Chapter 3 - The Girl Who Refused To Be Saved
By Thursday, Charmian was back at St. Jude’s.
She sat in the back row of her economics class.
Professor Bell stopped speaking when he saw her.
“Charmian?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry I missed the exam.”
“We can arrange another date.”
She stared at the textbook.
“Thank you.”
After class, two security men waited outside.
She hated them.
Everyone knew.
She hated seeing them behind her.
She hated the whispers.
She hated the fact that people moved aside when they saw the black suits.
Most of all, she hated that she felt safer.
That contradiction made her angry.
Vincent had not lied.
The Petrovs did not approach her.
Nobody demanded money.
Nobody threatened her professor.
The diner manager even called and offered her more shifts.
It should have felt like freedom.
Instead, Charmian wondered what Vincent had done.
She asked Aleandro.
He refused to answer.
She asked one of the guards.
He looked terrified of answering.
Finally, on Friday evening, she confronted Vincent.
He was in the library reviewing documents when she entered.
“You made them stop.”
Vincent didn't look up.
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“Handled it.”
“How?”
“You don't need to know.”
“That is exactly what everyone says when they're hiding something.”
He lifted his eyes.
“Would you prefer I tell you?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She folded her arms.
“You cannot keep deciding what I get to know.”
“I can.”
“I work for you.”
“That doesn't mean you belong to me.”
She stopped.
He said it calmly.
“I don't own you, Charmian.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
“I am protecting you.”
“Without asking me.”
“Yes.”
“That's still control.”
Vincent closed the folder.
“Do you know what control means to me?”
“No.”
“It means knowing exactly how many men are inside this house.”
He stood.
“It means knowing which cameras work.”
He took a step closer.
“It means knowing who enters and exits.”
He stopped.
“It does not mean deciding who you become.”
Charmian stared.
He continued.
“You're going back to school.”
“You already handled the tuition?”
“Yes.”
“I can pay it.”
“You can pay me back.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“At interest?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't charge interest to people I trust.”
The sentence startled her.
“You trust me?”
“No.”
She blinked.
“Then why?”
“Because I want to.”
She laughed despite herself.
“You're impossible.”
“I've heard.”
She turned toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Thank you.”
Vincent looked up.
“For what?”
“For not firing me.”
His expression softened.
“That wasn't going to happen.”
She left.
The moment the door closed, Aleandro appeared.
“You are aware that normal employers do not send security teams to college?”
Vincent returned to his papers.
“She isn't normal.”
“You're becoming attached.”
Vincent looked up.
“Careful.”
Aleandro lifted both hands.
“I'm just saying.”
“You're saying too much.”
He turned a page.
“What's the latest?”
Aleandro's expression became serious.
“Tommy has been located.”
Vincent's eyes lifted.
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
Aleandro placed a photograph on the desk.
Tommy Flannery stood outside a motel beside Gabriel Petrov.
Vincent went still.
“Gabriel.”
“The nephew?”
“Yes.”
“Then Tommy didn't run from his debt.”
“No.”
Aleandro placed another photograph beside it.
A security image of Tommy handing a flash drive to Gabriel.
Vincent stared.
“What’s on it?”
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
“There’s more.”
Aleandro placed a final photograph down.
A younger Vincent's father.
Standing beside a man Vincent hadn't seen in twenty years.
Anton Petrov.
Vincent's expression darkened.
“My father knew him.”
“They weren't merely acquaintances.”
Aleandro lowered his voice.
“They were partners.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
His father had been dead for twelve years.
He had spent most of that time trying to strip away the parts of the empire inherited from him.
Apparently, some roots ran deeper than he knew.
The next morning, Charmian found Vincent sitting alone in the kitchen.
She held two cups of coffee.
“I made extra.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“You look tired.”
“I am.”
She handed him one.
He accepted it.
She sat across from him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you help people?”
Vincent stared into the coffee.
“I don't.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“You helped me.”
“That isn't the same.”
“It is.”
He looked at her.
“When I was nineteen, my mother died.”
Charmian went still.
“She was killed because my father owed someone.”
Vincent's voice was quiet.
“I learned something that night.”
“What?”
“Sometimes the people standing closest to you are the reason you're in danger.”
She listened.
“And sometimes someone you don't know will walk into your life and remind you that you're still human.”
Charmian's eyes softened.
“You're saying I'm reminding you?”
“Yes.”
She didn't know what to say.
He seemed almost embarrassed by the admission.
Then his phone rang.
Vincent answered.
His face changed within seconds.
“Where?”
Pause.
“Get her out.”
Charmian frowned.
“What happened?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Someone is inside the house.”
The lights went out.
Charmian's heart stopped.
The sound of breaking glass came from upstairs.
Vincent stood instantly.
“Stay behind me.”
A gunshot exploded through the corridor.
Charmian screamed.
Vincent shoved her behind the kitchen island.
Three armed men entered.
His security team returned fire.
Glass shattered.
People shouted.
Charmian curled against the floor.
Vincent crouched over her.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
Then she saw blood.
On his shirt.
“You've been shot.”
“Not mine.”
He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.
“Don't move.”
He stood.
The room erupted.
Seconds later, silence returned.
Two attackers were down.
One had escaped.
Vincent looked toward the broken windows.
Then back to Charmian.
She was shaking.
He offered his hand.
She took it.
Her fingers trembled against his palm.
He pulled her up.
“You're safe.”
“How?”
His answer was immediate.
“Because they made one mistake.”
“What?”
“They came into my house.”
Charmian looked at him.
For the first time, she understood what everyone else meant when they called Vincent Costa dangerous.
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He wasn't dangerous because he enjoyed violence.
He was dangerous because when something mattered to him, there was no limit to what he would do to protect it.
