Chapter 5 - The Price of Protection
Scarlett stared down at Victor Vance, her heart pounding violently against her ribs. Any other girl in Ridgewood—any other person in the entire city—would have fallen to their knees in gratitude, overwhelmed by a mob boss wiping out their life’s greatest burden with a single stroke of a pen.
Instead, Scarlett felt a wave of cold, fierce fury surge through her veins.
"Take it back," she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, razor-thin whisper.
Victor’s eyebrows rose slightly. "What?"
"I said, take it back," Scarlett repeated, leaning across the table until her face was inches from his. "I don't know what kind of sick game you play with people, Mr. Vance. You think because you have millions of dollars and a army of men with guns, you can just buy off my life? You think you can turn my dignity into a line item on your corporate ledger?"
"I am freeing you from a debt that was crushing you, Scarlett," Victor said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge. "Your mother's heart condition requires continuous care that your nine-fifty salary will never cover—"
"Don't you dare talk about my mother!" Scarlett snapped, her hand coming down hard on the table. "My mother raised me on an art teacher's salary! We were poor, but we were clean, and we never took charity from crooks who make their money off people's misery! I don't want your building. I don't want your rent freeze. I pay my own way!"
Behind the counter, Patty put her hands over her eyes, muttering silent prayers.
Victor sat completely still. The dark, lethal aura that usually made seasoned syndicate bosses tremble in his presence flared up like an invisible wall around table six. But Scarlett didn't pull back. She stood there, panting slightly, her chin thrust out, defying him with every fiber of her being.
For ten agonizing seconds, the two of them locked eyes in a battle of pure wills.
Then, slowly, Victor reached out his long hand. He picked up the business card resting on the table and slid it into her apron pocket, his fingers lingering for a fraction of a second against the thin cotton fabric over her waist. The heat of his skin burned through her clothes.
"The deed is already signed, Scarlett," Victor said quietly, his voice lower and more intimate than before. "The ramp is already being poured. You can hate me for it if you like. You can scream at me every night I come in here for coffee. But your mother will have heat tonight. And her medicine will be delivered to her door tomorrow morning by top specialists from Saint Jude’s Hospital."
Scarlett swallowed hard, a sudden, betraying tear welling in her eye. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "I insulted you. I called you an asshole in front of your men."
Victor stood up slowly, towering over her once again. He reached out, his long, scarred fingers gently brushing away the single tear tracing a path down her pale cheek. His touch was shockingly soft, reverent, and devoid of any violence.
"Because for twenty years, everyone has bowed to me out of fear, Scarlett," Victor murmured, his dark eyes searching hers with a desperate, heavy truth. "You are the only person in this entire godforsaken city who looked at me and saw a man—not a Don, not a monster, not a bank vault. I will give you the world, girl. Even if you throw it back in my face."
May you like
He turned and walked toward the glass door. Before stepping out into the night air, he looked back at her one last time.
"I'll see you tomorrow at 9:47, Scarlett."
