Chapter 7 - What Lies Beneath
They sat in the library, in the same spots they had occupied the night before. But the atmosphere was entirely different. The oppressive dread of Thursday night had been replaced by a delicate, charged intensity between them.
Vincent poured two glasses of iced tea from a silver pitcher and set one on the low table near Maggie's hands.
"Darren Cole left Philadelphia at five o'clock this morning," Vincent said plainly, resting his back against his leather chair. "He is currently on a bus traveling west. He will not be returning to Pennsylvania."
Maggie looked at him, her hazel eyes searching his dark, stone-cut features.
"Everyone in South Philly knows who you are, Vincent," Maggie said softly. "When people like Darren cross people like you... they don't get put on buses."
Vincent let out a short, quiet breath through his nose. He looked down at his signet ring, turning it slowly on his finger.
"You think I killed him," Vincent stated flatly.
"I didn't know what to think," Maggie admitted, her hands clasping her tea glass. "I spent the entire morning waiting for the police to knock on my door to tell me his body was found in a alley."
Vincent looked up, his eyes locking onto hers with absolute, terrifying honesty.
"If I had killed Darren Cole, Maggie," Vincent said, "it would have been for me. It would have been an act of vengeance to satisfy my own anger at what he did to you."
Maggie held her breath, listening to the deep timbre of his voice.
"I didn't kill him because of you," Vincent revealed softly.
Maggie blinked, her brow furrowing. "Because of me?"
"If a man vanishes off the face of the earth," Vincent explained, his voice low and deliberate, "the people he left behind never truly escape him. The violence remains hanging in the air. You would have spent the rest of your life wondering if he was really dead, or if he was going to walk through your door one night to finish what he started."
He leaned forward, placing his hand flat on the table between them—close to hers, but not touching.
"I stripped him of his debt, his car, his job, his home, and his standing," Vincent said. "I made him sign a full confession of his abuse, and I forced him to realize that if he ever looks in your direction again, his life is over. I didn't give you his corpse, Maggie. I gave you your freedom."
Maggie stared at him, the full weight of his words crashing over her like a tidal wave.
She had assumed Vincent was a ruthless mob boss who resolved problems with quick, brutal violence because it was easy for him. She realized now how wrong she had been.
The easy choice for a man with Vincent Calder's power was to pull a trigger and dump a body in the Delaware River. The hard choice—the choice that required immense discipline, legal maneuvering, financial expenditure, and restraint—was to construct a legal and psychological cage so absolute that Darren Cole could never break out of it, all to ensure that she could sleep peacefully at night.
He had spared her ex-boyfriend not out of mercy for Darren, but out of profound, exquisite care for her heart.
Tears welled up in Maggie's eyes, spilling over her lashes and running down her cheeks.
"Vincent..." she sobbed softly.
Before she could stop herself, she reached across the table and placed her hand over his.
May you like
Vincent froze.
Her hand was warm, soft, and small against his broad, calloused palm. He didn't pull away. He slowly turned his hand over, closing his strong fingers around hers, holding her with a gentle, protective grip that made her feel safer than she had ever felt in her entire life.
