Chapter 4 - The Shadow of Julian Cross
The rain returned with nightfall, turning the city into a labyrinth of black glass and neon glare.
In the basement office beneath the Hawthorne Gallery, Caleb stood over an iron examination table. On it lay the contents of Liam Prescott’s rented hotel room near the river: a cheap duffel bag, two burner phones, and an unsealed manila envelope containing sixteen high-resolution surveillance photographs.
Dominic stood under the single overhead lamp, flicking through the prints with thumb and forefinger.
Every single photo was of Sophia.
Sophia buying coffee on Michigan Avenue.
Sophia unlocking the gallery doors on Tuesday morning.
Sophia laughing through the window of a bakery, eating a croissant.
And the final photo: Sophia walking hand-in-hand with Dominic down a secluded gravel path in Lincoln Park two weeks ago, her head resting trustingly against his shoulder.
“They’ve been watching her for a month,” Caleb muttered. “Cross didn’t just stumble on her. Someone gave him the tip-off.”
Dominic dropped the photographs. His eyes were bottomless pits of obsidian.
“Where is Liam now?”
“Cross moved him to a penthouse near the River North rail yards,” Caleb replied. “Guarded by four of Cross’s heavy hitters. Prescott is rattled. He knows he touched something that belongs to you, and he’s drinking himself to death behind the deadbolts.”
“Good,” Dominic said quietly. “Fear makes men stupid. Stupid men make mistakes.”
“Do you want me to send a clean-up team?” Caleb asked, his hand drifting naturally toward the holster under his left arm.
“No,” Dominic replied smoothly. “Julian Cross wants me to raid that penthouse. He wants a shootout on Cook County soil so his pet commissioner can revoke Vale Meridian’s commercial transport licenses. We play by my rules, not his.”
Dominic turned and walked toward the iron elevator cage. “Bring Sophia the bespoke emerald gown from the designer in Paris. The gala goes forward as planned.”
“Boss,” Caleb hesitated. “Cross will be at the gala. As a minority shareholder in the Drake Hotel consortium, his invitation cannot be legally revoked without sparking an open war.”
Dominic paused at the threshold, turning his head slightly. A razor-thin smile cut across his sharp features—cold, terrifying, and merciless.
“I don’t want him barred, Caleb. I want him in the room. I want him to look into my wife’s eyes and realize that before this winter ends, I am going to tear his empire down to the bedrock and salt the earth where he stands.”
Meanwhile, five miles north in the penthouse, Sophia sat alone in the nursery room that had sat empty since Dominic bought the property.
The walls were painted a neutral cream. A single bay window looked out over the stormy expanse of Lake Michigan. She placed both hands over her lower belly, feeling the gentle warmth beneath her skin.
For three years, she had believed she was broken. When Liam had beaten her down in Seattle, his venomous words had carved deep grooves into her soul: *You’re worthless. You’re cold. You’ll die alone.*
She had believed him until the rainy afternoon Dominic Vale walked into Hawthorne Gallery to view a collection of landscape oil paintings. He hadn’t looked at the art; he had looked at the way she spoke about light and color, his eyes treating her words like sacred text.
Dominic had saved her from obscurity.
Now, she had to save their child from his world.
A soft click sounded at the suite door. Dominic stepped into the nursery, shedding his jacket. When he saw her standing in the empty room, his harsh features melted instantly into that quiet, reverent tenderness reserved only for her.
He crossed the hardwood floor and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin against her shoulder. His hands covered hers over her belly.
“What are you thinking, little bird?” he whispered.
“I’m thinking about names,” she confessed, leaning her head back against his chest, breathing in the scent of rain, sandalwood, and expensive tobacco. “And I’m thinking about how dangerous you are.”
Dominic didn’t deny it. He kissed the curve of her bruised neck, his lips a soothing balm against the trauma.
“I am only dangerous to the people who wish to harm what is mine,” he murmured. “To you and this child, I am whatever you need me to be. A shield. A home. A father.”
“Promise me something, Dominic,” she whispered, turning in his arms to hold his lapels.
“Anything.”
“Don’t let this world turn you into a monster. Liam tried to make me hate the world. Don’t let Cross make you hate yourself.”
Dominic looked into her green eyes, his throat moving as he swallowed the weight of her words. He slowly brought her hand to his lips.
May you like
“I will keep my soul, Sophia,” he said softly. “As long as you are here to hold it.”
***