Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF BEING HIS WEAKNESSCarmine returned to the estate three days later.
He claimed he had recovered sufficiently to resume his responsibilities. Dr. Weiss claimed Carmine was a pathological liar. Matteo claimed the boss had threatened to fire anyone who mentioned the word rest.
Ivy believed all three statements.
The armored car rolled through the iron gates shortly after noon. Winter sunlight spilled across the gravel driveway, illuminating the damage left by the attack.
Several windows had been replaced with temporary panels. The eastern wing was sealed off behind security barriers, and workers were repairing the stonework near the main entrance.
The estate looked less like a home than a wounded fortress.
Carmine stepped out of the vehicle without accepting the driver's offered arm.
He wore a dark overcoat over a black shirt, and his face remained composed despite the stiffness in his movements. The only visible indication of his injury was the way he kept his left arm close to his body.
Ivy followed him through the entrance.
The moment they crossed the threshold, three guards straightened.
“Boss.”
Carmine nodded.
“Report.”
“Repairs are underway. The remaining staff have been relocated to the western residence, except for the essential household team. Matteo has established a temporary command center in the library.”
“Casualties?”
“Six confirmed dead on our side. Two injured men remain under medical observation. The intruders were all accounted for.”
Carmine removed his gloves.
“And the vehicle?”
“Still being examined.”
“Then stop giving me reports about things that have not happened.”
The guard lowered his head.
“Yes, boss.”
Carmine continued toward the staircase.
Ivy walked beside him, carrying the small bag she had brought from the clinic.
When they reached the first landing, he slowed.
“Your room has been moved.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“The basement quarters are being renovated. You will stay in the east guest suite.”
Ivy looked at him carefully.
“Because of the attack?”
“Partly.”
“And the other part?”
Carmine's expression remained unreadable.
“You are no longer a member of the cleaning staff.”
“I did not agree to that.”
He turned toward her.
For a moment, the old instinct to command the situation appeared in his face. Ivy could almost see the answer forming: he had made the decision, the matter was settled, and nobody needed to discuss it further.
Then he stopped himself.
“You are right.”
The unexpected admission made her blink.
Carmine placed one hand against the banister.
“What would you prefer?”
Ivy considered the question.
She did not want to return to the basement, where every corridor reminded her of the person she had been when he found her. But she also did not want to wake up one morning and discover that the man who had paid her debt had quietly rearranged her entire existence.
“I want a room where I can close the door and know that nobody will enter without permission.”
“Done.”
“I want to keep my own money.”
“Of course.”
“I want to work if I choose to work.”
His expression tightened slightly.
“Doing what?”
“I do not know yet.”
“Then take some time to decide.”
“And I do not want everyone treating me as if I am a fragile object that might break if somebody speaks too loudly.”
Carmine studied her.
“That may be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because half the men in this house are frightened of me, and the other half are frightened of what I might do if someone hurts you.”
Ivy sighed.
“That sounds like a problem you created.”
“It is.”
He offered his arm.
The gesture was awkward enough to make her smile.
She took it carefully, avoiding pressure against his injured side.
Together, they climbed the remaining stairs.
The east guest suite was larger than Ivy's entire apartment.
It contained a sitting room, a private bathroom, a dressing room, and a bedroom overlooking the frozen gardens. Cream-colored curtains framed tall windows. A fire burned in the marble fireplace, and a tray of fresh fruit rested beside a silver coffee service.
Ivy stood just inside the doorway.
“I cannot live here.”
Carmine raised an eyebrow.
“You have not tried it.”
“I mean I cannot accept this.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is too much.”
He looked around the room.
“It is a bedroom.”
“It has three separate rooms attached to it.”
“Four, if you count the bathroom.”
“Carmine.”
He lifted his uninjured hand.
“All right.”
He studied her face for a moment.
“Would you prefer a smaller room?”
“I would prefer a room that feels like mine.”
“Then make it yours.”
He turned toward the door.
“Change the curtains. Move the furniture. Buy whatever you need. The household manager has instructions not to spend money without your approval.”
