Chapter 3 - Sixty Minutes on the Clock
Sadi stood inside Victor Costello’s private office, her mind spinning so fast the room seemed to tilt around her.
The office was vast, lined with leather-bound books, floor-to-ceiling dark oak panels, and broad glass windows overlooking the rain-slicked grounds of the estate. On the massive mahogany desk sat a crystal decanter of amber liquor and three computer monitors displaying live security feeds of the compound.
Victor stepped behind his desk, holstered his pistol in a shoulder rig, and picked up a clean linen hand towel from a tray on his wet bar.
He walked back over to Sadi, holding out the towel.
"Wipe your hands," he said.
Sadi looked at the pristine white linen, then down at her fingers, covered in dried blood and gray cleaning dust. "I... I'll ruin it, sir."
"It's a towel, Sadi. Wipe your hands."
She took it gingerly, pressing the soft fabric against her stinging knuckles. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm just a maid. I scrub your floors. You don't owe me anything."
Victor poured himself two fingers of scotch, his movements slow, deliberate, and entirely calm. He didn't answer right away. He took a small sip, watching her over the rim of the crystal glass.
"In my city, there are rules," Victor said softly. "Mick O'Shea is a leech who feeds on people who have nowhere else to turn. He knows my policy on extortion within ten miles of my estate. He broke that policy tonight."
"He was going to kill my brother," Sadi said, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "Sam is sixteen. He has acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He was diagnosed eight months ago... right after my parents died in a car accident."
She looked up, meeting Victor's dark gaze for the first time.
"I didn't have money for the chemotherapy," she continued, her chest heaving. "The hospital wouldn't start the trial treatments without a down payment. I applied for three jobs. I came here because the wage was forty dollars an hour. But it wasn't enough. The medication cost six thousand a month. So I went to Mick."
Victor set his glass down on the desk with a soft clink. "How much did you borrow?"
"Sixty thousand."
"And how much have you paid back?"
"Forty-five thousand," Sadi breathed. "I gave him every single dollar I earned here. I lived on bread and water. I slept in my car for three months to save rent. But last week, Mick added thirty thousand in 'interest.' He told me if I didn't pay twenty thousand tonight, he’d turn off Sam's machines."
Victor’s dark eyes narrowed into thin, dangerous slits. He walked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of her again.
"You’ve been bleeding onto my floors for eight months to pay a loan shark?" Victor asked softly.
Sadi swallowed hard, lowering her eyes. "I would have bled to death if it kept Sam alive."
For a long moment, the only sound in the grand office was the patter of heavy rain against the bulletproof glass windows.
Victor reached out. His long, calloused fingers gently cupped her chin, tilting her face back up. His touch was firm, but there was no cruelty in it. His thumb lightly brushed away a stray tear on her cheek.
"Look at me, Sadi," he commanded smoothly.
She looked into his eyes—eyes that had struck terror into the hearts of senators, judges, and syndicate bosses across the eastern seaboard.
"Your debt to Mick O'Shea is canceled," Victor said quietly. "As of five minutes ago, your brother’s medical bills are paid in full by the Costello Foundation. And if Mick O'Shea ever looks in your direction again, I will personally bury him under the foundation of my new shipping terminal."
Sadi blinked, stunned. "I... I can't accept that. I can't repay you twenty thousand dollars, let alone sixty—"
"I don't want your money, Sadi," Victor interrupted, his breath warm against her forehead.
"Then what do you want?" she whispered, terrified of the answer.
Victor’s gaze dropped to her bruised, bleeding hands, then rose back to her wide hazel eyes.
"I want you to stop running," Victor murmured. "And I want you to let me handle the men who think they can hurt what belongs under my roof."
Before Sadi could process his words, the satellite phone on Victor's desk chimed sharply.
Victor released her chin and picked up the secure line. "Report, Dominic."
Dominic's voice came through clearly over the speaker. "We're at St. Jude's, Boss. We found Declan in the fourth-floor stairwell. He had a pair of wire cutters and a heavy flashlight in his coat."
Sadi let out a gasp, pressing her hands to her mouth.
"Is the boy intact?" Victor asked, his tone dropping to ice.
May you like
"The kid is sound asleep," Dominic replied. "Didn't hear a thing. Declan... well, Declan won't be walking for a few months. We're loading the boy into the private transport unit now. Dr. Mercer is with him."
Victor closed his eyes briefly, a slow, dark satisfaction settling over his sharp features. "Good. Bring the boy to the west wing suite. And tell Dominic to find Mick O'Shea. I want him brought to the docks by sunrise."
