Chapter 2 - My Best Friend Threatened My Little Sister to Steal the Mafia Boss—But He Recognized Me Before Security Could Drag Me AwayVincent took one step toward me.
Delia tightened her grip on his arm.
"Darling, don't concern yourself. She's just one of the cleaning women."
He looked at her.
Then back at me.
"Marin."
Hearing my name in his voice nearly broke me.
For four months, I'd imagined this moment.
Sometimes I pictured him smiling.
Sometimes I pictured him angry.
Sometimes I imagined telling him about the baby over coffee while the city woke outside a hotel window.
I had never imagined standing in a cleaning uniform while my best friend threatened to murder my sister.
"Mr. Moretti," I whispered.
His expression changed.
"Mr. Moretti?"
I lowered my eyes.
"Good evening, sir."
Delia smiled.
"There. See? She's perfectly capable of remembering her place."
Vincent turned toward her.
"Enough."
The word was quiet.
But Delia stopped smiling.
He looked at the security guards.
"Nobody touches her."
One guard hesitated.
"Sir, Miss Marsh instructed—"
"I heard what she instructed."
The guard stepped back.
Vincent approached me.
His eyes searched my face.
"Where have you been?"
My throat tightened.
"Working."
"Why didn't you call?"
I stared at him.
Delia was watching.
I could feel her eyes like a knife against my back.
"I tried," I whispered.
Vincent frowned.
"What?"
I swallowed.
"Nothing."
His gaze dropped to my stomach.
The cleaning uniform was loose.
But not loose enough.
For a moment, his expression became unreadable.
"Marin."
I gripped the mop.
"Please let me finish my shift."
He stared at me.
Then looked toward Delia.
Something in his face hardened.
"Delia."
She hurried forward.
"Vincent, darling, the guests are waiting."
He didn't move.
"How do you know her?"
Delia laughed lightly.
"Oh, Marin? We grew up together."
Vincent looked at me.
"She's your friend?"
I couldn't speak.
Delia answered for me.
"Practically sisters."
The words made me sick.
Vincent studied us both.
Then said, "Interesting."
Delia's smile faltered.
He turned toward his security chief.
"Marco."
A tall man stepped forward.
"Sir."
"Have someone escort Miss Ellis to a private sitting room."
My heart slammed.
"No."
Vincent looked at me.
I forced myself to breathe.
"I need to leave."
"Marin—"
"Please."
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then he nodded.
"All right."
Delia looked relieved.
Too relieved.
Vincent continued.
"Marco, arrange transportation wherever she wants to go."
Delia's smile vanished.
I stared at him.
"That's not necessary."
"It is to me."
I shook my head.
"Please don't."
Vincent looked at me for a long moment.
Then stepped back.
"Your choice."
I walked toward the service corridor.
My legs felt weak.
I could barely breathe.
Behind me, Delia began speaking in a bright, cheerful voice about the evening's celebration.
I heard Vincent answer.
But I couldn't make out his words.
I reached the service elevator.
Pressed the button.
And waited.
Then Sutton Vane appeared.
He smiled.
"Marin."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
He glanced toward the ballroom.
"Interesting evening."
I stepped back.
"I need to finish my shift."
He laughed.
"No, sweetheart."
My blood went cold.
He moved closer.
"Your shift is over."
I looked toward the elevator.
The doors opened.
Inside stood two men wearing black jackets.
Neither was hotel security.
One smiled.
"Miss Ellis?"
I stepped backward.
Sutton grabbed my wrist.
"Don't make this difficult."
I pulled away.
"Let go."
His grip tightened.
"You should have listened when I told you girls like you don't have choices."
Panic surged through me.
I twisted.
Kicked his shin.
And ran.
Sutton shouted.
Footsteps thundered behind me.
I turned into the laundry corridor.
A cart blocked the passage.
I shoved it backward.
Sheets spilled across the floor.
One man stumbled.
I kept running.
My lungs burned.
I reached a stairwell.
Pulled the door.
Locked.
I spun around.
The second man appeared.
"Easy."
He raised his hands.
"Nobody wants to hurt you."
I stared at him.
"Then leave me alone."
He smiled.
"Come quietly."
I backed toward a fire alarm.
He noticed.
His smile disappeared.
"Don't."
I pulled it.
A shrill alarm exploded through the corridor.
Red lights flashed.
Doors opened.
Employees shouted.
The man lunged.
I screamed.
Then another voice cut through the chaos.
"Get away from her."
Vincent.
He stood at the far end of the corridor.
Marco and two guards were behind him.
The man froze.
Vincent approached slowly.
His eyes moved from the stranger to my bruised wrist.
"What happened?"
Nobody answered.
I pressed myself against the wall.
Vincent looked at me.
"Marin?"
My knees weakened.
I tried to speak.
Instead, I began shaking.
He stepped closer.
Then stopped.
"May I come near you?"
I nodded.
He removed his jacket and placed it around my shoulders.
I clutched the fabric.
"Please," I whispered.
His face tightened.
"Please what?"
"My sister."
He frowned.
"Nell?"
I stared at him.
He remembered.
Of course he remembered.
My eyes filled.
"She's at St. Agnes Children's Hospital."
Vincent nodded.
"I remember."
I swallowed.
"Delia said she'd die if I told you."
Everything stopped.
Vincent's expression became completely still.
"She said what?"
I covered my mouth.
I'd said it.
