Chapter 9 - The Choice
When Victor finally returned to the penthouse, he looked like a man who had walked through hell and barely survived.
Harper didn't care about the blood, the dirt, or the terrifying aura that clung to him.
She ran across the marble floor and threw her arms carefully around his neck, burying her face in his chest.
Victor wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the scent of vanilla.
It was the only thing that kept him tethered to humanity.
For three days, Victor rested and allowed his body to heal under Harper’s strict, unyielding supervision.
She cooked for him, changed his bandages, and read to him while he slept.
He watched her move around his dark, empty penthouse, filling it with warmth and chaotic energy.
He knew he was being utterly selfish by keeping her there.
On the fourth evening, Victor sat by the window, watching the city lights flicker below.
He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants, looking remarkably normal for a crime lord.
Harper walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders.
“You are thinking too loudly,” she whispered, kissing the uninjured side of his neck.
Victor sighed, reaching up to cover her small hands with his large ones.
“I have arranged a new identity for you,” he said quietly, the words tasting like poison on his tongue.
Harper froze, her arms slowly uncoiling from his shoulders.
She stepped back, walking around to face him.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her brow furrowing in deep confusion.
Victor refused to meet her eyes, staring out at the glowing skyline.
“Declan is dead, but my world is still dangerous, Harper.”
“I have deposited ten million dollars into an offshore account in your new name.”
He swallowed hard, fighting the intense agony tearing his chest apart.
“Arthur has a private jet waiting at the airstrip to take you to Europe, or anywhere you want to go.”
“You can have your life back.”
“A better life, far away from monsters like me.”
Harper stared at him in utter disbelief.
She looked at the man who had burned down half the city to keep her safe, who had taken a bullet for her, and who was now trying to send her away.
She let out a harsh, bitter laugh.
“You are an absolute idiot, Victor Gallow.”
Victor finally looked up, stunned by her furious tone.
She marched forward and aggressively poked him in the center of his chest.
“Do you think I want ten million dollars and a fake name?”
She poked him again, harder this time.
“Do you think I want to sit on a beach in Europe and wonder if the man I love is bleeding to death in a warehouse?”
Victor’s breath hitched at the three words she had just spoken.
The man I love.
“Harper,” he choked out, his eyes wide with vulnerable shock.
“I am a criminal.”
“I am darkness.”
“I know exactly what you are,” she interrupted fiercely, grabbing his face with both hands.
“You are a ruthless, terrifying, arrogant mafia boss.”
She leaned down until their noses were almost touching.
“But you are also the man who bought an espresso machine for an entire floor just because I complained about bad coffee.”
She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, sealing her promise.
May you like
“I am not leaving you, Victor.”
“You are stuck with me, broken umbrellas and all.”
