Chapter 9 - The Illusion of Peace
For three days, the safehouse was an island outside of time.
Marcus remained on high alert, patrolling the perimeter and maintaining radio silence with the city, but inside the cedar walls, a fragile, beautiful illusion took root.
Victor didn't look at his phone. He didn't lock himself in a study.
On the second afternoon, despite my protests about his stitches, he bundled Finn into heavy snow gear and took him out onto the back terrace to build a snowman. I watched from the kitchen window, holding a warm mug of tea, my chest tight with an emotion I was terrified to name.
Finn’s laughter echoed across the frozen lake—a bright, unburdened sound that I had never heard in the fourteen months I had worked for the Rossi family. And Victor… Victor was on his knees in the snow, rolling a massive snowball with his uninjured arm, smiling.
It was a real smile. It transformed his harsh, angular face into something breathtakingly handsome.
When they came inside, their cheeks flushed red from the cold, Finn was chattering non-stop.
“Harper! Dad made the head! And we used pinecones for the eyes! Did you see it?”
“I saw it, detective,” I smiled, kneeling to unzip his snow boots. “You did an amazing job.”
“Dad’s strong,” Finn declared proudly, puffing out his little chest. “He’s stronger than the monsters.”
Victor stood behind his son, peeling off his heavy coat. His eyes met mine over Finn’s head, soft and warm, carrying a silent, shared gratitude that made my breath catch.
That night, after Finn had fallen asleep holding both our hands—a new bedtime routine that had evolved naturally over the past two days—I walked down to the living room to find Victor standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass, staring out at the moonlit snow.
The only light came from the dying embers of the stone fireplace.
“You should be resting,” I said softly, stepping onto the plush rug.
Victor didn't turn around, but his reflection in the glass tracked my approach. “I’ve rested more in the last seventy-two hours than I have in five years, Harper.”
I stopped a few feet behind him. “It suits you.”
He turned around slowly. The shadows played across his sharp jawline, emphasizing the intensity of his gray eyes. “It’s a lie.”
My smile faded. “What do you mean?”
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the quiet room, the warm fire, the peaceful silence. “This isn't my life. My life is blood, betrayal, and violence. The Morettis didn't stop because I killed their strike team. They’re regrouping. Chicago is waiting. And as soon as we go back, the ice closes in again.”
“It doesn't have to,” I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my ears. “You can choose differently, Victor. For Finn. For yourself.”
Victor gave a low, dangerous laugh, taking a step toward me. “You think a man like me gets to choose? You think I can just walk away from the syndicate? They would hunt us to the ends of the earth. The only reason Finn breathes is because I hold the leash on every monster in that city.”
He was right in front of me now. So close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
“Then let someone help you carry the leash,” I whispered, looking up into his tortured eyes.
Victor’s breath hitched. His hand came up, his long, scarred fingers cupping the side of my face, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. The touch was electric, sending a jolt straight to my core.
“You don't know what you’re asking for, Harper,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register. “If you step into my world, you don't get to leave. I’m a selfish man. If I take you, I keep you.”
“Victor…”
He didn't give me time to finish.
May you like
His mouth came down on mine.
***