Page 112 of Letters From Victor

His tie was loose, his collar unbuttoned—minor signs of disarray that, on anyone else, might not mean much. On Victor, they screamed trouble.

“Where’s your car?” I asked, only now noticing its absence. Victor’s cars were as much a part of him as his mustache and tailored suits.

He shrugged lightly. “Didn’t want to disturb you. I left the car down by the park.”

Edith stood, swiping at the knees of her blue jeans like there was something to brush away. “I should check on Frankie,” she said, casting me a meaningful glance. “And I think I left the kettle on.” She lingered for a beat, then slipped inside the house.

I looked at Victor, then away, settling my gaze on the azaleas blooming in the yard. Their vivid pinks and purples seemed almost gaudy in the soft afternoon light. We stood in a silence so thick it muffled the world. The distant hum of a lawnmower, the chirping of birds in the oak trees lining the street—all of it felt muted, like we were underwater.

He took a step closer. Close enough for me to feel the heat of his body, smell the faint mix of cigarette smoke and cologne that clung to him. My pulse quickened despite myself. If he was smoking again, it had to be bad.

Victor broke the silence first. “I wanted to congratulate you,” he said, his voice low and rough-edged. “That fashion house offer—it’s a big deal.”

I studied his face, searching for something—sincerity, perhaps, or hidden motives. His dark eyes were unreadable, but they had an intensity that prickled my skin.

Victor started to speak, but I didn’t let him. “Did you mean it?”

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Mean what?”

“In your letter.” My voice was tight. “You said you wanted to start over. To live an honest life. Did you mean it?”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. He took a deep breath. “Every word. I want?—”

“I need to know,” I interrupted again, more forcefully this time. “I love you. God, I love you so much. But the fear…the not knowing if you’re going to come home in one piece… I can’t go through more nights of terror and bloodshed. Not even one.”

The air crackled with tension. A sparrow dipped down from the porch railing, pecked at something on the walkway, and flew off in a burst of flapping wings.

I stepped close to him and lowered my voice to a hushed, urgent whisper. “Victor, I killed a man…”

“No, you didn’t.” He took my hands into his and peppered my fingertips with soft kisses. “I did. Your hands are clean, angel.”

His lips on my fingertips sent a shiver through me, a cruel reminder of how much I craved his touch.

“You saved my life. For that, and for too many reasons to count, I owe you mine.”

“Victor…” I pulled my hands away, though it pained me. “I can’t live like this. I can’t live in fear.” I glanced back at the house. “I can’t put Frankie in danger.”

The hurt in his eyes was almost more than I could bear. “I know,” he said softly. “And even if you won’t be with me, please know that I still meant what I said. Lawrence is already working on selling everything. And I mean everything.”

Victor’s words lingered, heavy as gathering storm clouds. I studied his face—the worry carved around his eyes, the way he held himself taut as a drawn bow. He believed what he was saying. Or at least, he needed me to believe it.

“I have more than enough put aside,” he continued, his voice gaining a steadiness that bordered on fervent. “I can invest, start something new. Whatever we want.”

The scent of azaleas tangled with the lingering traces of Victor’s cologne, dizzying and inescapable. A warm breeze brushed my cheek, tugging at loose strands of my hair. I closed my eyes, trying to ground myself against the rush of it all.

“Barbara.” His voice was closer now. I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his dark gaze burning into mine. “Throw a dart at the map, and we’ll go there. Wherever you want.”

I looked down at Victor’s hands—strong, capable hands that had built an empire and now promised to tear it down for love. Hands that had held me tenderly one moment and wielded lethal violence the next. I imagined those hands holding a newborn baby, caressing my hair, building a future that wasn’t stained with blood. Could it really be possible?

His eyes flicked to the envelope sitting on the porch steps.

“You want to go to Dallas? Let’s do it.” His voice was infused with a new, fiery energy. “You’ve made my dreams come true. Let me help you make yours.”

My breath caught in my throat. He was winning me over, and he knew it.

“Victor—” I began, but he wasn’t done.

“Remember when we dreamed out loud? When the future felt like something we could shape with our own hands?” He took another step closer, and I was almost sure his heartbeat synced with mine. “This is our chance, Barbara. A real chance.” He reached out and touched my cheek, featherlight. “Take that chance with me. Please.”

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