Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO COULDN’T BE TOUCHED
For several seconds, Carmine did not move.
Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone.
“Get Rocco downstairs,” he said when someone answered. “Alive. Alone. And tell nobody why.”
He ended the call.
Ivy stared at him.
“You can’t bring him here.”
Carmine slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I just did.”
“He’ll know I told you.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll hurt me.”
“No.”
The certainty in his voice made her angry enough to forget her fear.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “He’s not afraid of you.”
Carmine’s expression changed.
It was subtle, but she saw it: a slight tightening around his eyes, the first crack in the polished indifference he wore like armor.
“Rocco has worked for me for nine years. He understands exactly what I can do to him.”
“Then why did he do it?”
The question hung between them.
Carmine looked toward the locked door.
“Because he thought I would never find out.”
He unlocked it, then called for his housekeeper, Mrs. Bennett, who appeared within minutes in a navy robe over her nightclothes. Her silver hair was pinned into its usual immaculate bun, but alarm widened her eyes when she saw Ivy's face.
“Good Lord.”
“Get the first-aid kit,” Carmine ordered. “And call Dr. Mercer. Tell him I have an injured employee.”
Mrs. Bennett approached Ivy carefully.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Ivy almost stepped toward her. Then she remembered the medical debt, the rent, and the fact that everyone in this house owed Carmine something.
“I’m fine.”
Mrs. Bennett looked at the bruises on her throat.
“No, you're not.”
For the first time that night, Ivy nearly broke down.
She had expected questions. She had expected someone to tell her she should have been more careful, that she should have avoided provoking Rocco, that this was simply the price of working for dangerous men.
Instead, an older woman held out a clean towel and waited.
Ivy took it.
The kitchen door opened again.
Two guards escorted Rocco inside.
He was thirty-six, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a gold chain resting against his black T-shirt. A pale scar crossed his right eyebrow. He had the loose, confident walk of a man who had spent years mistaking fear for respect.
His gaze landed on Ivy.
His smile vanished.
Then he looked at Carmine.
“Boss. What’s going on?”
Carmine stood beside the island, his untouched drink still waiting where he had left it.
“Tell me about the service alley.”
Rocco glanced at Ivy.
“What about it?”
“Apparently, you were there tonight.”
“I was checking the perimeter.”
“Interesting. Ivy says you were checking her throat with your hands.”
Rocco's face hardened.
“She's lying.”
Ivy flinched at the word.
Carmine noticed.
He moved between them, blocking Rocco's view of her.
“Look at me when you speak.”
Rocco obeyed, but his jaw worked angrily.
“I found her wandering around after hours. She was upset. I tried to calm her down, and she started screaming. You know how these girls get when they think they can manipulate someone.”
Mrs. Bennett made a disgusted sound.
Rocco ignored her.
“She probably hurt herself and decided to blame me.”
Carmine nodded slowly.
“Then you won't mind if I ask security to preserve the footage.”
For the first time, Rocco hesitated.
It lasted less than a second.
But Carmine had built his empire by noticing the smallest changes in a man's face.
“There isn't any footage covering that corner,” Rocco said.
“Why would you know that?”
Silence.
Carmine's voice dropped.
“Answer me.”
Rocco shifted his weight. “Because I've worked security here for nine years.”
“Then you know the cameras were replaced last month.”
Rocco's eyes flicked toward the ceiling.
Ivy saw it.
So did Carmine.
“Take him to the west study,” Carmine told the guards. “Nobody speaks to him until I arrive.”
As they led Rocco away, he twisted around.
“You're making a mistake, Boss.”
Carmine didn't answer.
Rocco's attention shifted to Ivy.
His expression became something she would remember for the rest of her life.
Not anger.
Promise.
The door closed behind him.
Ivy's knees weakened. She caught the counter before she fell.
Carmine turned toward her.
“Did he threaten you before tonight?”
She shook her head, then stopped.
There had been other things. Unwanted comments. A hand lingering too long on her waist when he passed her in the pantry. A warning that he knew where she lived.
But those incidents had seemed small beside the attack in the alley.
“He knew about my apartment,” she whispered. “He said he could make sure I never worked in this city again.”
Carmine's face went still.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody tells you no in this house. They just tell you what it will cost.”
For the first time, Carmine seemed to hear something other than fear in her voice.
He pulled out a chair.
“Sit down, Ivy.”
She remained standing.
“I don't take orders from men who lock doors.”
His gaze held hers.
Then, without argument, he walked to the kitchen door and opened it.
“You're right.”
The unexpected admission left her speechless.
He turned back.
“The door stays open. The doctor will examine you. You'll be paid for every hour you miss, and nobody will dismiss you for speaking the truth.”
Ivy stared at him, searching for the hidden price.
“What do you want from me?”
Carmine glanced toward the corridor where Rocco had disappeared.
“The truth.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered, listened, and slowly raised his eyes to Ivy.
“Say that again,” he told the caller.
A pause.
“Who authorized the payment?”
Another pause.
Carmine ended the call.
When he spoke again, his voice had lost every trace of warmth.
May you like
“Rocco didn't act alone.”
And somewhere upstairs, a door slammed.
