Chapter 2 - THE COLD SAFE HAVEN
Victor Moretti did not ask if she was okay.
Madeline was grateful for that. If he had asked, she might have shattered right there in the subterranean concrete of the Bellamy Crown Hotel’s parking garage. Instead, she stood shivering as the brass elevator doors clicked shut behind them, sealing away the echo of Grant Mercer’s threats.
The underground air was damp and smelled of exhaust. Madeline looked down at her feet. One bare foot rested on the freezing concrete; the other was still arched high in a three-inch emerald-green stiletto. She looked ridiculous. She felt ridiculous.
"Take it off," Victor said. His voice was a low, steady rumble in the quiet garage.
Madeline blinked, looking up at him. "What?"
"The shoe." Victor stepped closer, closing the distance between them with a predator’s silent grace, yet his hands remained firmly at his sides. "You are throwing your spine out of alignment. Take it off, Madeline."
He knew her name. Grant had shouted it, of course, but the way Victor said it made it sound entirely different. It didn’t sound like a demand or an accusation. It sounded like a fact.
She reached down, her fingers trembling so badly she could barely undo the delicate ankle strap. When the shoe finally gave way, she held it in her hand like a weapon. Both of her feet were on the freezing concrete now.
Victor unbuttoned his black overcoat. The movement was fluid, practiced. He slid it off his broad shoulders and stepped into her space. Before she could protest, he draped the heavy cashmere over her shivering frame. It smelled of cedar, rain, and expensive underneath-it-all danger. It swallowed her whole, covering the ripped velvet of her gown and the fullness of her hips that Grant was always telling her to diet away.
"My car is twenty feet away," Victor said, his black-brown eyes locking onto hers. "My men will walk behind us. You will get in the back seat. I will take you wherever you need to go."
"I don't even know you," she whispered, clutching the lapels of his coat.
"You know I am not him."
It was the truest thing anyone had said to her in three years.
Madeline nodded once. She followed him to a sleek, armored black SUV. The two silent giants from the elevator flanked them, their eyes scanning the shadows. Victor opened the rear door himself. The interior was warm, smelling of rich leather. She slid inside. Victor got in beside her, leaving a respectable distance between them.
"Where to?" he asked as the driver started the engine.
"The Oakwood Suites," Madeline said, pulling her phone from her small clutch. "I just need to book a room. I can't go back to my apartment. Grant pays the building manager. He’ll be waiting there."
She opened her banking app, her fingers clumsily tapping the screen. The little loading circle spun. And spun.
Then, a red banner flashed across the top of her screen: ACCOUNT SUSPENDED. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR ADMINISTRATOR.
Madeline stared at it. A cold dread, far worse than the chill of the garage, began to pool in her stomach. She opened her secondary savings app. The one she kept secret, the one she used to fund the community children's art program.
ACCOUNT FROZEN.
"No," she breathed. "No, no, no."
Victor watched her from the corner of his eye. "He locked you out."
"He can't do that," Madeline said, her voice rising in panic. "That's my money. That's the foundation's grant money for the kids. He doesn't have the authority to just freeze a private bank account!"
"Grant Mercer sits on the board of three major financial institutions in this city," Victor said calmly, staring straight ahead as the SUV merged onto the rain-slicked Chicago streets. "He doesn't need authority. He needs a phone call. He is systematically cutting off your exits so you have no choice but to return to him."
Tears pricked Madeline’s eyes. "I have exactly forty-two dollars in cash in my purse."
"You don't need cash tonight." Victor pushed a button on the console. The privacy glass dividing the front and back seats slid up silently. They were entirely alone in the dim cabin. "You are coming to my estate."
Madeline stiffened. "I am not trading one controlling man for another, Mr. Moretti. Drop me off at a police station."
Victor turned his head slowly. The streetlights flashed across his carved features, illuminating a face that had seen violence and survived it. "If you go to the police tonight, they will arrest you, Madeline."
She froze. "What?"
Victor reached into the leather compartment between the seats. He pulled out a thick manila folder and dropped it onto the space between them.
"Grant didn't just break your heart," Victor said, his voice dangerously soft. "He stole your name. Open it."
Madeline’s trembling fingers reached for the folder. She flipped it open. The dome light illuminated the top page. It was a transfer authorization form from the Mercer Foundation, directing two million dollars to an offshore holding company.
At the bottom of the page, in perfect, flawless blue ink, was her signature.
"I didn't sign this," she whispered, her lungs seizing.
"Turn the page," Victor commanded gently.
May you like
She did. Another transfer. Five million. Signed by Madeline Hayes. Page after page. Millions of dollars, all funneled out of the charity she poured her soul into, all bearing her exact signature.
"He is preparing to burn down the foundation," Victor said, his eyes fixed on her pale face. "And when the federal auditors come looking for the missing money, Grant will hand them this file. You are not his runaway girlfriend tonight, Madeline. You are his scapegoat."
