile touched the corner of Victor’s mouth. “Regardless of your motivations, the result remains the same. I am alive. Hector Reyes is crippled. And my organization still has its head.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy black leather ledger, setting it on the glass table between them.
“Sal told me about your diner,” Victor continued, stepping closer. “The police have locked it down. Reyes' men went to your apartment on 8th Street forty minutes ago. They kicked the door off its hinges.”
Delphine’s heart skipped a beat. “My cat... Barnaby?”
“My men were there ten minutes before them,” Victor said smoothly. “Barnaby is currently asleep in a carrier in the back room, fed and comfortable.”
Delphine let out a long, shuddering breath of relief, her shoulders sagging. “Thank God.”
“Your apartment is no longer safe,” Victor said, his tone turning cold and practical. “Your job at the Blue Moon is over. Your old life in South Philly ended at 3:15 this morning.”
Delphine looked at her worn orthopedic shoes. “So what now? I run away to Ohio? Change my name?”
“No,” Victor said firmly.
He sat down on the chair across from her, leaning forward, resting his thick forearms on his knees. “You stay with me.”
Delphine let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Stay with you? Are you crazy? I'm a thirty-seven-year-old diner waitress! I don't belong in your world! I don't wear silk, I don't carry fancy bags, and I sure as hell don't know how to shoot people on a regular basis!”
“I don't need a hitman, Delphine,” Victor said, using her first name for the first time. His voice was quiet, intense, and strangely captivating. “I have fifty men with guns who can shoot people. What I need... is someone who doesn't fold when the world starts burning.”
He leaned closer, his dark eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity.
“You stood in front of four armed killers. You didn't scream. You didn't beg. You picked up a steel weapon, held your ground, and fired. You have more courage in your broad shoulders than half the men who sit at my table.”
Delphine stared at him, her breath hitching in her throat.
For nine years, people had looked at her body and seen a target. They saw a woman who was too big, too slow, too quiet, too easy to ignore. They saw someone who belonged in the dark background of a graveyard shift.
Victor Ashford looked at her... and saw a fortress.
“What are you offering?” Delphine asked softly, her voice steady.
“Protection,” Victor said instantly. “A safe house in the countryside. A monthly stipend of ten thousand dollars. Absolute security for your cat, your family, and yourself.”
“And what do I have to do in return?”
“You stay by my side until I tear the Moretti family out of this city,” Victor growled, his jaw clenching hard. “I need someone in my house I can trust. Someone who wasn't bought by Moretti’s money. Someone who sees the truth when everyone else is lying.”
Delphine looked down at her hands—broad, strong hands with short, clean nails that had carried thousands of heavy trays, scrubbed hundreds of tables, and held a gun when it mattered most.
“Ten thousand a month?” she asked.
“Twelve,” Victor corrected smoothly. “Plus health insurance. And a brand new car to replace that Impala.”
Delphine looked up, meeting the mob boss’s intense, dark gaze.
“I want fifteen,” she said flatly. “And a lifetime supply of apple pie.”
May you like
Victor stared at her for two seconds. Then, for the first time since he walked into the Blue Moon Diner, he threw his head back and laughed—a rich, deep, booming sound that filled the small office.
“Done,” Victor said, extending his massive, scarred right hand. “Welcome to the family, Delphine.”
