Chapter 4 - The Girl Who Refused to Be Owned
Charmian returned to St. Jude’s two days later.
The campus looked exactly the same.
That somehow made it worse.
Students crossed the courtyard carrying backpacks and coffee cups. Someone laughed near the fountain. Two girls argued about a chemistry assignment beneath a tree.
Normal life continued.
Charmian stood at the edge of the parking lot and could not make herself move.
The last time she had walked through the garage behind the business building, Sergei Petrov had grabbed her wrist.
She still remembered the smell of concrete and gasoline.
The pressure of his fingers.
The sound her head made when it struck the side of a car.
She took one step backward.
A black sedan waited twenty yards away.
Vincent had insisted on security.
Charmian had argued for nearly an hour.
He had won by refusing to argue back.
“You can hate it from inside the armored vehicle,” he had told her.
Now Aleandro sat in the driver’s seat pretending not to watch.
Charmian took a breath.
Then another.
She crossed the street.
Nobody stopped her.
Nobody grabbed her.
Nobody whispered Tommy’s name.
By the time she reached the business building, her hands had stopped shaking.
Professor Nolan looked up as she entered his office.
“Miss Flannery.”
Charmian tightened her grip on her backpack.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“The midterm.”
The professor removed his glasses.
“I received documentation explaining that you experienced a serious personal emergency.”
Charmian closed her eyes briefly.
Vincent.
Of course.
Nolan continued.
“Your academic record is excellent. I’m allowing you to retake the exam Friday.”
Relief moved through her so quickly she nearly laughed.
“Thank you.”
“Are you safe now?”
The question caught her off guard.
Charmian hesitated.
“Yes.”
She realized it might actually be true.
After class, she returned to the sedan.
Aleandro glanced into the mirror.
“How was normal civilization?”
“I forgot how loud college students are.”
“Wait until you hear Vincent complain about quarterly tax planning.”
She stared at him.
“He pays taxes?”
“Some.”
Charmian laughed.
Aleandro smiled.
It was strange how quickly life inside the Costa estate had changed.
She was still technically an employee.
She still worked scheduled shifts.
But Vincent no longer allowed her to clean until midnight, much less three in the morning.
Mrs. Gable had received strict instructions about Charmian’s hours.
A guest room had been prepared for her temporarily.
She hated how comfortable it was.
Soft bed.
Private bathroom.
A balcony overlooking the gardens.
The luxury made her feel like an impostor.
Every night she told herself she would return to her apartment tomorrow.
Every morning something stopped her.
Usually fear.
Sometimes Vincent.
He never said stay.
He simply behaved as though leaving was not yet practical.
That evening Charmian found him in the kitchen.
Not the office.
Not the dining room.
The kitchen.
He stood near the island drinking coffee while reading something on his phone.
Charmian dropped her backpack onto a chair.
“You’re in my territory.”
Vincent looked up.
“Your territory?”
“The kitchen.”
“I own the kitchen.”
“You don’t know where the dish towels are.”
“I know exactly where they are.”
Charmian raised an eyebrow.
Vincent pointed confidently toward a drawer.
She opened it.
Silverware.
He frowned.
Charmian smiled.
“I’ll inform your organization that leadership remains secure.”
Vincent put his phone down.
“How was school?”
“Fine.”
“Midterm?”
“Friday.”
“You’ll pass.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I saw your transcripts.”
Charmian’s expression flattened.
“Still creepy.”
“Still useful.”
She walked toward the sink.
Vincent immediately said, “No.”
Charmian stopped.
“I was getting water.”
He looked suspicious.
She held up an empty glass.
“I’m allowed to drink in the mansion, right?”
“For now.”
Charmian filled the glass.
“Any news about Tommy?”
The humor disappeared.
Vincent did not answer immediately.
That was an answer.
“What?”
“We found a storage unit.”
“His?”
“Rented using a false name. We believe so.”
“And?”
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“Approximately ninety thousand dollars.”
Charmian stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
“Tommy never had ninety thousand dollars.”
“He does now.”
“Where did it come from?”
Vincent folded his arms.
“We’re determining that.”
Charmian looked away.
“My brother is stupid. He’s not a thief.”
Vincent said nothing.
She looked back.
“He isn’t.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you believe it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
Charmian set the glass down harder than necessary.
Vincent watched her.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk like you already know how everything ends.”
“I usually do.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“It keeps me alive.”
Charmian’s anger softened.
There were moments when Vincent seemed much older than thirty.
Not physically.
In the eyes.
The kind of exhaustion that could not be slept away.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
Vincent’s expression changed.
“What?”
“You know everything about me.”
“Occupational requirement.”
“I know almost nothing about you.”
“That is also an occupational requirement.”
Charmian leaned against the counter.
“You said I’m not alone anymore.”
Vincent looked at her.
“If that’s true, it can’t only work one direction.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally Vincent said, “My father died when I was twenty-one.”
Charmian did not interrupt.
“He ran the organization.”
“Murdered?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Vincent gave a small shrug.
“People said that a lot.”
“What happened after?”
“I inherited enemies.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Vincent almost smiled.
She had used his own words against him.
“My mother moved overseas. My younger sister was already in boarding school. Men twice my age expected me to fail.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Charmian looked around the kitchen.
“I noticed.”
Vincent’s gaze remained on her.
“I learned very quickly that protecting people meant controlling variables.”
“People aren’t variables.”
“No.”
“Maybe that’s your problem.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve worked here one month and already diagnosed my personality.”
“I’m efficient.”
