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One more chance.
She nearly rolled her eyes at herself. She’d never—not in her entire life—decided to give a man a second chance, but Vincent… he was different.
“Then give me a reason to stay.”
His expression turned to one of motivation as he shut off the ignition of his car and walked to her side, opening the door for her in the way he always had. She realized she was in trouble as she stepped into the garage. Because even knowing what he did with his life, it felt like gravity pulled them together in a way she’d never experienced before.
He guided her onto the sidewalk and didn’t speak as he led her across the street. He directed her toward the stoop of a place where she’d passed by hundreds of times but never stopped. The sign hovering about the glass entrance had her taking a deep breath as she walked inside.Safety First Woman’s Shelter.
“Why are we here?” Kiera asked. He didn’t respond as he held the door open for her and walked inside, looking down at the receptionist.
The woman beamed.
“Oh, dear. Marco just stopped by the other day and brought the food and blankets. I wasn’t accepting another shipment,” she said, reaching for what Kiera imagined to be a record-keeping book.
“I’m not here to donate today, Ms. Mary,” he said, his tone taking on a lightness that she’d never heard from him. She peered up at his face and found a similarly soft expression—as soft as his battle-hardened face could be. “I brought my girl to see the place.”
Ms. Mary nodded and gestured to a set of doors. “You know the rules. No men in the sleeping rooms.”
Vincent nodded and approached the door, opening it for Kiera. She hesitated momentarily before striding inside and taking in the open room before her. A cafeteria, she realized. The cafeteria staff was serving three women plates of warm food while about a dozen sat scattered around the room. There were even a few children who sat with their mothers.
As she looked at one woman in particular, wearing an old yellow shirt and guiding her son with a gentle hand to his back, her mind flashed to a canvas. The delicate strength in the way the women stood tall in a crowd of otherwise broken people had caught Kiera’s eyes. She’d paint the woman, she realized. She’d paint her, and in turn, she’d be confirming the proof of Vincent’s hidden generosity.
“Why are you showing me this?” Kiera asked.
Vincent stopped at her side and touched the small of her back.
“It’s mafia-run,” he said.
Her soft gasp was all the surprise she’d show. “We run this shelter because wecan. Because a lot of people join the mafia to use their abusive personalities. This is a hidden and highly protected place where any woman and child can stay for as long as they need.”
“And the mafia does it out of the good of their hearts, I assume?” she asked with a bite to her tone.
His hand balled into a fist on her back. “We have a gym, the Grotto, a banquet room, and a charity gallery that we use for financial purposes. My splinter cell and I set up a homeless shelter, two women’s shelters and a hair salon to give back.”
“Splinter cell,” she turned the word over in her mouth. “Isn’t that a group of mafia recruiters?”
He shook his head. “We do some of that, but we do much more than recruit people to join. The main organized crime unit is dangerous and deadly, but it does a lot of good. They are the go-between for criminals and get paid to help illegal trades. My cell and I handle the businesses as a cover for the private dealings that happen, but it’s more than that.”
Kiera couldn’t stop scanning the fearful faces inside the shelter, unable to speak.
“This is one of the places we use to give back to the community.”
“There are more?” Kiera finally asked.
He nodded. “I can show you.”
She nodded, not wanting to see more of that dreadful place—a place where people went to get away from their suffering. He guided her out of the shelter, not releasing his hand from her lower back as they walked a few blocks down the street, nearing the most rugged parts of gritty Philadelphia. Had she not been with Vincent, she would have never dared walk down the streets there.
He stopped outside a beauty salon. Two tall men stood guard out front and nodded to him as he gestured to it. “We own this as a charity project, too.”
Kiera bunched her eyebrows and cocked her head. “A coverup for drugs?”
His laugh boomed, startling her slightly. When she took in his face, his dark brown eyes danced with humor as he gave her a sincere smile. Her heart melted. Beautiful. He’d never smiled so widely at her, and as it faded, she longed to see it again. She shifted closer to him.
“Not drugs,” he told her. “It’s work for immigrants.”
Her shock only deepened.
