Chapter 18 - The Edge of the Underworld
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I stood up from the sofa, the book dropping to the floor. “You gave me a hospital?”
“I gave you an apology for how the world has treated you,” Vincent corrected, stopping inches away from me. His towering presence was overwhelming, but entirely safe. “But I also gave you an exit.”
He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a heavy envelope, placing it on the coffee table between us.
“Inside is a new identity, untraceable offshore accounts with twenty million dollars, and the deeds to the hospital and a home in Switzerland,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into a rough, agonizingly vulnerable register.
“Why are you giving me this?” I whispered, a sudden, terrifying panic rising in my chest. “Are you sending me away?”
“I am giving you a choice,” he said, his eyes filled with a dark, painful sincerity. “I am a criminal, Nora. My world is filled with blood, betrayal, and shadows. The FBI is always circling. Rival families will always plot. If you stay with me, you will never have a normal, safe life. You will always be a target because you are the only thing in this world I love.”
The word hung in the air, heavy and profound. Love.
“I dragged you into this darkness,” Vincent continued, his hands trembling slightly at his sides, refusing to touch me, giving me the space to walk away. “You saved my life. You saved my mind. You owe me nothing. You can take that envelope, walk out that door, and live a beautiful, safe life. And I will make sure no one from my world ever bothers you again.”
I looked at the envelope on the table. It represented everything I had ever wanted when I was struggling through double shifts, being mocked by arrogant doctors, drowning in debt. It was absolute freedom.
Then, I looked up at the scarred, terrifying, magnificent man standing in front of me. The man who had faced down hitmen, but was terrified of breaking my heart.
I didn't pick up the envelope.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. I raised my hand and pressed my palm flat against his chest, right over the jagged scars and his furiously beating heart.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening, his hands instinctively coming up to wrap around my wrists. But he didn't pull away. He held onto me like a drowning man who had finally found the shore.
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“I don't want a safe life, Vincent,” I whispered, looking up into his stormy gray eyes. “I want you.”
In the distance, beyond the reinforced glass of the penthouse, the faint wail of police sirens echoed through the cold Chicago night. The world outside was coming for him. The shadows were gathering. But as his arms pulled me flush against his chest, shielding me from the dark, I knew exactly where I belonged.
