Chapter 5 - The Glass House
Tessa—no, Lydia—sat near the large fireplace in the grand library of the Lake Forest estate, staring into the dancing orange flames.
The estate was silent now, save for the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shoreline below the cliff. She had been given a large, luxurious guest room on the second floor, clean clothes, and a warm meal, but sleep was completely impossible.
The heavy mahogany doors of the library creaked open, and Vincent walked in.
He looked exhausted. The sharp, lethal energy that had carried him through the restaurant and the interrogation had faded slightly, leaving behind the hollow, heavy exhaustion of a man who had spent two years mourning a lie. He carried two glasses and a bottle of expensive amber scotch.
"You're still awake," Vincent said softly, walking over to the fireplace.
"I don't think I'll ever sleep normally again," Lydia admitted quietly, watching as he poured two fingers of scotch into each glass and held one out to her.
She took the glass, feeling the cool crystal against her warm fingers. "Is it over?"
Vincent sat down in the heavy leather armchair opposite her, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Part of it is. Silas is gone. The traitors inside my house have been eliminated."
Lydia swallowed hard, taking a small sip of the scotch. It burned her throat, but it grounded her. "And Falcone?"
"Sal Falcone is the leader of the West Side syndicate," Vincent explained smoothly, staring into the fire. "He’s the one who paid Silas to murder my wife and infiltrate my territory. Tomorrow morning, I am taking the key you gave me to First National Bank. Once I have the remaining documents, I will crush Falcone's entire operation by nightfall."
He looked up at her, his dark eyes catching the warm firelight.
"You were remarkably brave tonight, Lydia," he said quietly. "Most people would have run as far away from this city as possible."
"I wanted to run," Lydia admitted softly. "Every day for two years, I looked at that necklace in my small jewelry box and wanted to sell it to pay off my debts, or throw it into the river to forget that night. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Isabella’s face. She didn't die so I could be a coward. She gave me a job to do."
Vincent looked at her for a long, quiet moment. For the first time since she had met him, his face softened completely, revealing a glimpse of the deeply human, passionate man Isabella had loved before grief destroyed him.
"She chose the right person," Vincent murmured. "You have a strong heart, Lydia Harrison."
"What happens to me now?" she asked quietly. "Once Falcone is dealt with... do I go back to being a waitress?"
Vincent leaned forward, setting his glass on the marble hearth. He looked into her eyes with an intensity that made her pulse race.
"You can never go back to being a waitress, Lydia," Vincent said softly. "You know too much about my world now. But more than that... I don't want you to leave."
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Lydia froze, her breath catching in her throat. "What are you saying, Mr. Romano?"
"I am saying," Vincent said, reaching out to gently touch the edge of the sapphire pendant resting against her collarbone, "that my wife brought you into my life for a reason. And I protect the things that matter to me."
