Chapter 3 - Marked as His
By noon the following day, news of the incident at St. Jude’s had sent shockwaves through the city’s underground networks.
Mick O’Shea had gone into hiding, realizing he had inadvertently poked the deadliest lion in the Pacific Northwest. But Victor wasn't content with simply driving Mick into the shadows. He wanted an absolute demonstration of power—one that would make sure no loan shark, rival syndicate, or dirty politician ever looked at Sadi Hayes as a target again.
At four o'clock, Sadi sat in a plush armchair inside the master dressing room of the Costello estate.
Two high-end stylists and a tailor from Milan were hovering around her, adjusting the hem of a gown made of dark navy velvet. The dress had high long sleeves lined with delicate lace, designed specifically to cover her raw, scarred wrists and hands, while hugging her figure with regal elegance.
“Mr. Costello insisted on this shade,” the lead stylist murmured, fastening a diamond necklace around Sadi’s throat. The stones felt cold against her collarbone. “He said it matches your eyes when you aren't crying.”
Sadi looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back. The tired, terrified maid with chemical burns on her fingers was gone. In her place stood someone who looked like royalty.
The double doors of the dressing room clicked open.
Victor stepped inside. He was wearing a dark, bespoke tuxedo with a silver silk tie. His hair was slicked back, highlighting his sharp jawline and the intense grey of his eyes.
The stylists bowed respectfully and exited the room, closing the heavy doors behind them.
Victor walked over to stand behind Sadi, looking at her reflection in the mirror. He reached down into his pocket and pulled out a pair of custom white silk gloves embroidered with tiny gold threads.
“Put these on,” Victor said softly.
Sadi turned around, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. She slipped her cracked, lotion-soothed hands into the silk gloves. They fit perfectly, shielding her pain from the world.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“The Grand Plaza Hotel,” Victor replied, holding out his arm for her. “The Syndicate Council holds its quarterly gala tonight. Every major boss, judge, and captain in this state will be in that ballroom.”
Sadi hesitated, her breath catching. “Why are you taking me there? I’m just... I was your maid, Victor.”
It was the first time she had spoken his first name without adding 'Mr. Costello.'
A faint, dangerous smirk touched Victor’s lips. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his thumb gently tracing the line of her cheekbone.
“You were my maid yesterday,” Victor said softly. “Tonight, you are the woman under my protection. And by midnight, everyone in this city will know that touching you means burning down their own world.”
Thirty minutes later, a fleet of six black vehicles pulled up to the valet entrance of the Grand Plaza Hotel.
Flashbulbs popped instantly as reporters and photographers gathered outside the red carpet. This was the city’s premier charity event—a glittering mask of high society that hid the dark cartel money fueling the local economy.
When Victor stepped out of the Maybach, the chatter along the red carpet died down instantly. Men in expensive tuxedos nodded with deep respect; women in diamond gowns turned to whisper behind their silk fans.
Then, Victor turned and offered his gloved hand into the vehicle.
Sadi took his hand and stepped out onto the red carpet.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Who was this mystery woman? Where was the socialite heiress Victor was supposed to eventually marry? Why was the most feared man in the Northwest holding her hand as if she were made of precious glass?
They walked into the grand ballroom, where crystal chandeliers cast brilliant light over three hundred elite guests.
At the far end of the room, standing among a group of heavy-set men smoking cigars, was Luca Moretti—the boss of the city’s rival crime family, and Mick O’Shea’s primary backer.
Victor led Sadi straight through the center of the ballroom, the crowd parting before them like the Red Sea.
He stopped directly in front of Luca Moretti.
Luca squinted, looking at Sadi with a condescending sneer. “Victor. I heard you made a fuss at the hospital last night over some low-level staff member. Is this her? You’re risking a turf war over a girl who scrubs toilets?”
The ballroom went completely silent. Everyone listened.
Victor didn't flinch. He slowly wrapped one arm around Sadi’s waist, pulling her flush against his side, marking her presence before every powerful eye in the room.
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“Look at her carefully, Luca,” Victor said, his voice echoing across the quiet hall. “Because if anyone from your family, your crews, or your loan sharks ever looks at Sadi Hayes again, I won't just take your territory. I’ll end the Moretti name permanently.”
Sadi looked up at Victor, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird—not from fear of the men around her, but from the overwhelming, terrifying realization that Victor Costello meant every single word.
