Chapter 4 - The Bellardi Estate
The Bentley drove north, past the glittering towers of the Magnificent Mile, climbing higher into the quiet, heavily wooded hills of Lake Forest. Iron security gates swung open automatically as the car approached, revealing a sprawling stone estate that looked less like a modern billionaire’s mansion and more like a nineteenth-century European fortress surrounded by dark, ancient pines.
Vivian watched the landscape blur past the tinted window. Her phone was buzzing continuously in her evening bag—dozens of missed calls and frantic text messages from Nathan, from her sister Maribel, and from mutual friends asking what had happened at the gala.
She pulled the phone out, opened the chat log from Nathan, and hit Block Number. Then she did the same for Maribel.
She tossed the phone back into her bag with a definitive click.
Dominic watched her through the dim interior light. “Feeling lighter?”
“Feeling unemployed and homeless,” Vivian corrected dryly, though a microscopic weight had lifted off her shoulders. “You ruined my life in twenty minutes, Mr. Bellardi. I don’t have a fiancé, I don’t have a job—since Nathan owned the foundation’s operating accounts—and my sister hates me.”
“You have your dignity, a clear conscience, and a front-row seat to the dismantling of a fraud,” Dominic countered smoothly as the car glided to a halt beneath the grand stone portico of the mansion. “As for a job—the Bellardi Foundation has been looking for a director of development who actually understands architectural restoration and community outreach. The salary is triple what Wexler was paying you, and the benefits include not having to look at Nathan’s face ever again.”
Vivian blinked, turning her head to stare at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously offering me a job right now? In the middle of kidnapping me to your mob fortress?”
“It’s not a fortress, it’s a tax shelter,” Dominic corrected with a dry chuckle, stepping out of the car and opening her door. “And I don’t kidnap people, Miss Blake. I merely provide alternate lodging options for displaced assets.”
She took his hand—a warm, calloused grip that felt entirely too solid for a man of his reputation—and stepped out onto the cobblestone courtyard.
The front doors of the estate swung open before they even reached the steps. An older butler in a pristine charcoal suit bowed slightly. “Good evening, Mr. Bellardi. Welcome home. Shall I prepare the west guest suite for Miss Blake?”
“Prepare the master wing, Arthur,” Dominic said casually, loosening his tie as he walked into the cavernous, art-filled foyer. “She’s staying awhile.”
Vivian stopped dead in her tracks. “Wait. Master wing? I’m sleeping in a guest room, Mr. Bellardi. Or better yet, calling an Uber back to my apartment.”
Dominic turned around on the grand marble staircase, looking down at her with a look that mixed amusement and immovable authority. “Your apartment lease was guaranteed by Wexler Vine & Trade’s corporate housing fund, Vivian. It was canceled twenty minutes ago by Nathan’s legal team. You don't have an apartment anymore either.”
Vivian’s mouth dropped open. She looked from Dominic to Arthur the butler, who maintained an expression of absolute, practiced neutrality.
May you like
“You people are terrifying,” she whispered.
“We’re efficient,” Dominic corrected, turning back up the stairs. “Come along, Vivian. Arthur will bring up a glass of wine. We have a lot of ledgers to review before the federal marshals knock on Wexler’s door tomorrow morning.”
