Chapter 3 - A DRESS LIKE ARMOR
By noon, Sadi had slept forty-three minutes in a chair beside Sam’s bed. Victor had not
slept at all. She knew because each time she woke, she saw him through the narrow window in
the hospital door, speaking quietly to men who arrived with folders, phones, and the
disciplined expressions of people who understood that mistakes around Victor Costello were
expensive. He seemed to have built a command center out of the family consultation room.
Security footage was pulled. The bribed orderly was identified. Every vehicle connected to
Declan was traced. The hospital administrator, pale and sweating, suddenly discovered three
new reasons to improve access control.
Sadi should have been relieved. Instead, guilt gnawed through her. At eleven, she cornered
Victor near the vending machines. “I need to know what you want.” He looked up from his
phone. “Coffee.”
“From me.” He studied her for a second. “Nothing.” “No one does this for nothing.” “That has
been your experience. It is not a law of nature.” “You’re Victor Costello.” “And?” “And the
entire city thinks you charge interest on favors.”
“The city says many things.” “Are they wrong?” He did not answer. That silence was answer
enough. Sadi folded her arms. The skin over her knuckles pulled painfully. “If I go to that
gala with you, what happens?”
“Mick understands you are protected.” “That’s all?” “No.” Victor slipped the phone into his
jacket. “The city understands it too.” She laughed once without humor. “You make it sound
like putting a sign around my neck.”
“In my world, visibility can be armor.” “In mine, visibility gets people fired.” “Your world
and mine have already collided.” She hated that he was right. By late afternoon, Sam’s
doctor confirmed there had been no tampering with his medication or equipment. His treatment
remained on schedule, though his blood counts were fragile. Sadi listened to the medical
explanation with the exhausted concentration of someone trying to hold an ocean inside a
glass. When the doctor left, Sam reached for her hand.
“You should go.” “To the gala?” “Yeah.” “You almost got killed last night.” “So did my
dignity when you told a mafia boss I complain about his dust.” Despite herself, she smiled.
Sam squeezed her fingers weakly. “Sadi. You can’t stand beside my bed every second and call
that protecting me. You have to stop the person doing this.”
“I don’t know how.” “Maybe Tall Dark and Felony does.” “Sam.” “What? He likes you.” “He has
spoken to me for approximately twelve minutes.” “He looks at you like the room annoys him
for containing other people.”
Sadi stared at her brother. Sam shrugged against the pillow. “I have cancer, not blindness.”
At six, a woman named Elena arrived with two garment bags and the confidence of a military
officer. She introduced herself as Victor’s cousin and informed Sadi that arguing would
waste time but not change the outcome.
“I’m not wearing something ridiculous,” Sadi warned. Elena unzipped the first bag. “Victor
said the same thing.” The dress inside was dark blue, almost black until it caught the
light. It was elegant rather than flashy, long-sleeved, cut cleanly at the waist, with no
glitter and no plunging neckline.
Sadi touched the fabric. “He chose this?” Elena smiled. “Victor does not choose dresses.”
“So you did.” “I chose five. He rejected four.” “Why?” “One was red.” Sadi waited. Elena
sighed. “He said red would make the papers write the wrong story.”
The sentence settled strangely in Sadi’s chest. Two hours later, she stood in the hospital
restroom barely recognizing herself. Her hair had been twisted into a simple low knot.
Someone had covered the sleepless shadows beneath her eyes. The dress fit like it had been
designed for her, but her hands remained bandaged beneath thin dark gloves.
She almost removed them. Then she remembered why she was there. The gloves stayed. Victor
waited near the elevators in a black tuxedo. He looked less like a criminal than a man
carved for expensive rooms, which somehow made him more dangerous. His gaze moved over her
once, not greedily, not possessively, but with an attention so complete she felt the air
change.
“You look ready,” he said. “Ready for what?” “To make Mick nervous.” The gala occupied the
glass ballroom of the Bellmore Grand, forty floors above the city. Cameras flashed before
Sadi even stepped from the car. She froze at the curb.
Victor noticed. “Do you want to leave?” The question surprised her. “You’d let me?” “Yes.”
“What about your plan?” “It requires you to choose it.” For the first time since Mick’s
call, someone was giving her a choice without attaching punishment.
Sadi looked at the reporters, the lights, the entrance lined with flowers and polished
brass. Then she thought of Sam’s hospital room. She placed her hand on Victor’s offered arm.
“Let’s make him nervous.”
The ballroom fell subtly quieter when they entered. Sadi could feel curiosity moving through
the crowd like electricity. Politicians turned. Business leaders paused mid-conversation. A
television anchor whispered to her cameraman. Victor greeted no one at first. He walked with
Sadi directly through the center of the room, where avoiding attention would have been
impossible.
At the far end of the ballroom stood Mick O’Shea. He wore a tuxedo and a smile that did not
reach his eyes. Declan stood three steps behind him. Sadi’s hand tightened on Victor’s
sleeve. Victor felt it.
“Look at me,” he said. She did. “Do not let them watch you be afraid.” “I am afraid.”
“Courage is not the absence of fear.” “That sounds like something from a cheap poster.” His
mouth curved slightly. “Then prove the poster right.”
A host stepped onto the stage and began welcoming donors. Victor guided Sadi toward their
table, but Mick intercepted them halfway. “What an entrance,” Mick said. Victor stopped.
Mick’s gaze slid toward Sadi. “You clean up beautifully.”
Victor’s expression became blank. Sadi had spent months swallowing fear. Tonight, for
reasons she did not fully understand, something else rose instead. “Stay away from my
brother.” Mick smiled. “Or what?”
Victor answered before she could. “Or you discover the difference between frightening
someone and making an enemy.” Cameras were beginning to turn toward them. Mick lowered his
voice. “She owes me money.”
“How much?” “Eighty-two thousand now.” Victor reached into his inner pocket. Sadi’s heart
stopped. If he paid Mick, she would simply owe Victor instead. But Victor did not produce a
check. He produced a folded document.
“This is a copy of every illegal interest charge, threat, and hospital access payment your
organization made in the last ninety days,” he said. “You have accountants who hate you.”
Mick’s face changed.
Victor continued, loud enough for the nearest cameras to hear. “And since you seem confused
about Ms. Hayes’s position, let me make it clear.” The ballroom quieted. Sadi looked at him
sharply.
Victor turned toward the cameras, then back to her. “She is under my protection because she
chose to stand with me. Any threat against her or her brother is a threat against my house.”
A dozen shutters clicked at once.
He did not call her property. He did not claim ownership. He did something more dangerous.
He gave her name weight. Mick’s smile disappeared. Then every phone in the ballroom began
buzzing. One after another. Victor’s did too. Nico’s message contained only seven words.
May you like
DECLAN JUST LEFT. HE’S HEADING FOR SAM.
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