Ivy watched him leave.
At the doorway, he paused.
“One more thing.”
She looked up.
“The lock works from the inside. You have the only key. If you want a guard outside, you can request one. If you do not, nobody will stand there.”
He waited.
“Your room is yours, Ivy. Not mine.”
Then he left.
She remained in the center of the bedroom for several minutes.
The distinction mattered more than the size of the room.
For years, Ivy had survived by making herself useful in other people's spaces. Her apartment had belonged to a landlord who threatened eviction. Her mother's hospital room had belonged to an institution that sent bills long after the funeral. The basement quarters had belonged to an employer whose men could enter the kitchen whenever they pleased.
Now, for the first time, a door stood in front of her with a lock she controlled.
Ivy crossed the room and turned the key.
The lock clicked.
She smiled.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed and cried.
Not because she was unhappy.
Because she was finally somewhere she did not have to be afraid.
The first week of Carmine's recovery was difficult for everyone.
The doctor ordered him to rest.
Carmine interpreted this as a suggestion to conduct business from his bedroom.
Matteo brought him reports.
Gideon brought him financial summaries.
Three separate lawyers arrived with documents requiring signatures.
By the fourth day, the bedside table was covered with folders, phones, and cups of untouched coffee.
Ivy watched the operation with growing irritation.
On Friday morning, she entered Carmine's room carrying a tray of breakfast.
He was propped against several pillows, reading a shipping report.
“You need to eat.”
“I will eat later.”
“You said that an hour ago.”
“I was busy.”
“You were reading the same page for twenty minutes.”
Carmine looked at the report.
He had, in fact, been reading the same page for twenty minutes.
He placed it aside.
“Have you considered a career in intelligence?”
“I have considered throwing your reports into the fireplace.”
“That would be expensive.”
“Not as expensive as another bullet wound.”
She placed the tray on his lap.
He glanced at the plate.
Eggs, toast, fruit, and a cup of black coffee.
“No bacon?”
“The doctor said you should eat something other than meat and caffeine.”
“The doctor is a tyrant.”
“The doctor is the only reason you are sitting here instead of being buried beneath a tree.”
Carmine picked up his fork.
“You have become remarkably comfortable threatening me.”
“I am practicing.”
He ate several bites before setting the fork down.
Then he looked at her.
“Sit with me.”
Ivy pulled the chair beside the bed closer.
For a while, they ate in silence.
It was an ordinary moment, which made it strangely precious. No alarms sounded. Nobody entered with a weapon. No one shouted a name from the corridor.
Carmine complained about the coffee.
Ivy told him to make it himself next time.
He asked whether she had slept well.
She answered honestly that she had awakened twice during the night.
He did not immediately ask why.
Instead, he waited.
“Sometimes I hear the explosion again,” she admitted. “I know it is over, but my body does not seem to understand that.”
Carmine's expression changed.
“I hear it too.”
She looked at him.
“You do?”
“Not the explosion itself. The moment before it.”
He rested his hand against the blanket.
“The security alarm sounded. I remember looking at the door and thinking that I had left you alone on the second floor.”
Ivy said nothing.
“I knew the house was under attack. I knew I had men moving toward the eastern wing. But all I could think about was whether you were alive.”
His jaw tightened.
“I have made decisions that put hundreds of people in danger. I have never been afraid of the consequences in quite that way.”
“Because you care about me.”
“Yes.”
He answered without hesitation.
“And I do not like how much power that gives other people.”
Ivy looked at the bandage beneath his shirt.
“Then we need to make sure caring about each other does not become the same thing as controlling each other.”
Carmine leaned back.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“It is not simple. It is just necessary.”
She placed her hand over his.
“If someone can hurt me to control you, then I become a weapon they can use against you. If you lock me away to prevent that, you become another person deciding what I am allowed to do.”
He watched their joined hands.
“What do you suggest?”
“We tell the truth when we can. We make plans together. We let each other have lives that do not revolve entirely around fear.”