His mouth twitched.
Then the security system chimed.
Both looked toward the hallway.
Vincent’s phone vibrated.
Aleandro.
He answered.
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“Where?”
Charmian’s stomach tightened.
Vincent turned away slightly.
“When?”
He listened.
“Keep him there.”
Charmian stepped closer.
“Tommy?”
Vincent ended the call.
“Yes.”
Her heart jumped.
“You found him?”
“He walked into your apartment.”
“What?”
“One of my men was watching the building.”
Charmian grabbed her bag.
Vincent blocked her.
“No.”
“He’s my brother.”
“I’m going.”
“Then I’m coming.”
“No.”
“You can’t keep ordering me around.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Watch me.”
Charmian stepped close enough that only a foot remained between them.
“If Tommy is there, I’m going.”
Vincent recognized the expression.
There would be no winning without physically locking her inside the estate.
And he had promised himself he would never make her feel imprisoned.
“Fine.”
Charmian blinked.
“Fine?”
“You stay beside me.”
“I don’t need—”
“Charmian.”
Something in his voice stopped her.
“If Sergei Petrov is involved, this is not a family reunion.”
Her anger faded.
Twenty-five minutes later, the black sedan stopped outside Charmian’s apartment building.
Vincent exited first.
Two Costa men stood near the entrance.
Aleandro joined them.
“He’s upstairs.”
“Alone?”
“As far as we can tell.”
Charmian moved toward the stairs.
Vincent caught her wrist.
She looked down.
His grip immediately loosened.
“Behind me.”
This time she did not argue.
The apartment door was open.
Vincent entered.
Charmian followed.
Tommy Flannery stood beside the window.
He looked worse than his security photograph.
Thin.
Sunken eyes.
Three days of beard.
A cut across his forehead.
Charmian stopped breathing.
“Tommy.”
He turned.
For one second, he looked like the brother she remembered.
Relief.
Love.
Shame.
“Charm.”
She crossed the room and hugged him.
Tommy held her tightly.
“I’m sorry.”
Charmian began crying.
“You idiot.”
“I know.”
“You left me.”
“I know.”
“They came after me.”
Tommy closed his eyes.
“I know.”
Charmian pulled away.
“You knew?”
Vincent watched carefully.
Tommy’s expression changed.
“I tried to stop it.”
“How?”
“I couldn’t contact you.”
“You had a phone.”
“They were watching.”
“Who?”
Tommy looked toward Vincent.
“Petrovs.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“What did you take?”
Tommy’s face became pale.
Charmian looked between them.
“What is he talking about?”
Tommy swallowed.
“I didn’t borrow forty thousand.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“I suspected that.”
Charmian stared.
“Then what happened?”
Tommy sat heavily on the couch.
“I was working for them.”
The room went silent.
“Doing what?” Charmian whispered.
“Books. Collections. Small stuff.”
“You told me you worked construction.”
“I lied.”
Charmian looked hurt.
Tommy continued rapidly.
“I found records. Payments. Names. Judges. Cops. Politicians. Businesses.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“A ledger.”
Tommy nodded.
“Digital copies.”
Aleandro muttered something under his breath.
Tommy looked terrified.
“The Petrovs were preparing to move against the Costas.”
Vincent became completely still.
“They’ve been buying people.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know everyone.”
“Try.”
Tommy shook his head.
“I copied files. Sergei found out.”
Charmian slowly backed away.
“The debt…”
“Fake.”
Tommy looked at her.
“I gambled, yes. I owed some money. Maybe six thousand. Not forty.”
Charmian’s face crumpled.
“They used me to find you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“They hit me because of you.”
“I know.”
“They made me clean blood off floors.”
Tommy stood.
“Charm—”
“Don’t.”
She raised a hand.
Vincent watched anger replace heartbreak.
For the first time, Charmian was not protecting Tommy.
She was seeing him clearly.
“Where are the files?” Vincent asked.
Tommy looked toward him.
“Safe.”
“Nothing is safe anymore.”
Tommy hesitated.
Then he reached inside his jacket.
Every Costa guard moved.
“Easy!”
Tommy slowly pulled out a small flash drive.
Black.
Ordinary.
Potentially worth lives.
“I kept one copy.”
Vincent took it.
“Where are the others?”
“One hidden.”
“Where?”
Tommy started to answer.
Then headlights swept across the apartment window.
Vincent’s head snapped toward the glass.
Aleandro moved first.
“Down!”
Gunfire shattered the window.
Charmian screamed.
Vincent grabbed her and pulled her behind the wall as bullets tore through the room.
Costa men returned fire.
Tommy dropped beside the couch.
Glass rained across the floor.
Vincent covered Charmian with his body.
“Stay down.”
Outside, an engine roared.
Then disappeared.
Silence.
Aleandro moved toward the broken window.
“They’re gone.”
Vincent looked at Charmian.
“You hurt?”
She shook her head.
Tommy rose.
His face had gone white.
Vincent stared at him.
“Your hidden copy.”
Tommy swallowed.
“St. Jude’s.”
Charmian froze.
“What?”
Tommy looked at his sister.
“I hid it on campus.”
Vincent’s jaw clenched.
Tommy continued.
“Inside Charmian’s old locker.”
The Petrovs had not attacked her at school because they wanted repayment.
They had been searching for evidence.
And now that Tommy had returned, there was no reason for them to keep Charmian alive.
Vincent looked at the shattered window.
The war he had tried to prevent had already begun.
May you like
And Charmian was standing directly in its center.
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