Chapter 3 - THE UNWELCOME GUEST
Dominic stood up slowly from his kneeling position beside Margaret's bed. His demeanor shifted instantly. The gentle, compassionate man who had just comforted a dying mother vanished, replaced by the terrifying predator who ruled Manhattan's underworld.
"Dominic, please," Sophia whispered, grabbing his sleeve, her eyes wide with fear. "Carter Vance's father owns the local bank and half the farms in this county. He's dangerous around here."
Dominic looked down at her small hand gripping his coat. A cold, dark smile touched the corner of his lips. "Sophia. He may own this county. But I own the world he buys his breath from."
He turned and walked out of the bedroom, his steps silent as he descended the stairs. Sophia hurried right behind him, her pulse racing wildly in her throat.
In the living room downstairs, Henry Carter stood facing a broad, burly man in his late twenties wearing an expensive leather jacket, muddy cowboy boots, and an arrogant, crooked smirk. Behind him stood two heavy-set local men who looked like hired muscle.
"Carter," Henry said coldly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "This is my house. You weren't invited here today."
"Aw, come on, Henry," Carter Vance laughed, tossing a set of truck keys in his hand. "My dad holds the mortgage on this dilapidated farm. I can walk into this place whenever I damn well please. Word on the street is Sophia came back from the city. I came to see if she finally realized she belongs to me."
"She belongs to no one," Henry growled.
"Is that so?" Carter sneered, stepping closer into the living room. "Because four years ago she ran off to New York like a coward instead of marrying me. And now I hear she brought some high-priced gigolo with her to pretend she's living the good life."
"I suggest you choose your next words very carefully."
The voice came from the bottom of the staircase—deep, resonant, and dripping with an authority so intense that the air in the room seemed to freeze instantly.
Carter turned, his smug expression flickering as his eyes met Dominic's.
Dominic stood at the foot of the stairs, his hands resting casually in his suit pockets, his stature commanding every inch of the space. Beside him, Marcus stepped into the hallway from the kitchen, his dark suit jacket slightly unbuttoned, revealing the distinct outline of a shoulder holster.
Carter’s two hired men took an involuntary step back, their instincts instantly warning them that the man standing before them was not a civilian.
"And who the hell are you?" Carter demanded, trying to puff out his chest to mask the sudden knot of uneasiness tightening in his gut.
"I am the man standing between you and the breath in your lungs," Dominic said calmly, taking two slow, measured steps forward. "You are in a house where a woman is trying to rest in her final days. You are speaking loudly. You are disrespecting her husband. And you are speaking about my woman."
Carter let out a forced, harsh laugh, though his eyes darted nervously toward Marcus. "Your woman? Sophia? She's nothing but a glorified maid in New York! She cleans toilets for rich folk!"
Sophia flinched behind Dominic, her head dropping in shame.
Before anyone could react, Dominic moved with terrifying, blinding speed.
In a fraction of a second, he closed the distance between them, grabbed Carter by the throat with one hand, and slammed him hard against the front door frame. The wooden structure groaned under the force of the impact.
Carter let out a choked gasp, his hands frantically clawing at Dominic's iron grip, his legs dangling two inches off the floor. His two hired men stepped forward, but Marcus instantly drew a dark, silenced sidearm from beneath his jacket, pointing it directly between the men's eyes with stone-cold precision.
"Move one muscle," Marcus said smoothly, "and I'll decorate this porch with your brains."
The two men froze, their hands instantly flying into the air, their faces pale with terror.
"Listen to me, small-town trash," Dominic whispered directly into Carter's ear, his voice lower than a grave. "If you ever look at Sophia again... if you ever speak her name... if you ever set foot on this farm again... I will buy your father's bank by morning, dissolve your family's assets by noon, and have you buried in a place where even the worms won't find you."
Carter gagged, his eyes wide with unadulterated, primal terror. He nodded frantically, his face turning dark purple.
Dominic released his grip. Carter collapsed onto the wooden floorboards, coughing violently and clutching his bruised throat.
"Get out," Dominic commanded softly.
Carter scrambled to his feet, practically tripping over his own boots as he bolted out the front door, his two bodyguards sprinting right behind him into the fog.
Silence settled over the living room like a heavy shroud.
Henry Carter stood near the fireplace, staring at Dominic with wide, stunned eyes. He looked at Marcus, who calmly re-holstered his weapon under his jacket, then looked back at Dominic, who calmly adjusted his dark silk tie as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
"What... what kind of logistics business do you run, Mr. Moretti?" Henry asked, his voice shaking slightly for the very first time.
May you like
Dominic turned to look at the old farmer, his expression cold and unreadable.
"The kind that protects what is mine, Mr. Carter," Dominic said quietly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to check on your daughter."