Carmine was quiet for a long time.
Finally, he nodded.
“I can try.”
It was not a grand promise.
For Ivy, it was more meaningful than one.
The first serious test came two days later.
Matteo arrived at the estate at 8:30 in the evening with a folder under his arm and an expression that made Ivy immediately suspicious.
Carmine was sitting in the library, his injured side supported by a cushion.
Ivy occupied the opposite end of the sofa with a book she had been trying to read for three days.
Matteo stopped near the desk.
“We have a problem.”
Carmine closed the book in his hand.
“Explain.”
“The attack was not organized by an outside rival.”
Ivy looked up.
Matteo opened the folder.
“We traced the vehicle to a company connected to one of our shipping contractors. The explosives came through a warehouse we control. Someone inside the organization provided the security schedules.”
Carmine's face became still.
“Who?”
“We do not have confirmation yet.”
“Then what do you have?”
“A name.”
Matteo placed a photograph on the desk.
The man pictured was in his forties, with thinning hair and a narrow face. He wore an expensive suit and stood beside Carmine at a charity dinner.
Ivy recognized him from the formal dining room.
“Adrian Vale,” Matteo said. “He has managed several of the organization's financial arrangements for the past eight years.”
Carmine stared at the photograph.
“Adrian has access to the schedules?”
“Yes.”
“Who approved his access?”
“I did.”
Matteo did not attempt to defend himself.
Carmine's fingers pressed against the edge of the desk.
“Find him.”
“We have men looking.”
“Alive.”
Matteo paused.
“Boss?”
“I want him alive. I want to know who paid him, how long he has been doing this, and what he believes he can gain from attacking my house.”
Matteo nodded and left.
Ivy waited until the door closed.
“Why would someone who has worked for you for eight years betray you?”
Carmine looked at the photograph.
“Money. Power. Fear. Sometimes people become dissatisfied with the place they occupy in the world and decide that the only way to change it is to destroy the person standing above them.”
“Do you think he wanted to kill you?”
“I think he wanted something badly enough to risk it.”
Carmine returned the photograph to the folder.
Then he looked at Ivy.
“This is where I tell you to stay away from me until the situation is resolved.”
“And this is where I tell you that I am not going to disappear simply because someone has decided to make your life difficult.”
His expression hardened.
“Ivy, this is not a disagreement about breakfast. A man inside my organization helped bring armed intruders into our home.”
“I understand that.”
“You could be targeted again.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you not afraid?”
She looked at him steadily.
“I am afraid. I was afraid before I met you. I was afraid when I owed money I could never repay. I was afraid when Rocco cornered me in the alley. I was afraid when those men raised their weapons.”
She closed her book.
“But being afraid does not mean I should surrender every decision about my life.”
Carmine remained silent.
Ivy stood and approached the desk.
“I will not interfere with your investigation. I will not demand to know things that would put me in danger. But you will not use this as an excuse to turn my room into a prison.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he stood.
The movement was slow because of his injury, but his voice was steady.
“Tomorrow, Matteo will arrange a meeting with the head of household security. You will be offered several options for your protection. You can choose the arrangements you are comfortable with.”
“Good.”
“And if the situation becomes too dangerous, we will discuss relocation.”
“Together?”
“Together.”
Ivy nodded.
It was not everything she wanted.
But it was a beginning.
Carmine reached for her hand.
“I do not know how to do this,” he admitted.
“Neither do I.”
“That should concern you.”
“It does.”
She smiled faintly.
“But I think we can learn.”
He lifted her hand to his lips.
For the first time since the attack, the gesture did not feel like a claim.
It felt like a promise made between two imperfect people who understood that affection alone would not protect them.
Outside the library windows, snow began falling across the estate.
Inside, Carmine held Ivy's hand while the machinery of his organization continued turning around them.
Neither could see the danger approaching from beyond the gates.
May you like
Neither knew that Adrian Vale had already discovered the identity of the woman who had become Carmine's greatest weakness.
And Adrian had decided that she was worth considerably more alive than dead.
