Chapter 2 - The Glass Tower
The ride in Victor’s armored Maybach was completely silent. The heavy bulletproof glass isolated us from the sirens and city noises outside as the vehicle glided through the rain-slicked streets of downtown Chicago.
I sat pressed against the leather seat, clutching my hands tightly in my lap, shivering despite the car's warm climate control. The adrenaline that had carried me out of the Peninsula Hotel was beginning to fade, leaving behind a cold, hollow terror.
Victor sat beside me, staring out the window, his posture relaxed yet impossibly sharp. He hadn't touched me since we left the hotel stairs. He hadn't spoken a single word.
Finally, the car pulled into the subterranean garage of the Lake Shore Plaza tower—a massive, ultra-modern skyscraper overriding the lakefront. Private guards surrounded the vehicle the moment it stopped, opening the door.
Victor stepped out first, offering me his hand once more. "My private penthouse is at the top. You'll be safe there."
I took his hand, stepping out onto the sleek concrete floor. "Safe from Derek? Or safe from you?"
Victor paused, looking down at me. For a second, a flicker of something human—something almost like regret—passed through his storm-gray eyes. "Derek Hail will never lay a finger on you again, Lena. You have my word. As for me... I don't hurt women. Especially not you."
We took a private keycard elevator directly to the top floor. When the brass doors slid open, I was greeted by a breathtaking, three-story penthouse overlooking the midnight expanse of Lake Michigan. High ceilings, dark oak walls, minimalistic furniture, and massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows created a sanctuary that looked more like an impenetrable fortress than a home.
"Sit," Victor said gently, gesturing toward a plush, charcoal-gray sofa near the fireplace.
I walked over slowly, the heavy silver train of my dress trailing behind me. I sank into the cushions, feeling utterly exhausted.
Victor walked over to a wet bar, poured two glasses of amber liquid, and set one on the low glass table in front of me. He didn't sit beside me; instead, he took a seat in a leather armchair across the table, crossing his legs.
"Why?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly. I met his gaze directly. "Why did you do that at the gala? You ruined Derek’s reputation, you declared open war on his family, and you kissed a woman you don't even know in front of three hundred witnesses. What is your angle, Mr. Salvatore?"
Victor took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes scanning my face with uncomfortable accuracy.
"I know who you are, Lena Marlo," he said quietly. "Your father was Julian Marlo. He ran the shipping docks along the southern canal ten years ago before he died."
I stiffened. "My father was an honest businessman."
"Your father was a good man surrounded by snakes," Victor corrected smoothly. "And one of those snakes was Derek Hail's father, Richard. When your father died, the Hails didn't just inherit his logistics contracts—they forced your family into debt. They created the financial trap that forced you into an arrangement with Derek."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I forced them back. Everything he said was true. My engagement to Derek hadn't been born out of love; it was a glorified business merger designed to save my family's remaining real estate from total foreclosure.
"That still doesn't explain the kiss," I pressed, leaning forward. "Or why you care."
Victor set his glass down. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out an old, faded photograph, sliding it across the glass table toward me.
I reached out with trembling fingers and picked it up.
The photo showed a fourteen-year-old girl standing on a wooden dock, smiling brightly, wearing a small silver pendant shaped like a anchor. Standing right beside her was a teenage boy with dark, messy hair and a violent bruise over his left eye, holding a fishing rod.
My breath caught in my throat.
"Summer of 2012," Victor said softly, his voice dropping its cold edge entirely. "The south docks. I was sixteen, hiding from my father's enemies, working illegally on your father's boat. A group of older boys jumped me behind the warehouse. They broke two of my ribs and stole my jacket."
He pointed a finger at the photo.
"You found me hiding behind the salt barrels, Lena," Victor continued, his eyes locked onto mine. "You didn't run. You didn't call the police. You brought me your father's first-aid kit, bandaged my face, and gave me half your sandwich every day for two weeks until I healed."
I stared at the photo, memories rushing back like a dam bursting. The quiet boy from the docks. He had barely spoken three words to me back then. He had just sat in the shade of the boat house, watching me with wide, watchful eyes while I chattered endlessly about school.
"You..." I whispered, looking up from the photo to the broad-shouldered, lethal mafia boss sitting in front of me. "You were the boy on the docks."
"Victor," he said gently. "Just Victor."
He stood up, walking slowly around the table until he stopped right in front of me. He knelt on one knee, bringing his eyes level with mine.
"When I saw you tonight, walking into that ballroom with that monster..." Victor’s jaw tightened, his voice turning low and dangerously rough. "When I saw the way he gripped your waist, the way you flinched every time he raised his hand... I realized the little girl who saved my life was being destroyed by a coward."
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He reached out, his warm, calloused thumb gently tracing the edge of my jaw, right where Derek had grabbed me earlier.
"I promised myself ten years ago that if I ever grew powerful enough to repay my debts, I would," Victor swore, his storm-gray eyes burning with absolute devotion. "Tonight, Lena... your debt is collected. You are under my protection now."
