Chapter 5 - The Sanctuary on the Second Floor
By four o'clock in the morning, the heavy iron gates of the estate closed behind the returning black SUV.
The mansion was dark, silent, and cloaked in fog. Sadi stepped out of the vehicle, her limbs feeling like lead weights, her mind entirely exhausted from the adrenaline crash. She automatically reached for her apron pocket, pulling out her rags and polish, preparing to return to her third-floor scrubbing rotation.
“Where are you going?” Victor asked, stopping at the foot of the grand marble staircase in the foyer.
Sadi stopped, turning around. “I... I have two more hallways to finish before the six o'clock shift change, Mr. Costello.”
Victor looked at her bleeding knuckles, then at the heavy dark circles beneath her eyes. He turned his head toward Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, who was standing quietly in the doorway of the linen pantry, waiting for instructions.
“Mrs. Gable,” Victor said.
“Yes, Mr. Costello?” the stern old woman answered, stepping forward instantly.
“Sadi is relieved of all housekeeping duties,” Victor announced clearly. “Permanently.”
Mrs. Gable’s eyebrows shot up in rare surprise, but she recovered her composure instantly. “Understood, sir.”
“Move her belongings from the basement staff quarters to Suite 2B in the East Wing,” Victor continued. “Provide her with clean clothes, medical dressing for her hands, and ensure she has a hot meal brought to her room within thirty minutes.”
Sadi’s mouth opened in shock. “Suite 2B? Mr. Costello, that’s... those are the private guest suites! I’m a maid, I can’t sleep in the East Wing!”
Victor walked up the first three steps of the staircase, then stopped and looked down at her over his shoulder.
“You are no longer a maid, Sadi,” Victor said smoothly. “You are my personal ward. You live in this house under my direct protection. Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, Marcus will drive you to St. Jude’s so you can see your brother.”
Tears welled up in Sadi’s eyes once more, but this time they were born of overwhelming relief. “Thank you, Mr. Costello... I don't know how to repay you for this.”
“Get some rest,” Victor said simply. “We will discuss your new duties tomorrow.”
Twenty minutes later, Sadi found herself standing in the middle of Suite 2B.
It was larger than her entire apartment in South Blackwood. A massive king-sized bed with cream silk sheets sat against an accent wall of dark walnut. A wood-burning fireplace crackled gently in the corner, warming the high-ceilinged room. A private bathroom with white marble tiles, a clawfoot tub, and brass fixtures smelled of lavender and clean linen.
Mrs. Gable walked into the room carrying a silver tray with a plate of roasted chicken, fresh bread, and a pot of chamomile tea. Beside the plate lay a tube of antiseptic ointment and rolls of clean white gauze.
“Set your uniform on the chair, girl,” Mrs. Gable said, her stern voice surprisingly soft as she laid the tray on the nightstand. “You won't be needing it anymore.”
Sadi looked at the old woman. “Mrs. Gable... what is happening? Why is Mr. Costello doing all this for me?”
Mrs. Gable paused, looking at Sadi with a long, evaluating gaze.
“In thirty years of serving this family,” Mrs. Gable said quietly, “I have seen Victor Costello destroy empires, execute traitors, and silence entire syndicates without blinking an eye. He is a dangerous, ruthless man, child.”
She walked toward the door, stopping with her hand on the brass handle.
“But he is also a man who respects quiet strength,” Mrs. Gable added. “He saw a girl who was willing to walk into hell for her brother without complaining. He didn't just save your life tonight, Sadi. He claimed you. In this house, being claimed by Victor Costello means nobody in this city can ever touch you again. But it also means you belong to the lion.”
After Mrs. Gable left, Sadi took a hot shower, washing away eight months of industrial bleach, grease, and terror. She applied the thick ointment to her raw hands, wrapping them neatly in the clean gauze.
She sat on the edge of the plush silk bed, eating the hot food, listening to the rain beat softly against the reinforced glass windows of the East Wing.
For the first time in nine months, her brother was safe from loan sharks. His medical treatment was secured. Her nightmare of poverty and violence had ended.
She laid her head back against the soft goose-down pillows, closing her eyes as sleep pulled her under.
May you like
Her last thought before drifting off was not of Mick O’Shea’s fire, nor her brother’s hospital room.
It was the memory of Victor Costello’s cold, ice-gray eyes looking down at her in the dark hallway, promising that she belonged to him.