The words were out.
There was no taking them back.
Vincent turned toward Marco.
"Get independent protection to St. Agnes. Speak to the hospital's administrator and the police. Nobody changes that girl's care or visitor permissions without proper authorization."
Marco nodded and stepped away.
Vincent turned back.
"Marin, look at me."
I did.
"Is Nell in immediate danger?"
"I don't know."
He nodded.
"We'll find out."
I began crying.
He reached toward me.
Paused.
Then gently took my hand.
"You're safe with me right now."
I wanted to believe him.
But Delia had spent twenty years learning everything about me.
My fears.
My weaknesses.
My love for Nell.
And she had used all of it.
Vincent looked toward the men who'd chased me.
"Who sent you?"
They remained silent.
Marco returned.
"Police are on their way."
Vincent nodded.
"Good."
Then he looked at me.
"Come somewhere quiet."
This time, I agreed.
He led me to a private office near the lobby.
A doctor was called to examine me.
I sat on a sofa with Vincent's jacket wrapped around my shoulders.
He crouched in front of me.
"Marin."
I looked up.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
My throat tightened.
"I tried."
He frowned.
"I never received a call."
I shook my head.
"Delia told me you didn't want to see me."
His expression changed.
"Delia?"
I nodded.
"She said you'd left the country."
Vincent stood slowly.
For a moment, he looked toward the window.
Then back at me.
"Marin, I've been looking for you."
I stared.
"What?"
"Since the morning you left."
My heart pounded.
He continued.
"I sent messages to the number you gave me."
I shook my head.
"I never got them."
He closed his eyes.
"Someone interfered."
I thought about Delia.
The way she'd insisted on helping.
The way she'd taken his number.
The way she'd told me to forget him.
My stomach twisted.
Vincent sat beside me.
"Marin."
I looked at him.
His gaze dropped to my stomach.
Then returned to my face.
"Are you pregnant?"
I stopped breathing.
For a moment, I heard nothing.
Not the alarm being silenced outside.
Not the distant voices.
Not the city beyond the windows.
Only my own heartbeat.
I nodded.
Vincent's face changed.
He looked stunned.
Then frightened.
Then something softer.
"How far along?"
I swallowed.
"Four months."
He stared at me.
Four months.
The storm.
The hotel.
The night we'd spent together.
He understood.
"Marin."
Tears filled my eyes.
I whispered, "It's yours."
Vincent closed his eyes.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then he looked at me.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
He took a slow breath.
"Okay."
I stared at him.
"Okay?"
He nodded.
"Okay."
I began crying harder.
"I'm sorry."
His expression changed.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"I should have found you."
He shook his head.
"You tried."
I looked down.
"I didn't know what to do."
Vincent gently touched my hand.
"Then we'll figure it out."
I stared at him.
"We?"
He nodded.
"If you'll let me."
Before I could answer, the office door opened.
Delia stood in the doorway.
Her face was pale.
She looked at Vincent.
Then at me.
Then at his hand holding mine.
"What is this?"
Vincent stood.
"Close the door, Delia."
She laughed nervously.
"Darling, the guests—"
"Close it."
She obeyed.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Vincent asked, "Did you threaten Nell Ellis?"
Delia froze.
"What?"
"Did you threaten a thirteen-year-old girl in the hospital?"
She looked at me.
Hatred flashed across her face.
Then she smiled.
"Marin is confused."
I stood.
"No."
Delia's expression hardened.
I continued.
"I'm not confused."
Vincent looked between us.
Delia stepped forward.
"Vincent, you can't believe her."
He said nothing.
She placed a hand over her stomach.
"I'm carrying your child."
Vincent's expression remained cold.
"That is a separate claim requiring proof."
Delia stared.
"What?"
He looked at her.
"I want the truth."
She began crying.
Perfect tears.
Carefully timed.
"You're humiliating me."
Vincent didn't move.
She turned toward me.
"You've always been jealous."
I stared at her.
"Delia."
She continued.
"You couldn't stand that I finally had something better than you."
My chest tightened.
"Better?"
She laughed bitterly.
"A future. A family. A man who could give me everything."
I shook my head.
"I never wanted your life."
Her eyes flashed.
"No. You wanted mine."
For a moment, I saw something ugly beneath the glamorous makeup.
Resentment.
Envy.
Years of hidden bitterness.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"You should have disappeared when Sutton told you to."
Silence.
Vincent turned toward her.
Slowly.
"What did you just say?"
Delia's face drained.
She looked toward the door.
Then back at him.
"Nothing."
Vincent stepped forward.
"Who is Sutton?"
I whispered, "My manager."
Vincent looked at me.
Then at Delia.
And I saw the moment he understood.
The woman standing in front of him hadn't merely lied about a pregnancy.
She had helped arrange an attack against the mother of his unborn child.
And she had used a sick thirteen-year-old girl as leverage.
Delia took a step backward.
"Vincent, please."
He looked at her.
"Don't."
For the first time, my best friend looked genuinely afraid.
But the nightmare wasn't over.
Because at that exact moment, Marco's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at Vincent.
His expression was grim.
"Sir."
Vincent turned.
"What?"
Marco swallowed.
"Someone tried to enter Nell's hospital room using a forged staff badge."
My knees gave way.
Vincent caught me.
May you like
And as I clung to him, I realized Delia's threat had never been empty.
She had already put the plan into motion.
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