Chapter 3 - THE SAFE HOUSE
The black sedan didn't return to Lombard’s, nor did it take Lily back to her freezing apartment on the north side. Instead, it cruised toward the Gold Coast, pulling up in front of a heavily secured, luxury high-rise condominium complex overlooking Lake Michigan.
"Mr. Moretti," Lily said, looking nervously at the marble foyer visible through the glass doors. "My apartment is on 42nd Street. I need to go home."
"Your apartment on 42nd Street is no longer safe, Lily," Vincent said, turning his head to look at her. "Marcus Vance is a coward, but cowards can be unpredictable when they lose a fraction of their hoard. Furthermore, no daughter of Arthur Harper is going to live in a room without heat while I have empty properties across the city."
"I can't accept this," Lily protested, her cheeks flushing warm. "You already got my money back. You don't owe me anything else."
"I owe you a debt that cannot be quantified in paper currency," Vincent said firmly. "My brother Thomas is alive today because of your father. He has a wife, two children, and a life because Arthur didn't hesitate. Until I am certain you are secure, you will stay here. The penthouse belongs to my family. It is secure, it is warm, and it is yours."
Lily looked down at the silver pocket watch in her lap. She felt small, out of place among the luxury of Vincent’s world, but the sheer exhaustion of her six-year struggle was catching up to her. Her body ached, her shoes hurt, and the thought of a warm bed was too alluring to fight.
"Just until I find a new place," she whispered.
"As long as you need," Vincent replied.
The penthouse was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the dark expanse of Lake Michigan, with the city lights reflecting off the water like scattered diamonds. The floors were thick, cream-colored wool, and the air was perfectly climate-controlled.
Marco brought up Lily’s meager belongings from the car—just a single backpack she had brought to work—along with the boxes of cash reclaimed from Vance.
"There is food in the kitchen, and a wardrobe with clothes that should fit," Vincent said, standing near the door. "My sister-in-law keeps this place stocked for guests. Tomorrow, we will discuss your future."
"My future?" Lily asked, standing awkwardly in the center of the massive living room.
"You are twenty-two, Lily. You shouldn't be destroying your joints carrying water trays for Donato," Vincent said, his eyes scanning her soft curves with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Sleep well. Marco will be outside the door tonight."
After he left, Lily took a shower that felt like a religious experience. The water was hot, the pressure was immense, and the towels were softer than anything she had ever touched. She found a pair of silk pajamas in the guest wardrobe that hugged her full hips and ample chest comfortably. When she finally lay down on the king-sized mattress, she expected to lie awake from the sheer strangeness of her situation. Instead, the moment her head hit the pillow, she fell into the deepest, most peaceful sleep she had known since childhood.
The next morning, she was awakened by the smell of fresh coffee and pastries.
She walked into the kitchen to find Vincent sitting at the marble island, reading a physical newspaper. He was dressed in a casual charcoal sweater, his dark hair slightly rumpled, looking less like a mafia boss and more like a devastatingly handsome aristocrat.
"Good morning, Lily," he said, not looking up from his paper. "Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in years," she admitted, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She sat two stools away from him, pulling her knees up to her chest beneath the silk pajamas. "Mr. Moretti..."
"Vincent," he corrected, finally lowering the paper. His gray eyes locked onto hers, and Lily felt that familiar, dangerous thrill zap down her spine. "We are past formalities."
"Vincent," she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue like silk. "What happens now? I can't just sit here in a luxury apartment doing nothing. I need a job. I need to pay you back for the extra money—"
"The money from Vance is yours," Vincent interrupted. "Consider it a baseline. As for a job, I have a proposition for you. My family operates a charitable foundation in Arthur’s honor—the Harper-Moretti Trust. We fund education for the children of first responders who died in the line of duty. I want you to run it."
Lily stared at him, her coffee mug suspended halfway to her mouth. "Run a trust? Vincent, I have a half-finished degree in literature and five years of waitressing experience. I don't know anything about managing a foundation."
"You have a heart, Lily. And you know what it feels like to be left behind after a tragedy," Vincent said, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register. "The technical work will be handled by accountants. I need someone who cares. Someone who will look at those families and see people, not tax write-offs."
He stepped closer to her, his large hand reaching out to touch a stray brown curl that had fallen over her shoulder. His fingers brushed her skin, and Lily felt her heart shatter into a thousand frantic beats.
"Let me take care of you, Lily," he murmured. "Let me do what my brother never got the chance to do."
May you like
Lily looked up into his steel-gray eyes, seeing the raw sincerity beneath the ruthless exterior. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. Not just because of the security guards or the locks on the door, but because this man looked at her as if she were the most precious thing he had ever found.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll do it."
