Chapter 5 - Marked by the King of South Philly
At eleven-thirty the next morning, the penthouse was chaos.
A team of high-end stylists, makeup artists, and assistants swarmed the guest room, unpacking a breathtaking off-the-shoulder gown made of ivory satin and seed pearls. Graham stood by the mirror, adjusting his cuff links while barking orders into his headset.
“Make sure the Philadelphia Inquirer gets front-row access during the ring announcement,” Graham commanded. “And tell the catering staff that if the oysters aren’t chilled to forty degrees, they won’t see a dime of their bonus.”
He turned to look at Evelyn, who sat quietly in the makeup chair while a stylist pinned her dark hair into an intricate updo.
“You look decent,” Graham said coldly, inspecting her reflection. “Cover that mark on her neck with heavier foundation,” he added to the stylist, pointing uncaringly at the faint yellowing bruise near her collarbone. “We can’t have the society reporters asking questions.”
The stylist’s eyes widened slightly, but she quickly looked down, nodding obediently. “Yes, Mr. Whitmore.”
“I’m going downstairs to meet the campaign bus,” Graham said, checking his gold Rolex. “The limousine will pick you up at twelve-fifteen sharp. If you’re late, Evelyn, I will make you regret it.”
“I won't be late, Graham,” Evelyn said softly, meeting his gaze in the mirror. For the first time in months, her eyes didn't look down. They were clear, calm, and completely devoid of fear.
Graham frowned, unnerved by the change in her demeanor, but his phone buzzed again, distracting him. “Twelve-fifteen,” he snapped, and walked out the door with his entourage following close behind.
The moment the penthouse fell silent, Evelyn stood up from the styling chair.
“Miss Harper, we haven’t finished the hair—” the stylist began.
“Pack your things and leave,” Evelyn said calmly, unzipping the designer gown and letting the heavy ivory silk pool on the floor like dead skin. “The event is canceled for me.”
Before the confused stylists could protest, Evelyn slipped into a tailored emerald green suit she had bought with her own diner savings three weeks prior, pulled her hair back into a sleek, low ponytail, and grabbed her small leather purse. She left Graham’s massive diamond ring sitting directly in the center of the marble kitchen island, propped up against a printed copy of the forged loan documents from his safe.
She took the service elevator down to the alleyway behind the luxury building.
Waiting in the rain was a midnight-black armored Maybach. As Evelyn stepped into the drizzle, the rear door opened automatically.
Vincent Marchetti sat inside, holding an open leather dossier on his knee. He looked up, his dark eyes sweeping over her sharp green suit and her resolute posture. A slow, dangerous smile curved the corner of his lips.
“You’re on time, Evelyn.”
“I have no interest in missing my own freedom,” she said, sliding into the heated leather seat beside him. The door shut with a heavy, vault-like thud, sealing them off from the city noise.
Vincent handed her a crystal glass of sparkling water. “Did you find what you needed?”
“He forged my name on two corporate debt indemnities,” she said, her voice shaking slightly with residual adrenaline. “He planned to have me sign the marriage license tonight so the federal courts would seize my assets and charge me with his bankruptcy fraud.”
Vincent’s smile vanished, replaced by an aura so lethal the temperature in the car seemed to drop ten degrees. “Graham Whitmore is about to discover that stealing from a woman under my protection is an unforgivable offense.”
“Under your protection?” Evelyn looked at him directly. “What does that cost me, Vincent?”
Vincent set his dossier down on the console, turning his broad shoulders to face her. “It costs you your fear. From this moment on, no one touches you without my permission. No one raises their voice to you. In exchange, you stand beside me tonight while I collect my debt.”
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“And after that?”
Vincent looked deep into her eyes, his expression softening just a fraction. “After that, Evelyn, you do whatever you want. But I have a feeling you weren’t made to pour coffee for cowards. You were made to run this city.”
