Chapter 5 - LATE-NIGHT CONFESSIONS
It was past two in the morning when Vincent returned to the estate.
The vast house was dark and silent, illuminated only by the faint security lights scattered throughout the halls. The tension of the docks still clung to him, a heavy, suffocating aura that made it impossible to consider sleep.
Instead of heading to his private quarters, Vincent found his feet leading him toward the east wing.
He told himself he was just checking on security, ensuring the guards were at their posts. But deep down, he knew he was looking for something else.
He pushed the door open quietly.
The suite was dim, lit only by a single amber lamp resting on the table near the kitchen nook.
Nora was sitting at the small wooden table, an open textbook spread out before her. She was wearing a pair of thick reading glasses, her dark hair tucked behind her ears, a pencil gripped tightly in her hand. A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside a stack of handwritten flashcards.
She looked up when the door creaked, her hand instantly darting toward a heavy glass paperweight she kept nearby.
When she saw Vincent, she relaxed, dropping her hand.
“You’re home late,” she whispered, mindful of Camila sleeping in the adjoining room.
Vincent stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He took off his heavy trench coat and tossed it over the back of a chair.
“You’re still awake,” he observed, walking toward the table. He looked down at the books spread across the wood. Human Anatomy and Physiology. Fundamentals of Nursing.
“I work the night shift here,” Nora said, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her tired eyes. “And I have an exam at eight a.m.”
Vincent frowned slightly. “An exam?”
“Nursing school,” Nora explained, gesturing vaguely at the heavy textbooks. “Community college. I’ve been taking night classes for two years. Trying to get my degree so I don't have to spend the rest of my life scrubbing floors for angry rich people.”
Vincent sat down in the wooden chair opposite her. Up close, in the soft amber light, he could see how exhausted she was. Her skin was pale, and her fingers were smudged with graphite.
“Why didn't you tell me you were in school?” Vincent asked.
“Because it’s none of your business,” Nora replied bluntly, though there was no real hostility in her voice. “My job here is to take care of your mother. As long as I do that, what I do with my remaining hours is my business.”
Vincent let out a short, quiet breath that was almost a laugh.
“You really aren't afraid of me, are you?” he asked, looking at her intently.
Nora set her pencil down and met his gaze.
“I was afraid of you the first night,” she admitted honestly. “I thought you were going to have me killed and buried under the marble floor for breaking a glass. But then I saw how you look at your mother.”
She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table.
“A man who looks at his frail, sick mother with that much soft gentleness isn't a monster, Mr. Russo. He’s just a man carrying a very heavy burden.”
Vincent went still.
No one spoke to him like this. In his world, people either cowered in fear or kissed his hand in false reverence. No one looked past the violent title of "mob boss" to see the exhausted man underneath.
“You don't know the things I’ve done, Nora,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into a dark whisper. “The things I have to do to keep this family alive.”
“Maybe I don't,” Nora said softly. “And maybe I don't want to know. But I know how you treat her. I know you paid for my health insurance without hesitation. I know you come up here every night just to check if she’s breathing, even when you’re bleeding from your own battles.”
She reached out, her fingers hovering over his hand where it rested on the table. For a second, she hesitated, then gently touched his skin.
“You’re not a monster to her, Vincent. And you’re not a monster to me.”
The touch sent a sudden, electric shock through Vincent’s frame. He looked down at her small hand resting against his scarred knuckles. Her skin was warm, soft, and entirely devoid of deception.
For the first time in ten years, Vincent felt the icy armor around his heart fracture.
He turned his hand over, wrapping his strong fingers around hers, squeezing gently.
“Go to sleep, Nora,” he whispered softly. “I’ll watch my mother for the rest of the night. You have an exam to pass.”
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Nora looked into his eyes, her heart beating a fast, unfamiliar rhythm in her chest. She didn't pull her hand away immediately.
“Okay,” she whispered back. “Just... don't mess up my flashcards.”
