She dropped to her knees again, not out of servitude, but out of sheer, shattered desperation, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll work for free. I’ll work eighteen hours a day for the next five years. I’ll clean the stables, the gutters, the basement—anything! Just loan me the eighteen hundred dollars. Deduct it from my checks. Just let me pay Finch so the caseworker sees we have a roof tomorrow!”
Zo stood over her, his expression unreadable, though a muscle ticked in his clenched jaw.
“Stand up, Tessa,” he said.
“Mr. Rossi—”
“Stand up. You will never beg on your knees in this house again. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
There was an authority in his voice so absolute that she found herself rising, her legs trembling beneath her.
Zo walked to the coat rack near the door, grabbed his heavy charcoal cashmere overcoat, and slipped it on. He checked his watch. It was seven-forty-five.
“Take off your apron,” Zo instructed.
Tessa stared at him, confused. “What?”
“Take off your apron, leave the torn bag, and put on your coat. We’re leaving.”
“Leaving? To go where?”
“To your apartment,” Zo said calmly, buttoning his coat. “Your neighbor is watching your brothers until eight. It’s a twenty-minute drive in this weather. I don’t intend to let two young boys wait in a cold hallway.”
“You… you’re coming with me?” Panic flared anew in Tessa’s chest. “Mr. Rossi, you can’t go there! The neighborhood—it’s dangerous, the building has no secure front door, the stairs are broken—a man like you doesn’t belong on Pulaski Road!”
Zo picked up the two heavy insulated catering bags with one large hand as easily as if they were made of feathers. He looked down at her with eyes that were entirely devoid of fear.
“Tessa,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving into a dark, humorless line, “I was born three blocks from Pulaski Road. The only difference between me and the men on that corner is that I made it out, and I have more money than they do. Put your coat on.”
Overwhelmed, unable to formulate another argument against the sheer force of his will, Tessa untied the strings of her white maid’s apron, folded it with trembling hands, and placed it on the side table. She pulled on her thin, faded corduroy jacket—a garment that offered almost no protection against the Chicago sleet—and followed him out of the study.
They took the private service elevator down to the basement garage. Waiting in the heated bay was a sleek, armored Mercedes-Maybach, its twin-turbo engine idling with a low, imperceptible hum. Frank, a burly former Marine with a scar running along his jawline, stood by the rear passenger door, opening it the moment Zo approached.
Frank didn’t bat an eye at the sight of the estate’s maid walking beside his billionaire boss. He took the heavy catering bags from Zo, slid them into the spacious trunk, and stood at attention.
“Pulaski Road, Frank,” Zo said, stepping aside to let Tessa climb into the supple leather interior first. “Take the expressway. We have twelve minutes.”
“Understood, sir,” Frank replied, closing the heavy, soundproof door behind them.
Inside the vehicle, the chaos of the freezing storm vanished entirely. The air was warm, filtered, and smelled faintly of expensive leather. Tessa sat pressed against the window, terrified to lean back, staring at the digital dashboard displays and the illuminated starlight headliner above. She had never been inside a luxury vehicle in her life. It felt like an alien spacecraft.
Beside her, Zo pulled out his phone again and dialed a number on speaker.
“Speak,” came Carter Vance’s voice over the car’s crystal-clear sound system.
“Carter,” Zo said, his gaze fixed straight ahead through the tinted windshield as the car surged smoothly into the icy Chicago streets. “Arthur Finch. Does he have any loans outstanding with my commercial banking subsidiary?”
A pause on the other end, accompanied by the rapid clatter of computer keys.
“Yes,” Carter answered four seconds later. “He holds a three-million-dollar development loan on a commercial strip in Logan Square through Rossi Financial Trust. The loan is currently in its balloon-refinance window. We hold the primary lien on all of Finch Properties’ assets as collateral.”
A cold, razor-thin smile touched Zo’s lips. It was the smile of a wolf watching a sheep wander into a narrow canyon.
“Call our legal team,” Zo instructed evenly. “Instruct them to call in the note. First thing tomorrow morning, precisely at eight-thirty. Issue a full demand for immediate settlement of the entire outstanding principal.”
On the other side of the seat, Tessa gasped softly, her eyes wide with shock. “Mr. Rossi… that’s… that’s three million dollars. He won’t have that.”
