Chapter 3 - SHADOWS IN THE HALLWAY
At two in the morning, the estate was as quiet as a tomb.
I sat in the high-backed velvet rocking chair in the nursery, my head resting against the cushion, watching the tiny rise and fall of Mateo’s chest in the dim light of a low-wattage nightlight. He was sleeping deeply now, his fist tucked under his chin, his skin warm and pale against the cream-colored blanket.
My body was exhausted, every muscle aching from the double shift at the restaurant followed by the tension of the last four hours, but my brain refused to shut down.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Leo.
Leo at three weeks old, struggling to gain weight. Leo in the ICU, surrounded by transparent tubes and blinking blue monitors. Leo’s tiny hand cold inside mine when the doctor finally turned off the ventilator and told me there was nothing more they could do.
I rubbed my thumb against Mateo’s soft cheek, letting a single tear slip down my nose into the dark fabric of my shirt.
I couldn't save you, Leo, I thought. But I can keep this one breathing.
A faint, metallic click echoed down the hallway outside the nursery.
It wasn't a loud sound—just the subtle, precise latch of a heavy wooden door being pulled shut three rooms down. But after years of working night shifts in quiet hospital corridors, my ears were trained to pick up anything out of the ordinary.
I set Mateo gently into his crib, made sure the breathable mesh bumpers were secure, and walked silently toward the doorway.
The hallway was dimly lit by warm wall sconces placed every twenty feet. Standing near the top of the grand staircase was Dominic.
He had taken off his suit jacket and tie. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing dark tattoos that stretched down his forearms—intricate Italian script mixed with heavy, dark geometric lines. He was leaning against the marble balustrade, holding a crystal glass of amber liquid in his right hand.
Beside him stood the scarred young guard from the restaurant.
“The shipment from the docks was seized at midnight,” the guard was whispering, his voice low and tense. “Federal agents. They had a warrant signed by Judge Vance.”
Dominic didn't flinch. He took a slow sip from his glass, the ice cubes clinking softly against the glass.
“Vance,” Dominic murmured. “He took fifty thousand from us last month for his daughter’s wedding in Tuscany.”
“Someone leaked the manifest, boss,” the guard continued, his jaw working tight. “It had to be internal. Only four people knew the container numbers.”
“We’ll handle the leak tomorrow, Marco,” Dominic said, his tone cold enough to freeze boiling water. “What about the West Side outfit? Are they pushing the perimeter?”
“Salvatore’s men were spotted near the warehouse district at one AM. They know we’re distracted.”
Dominic set his glass down on a stone pedestal beside a marble bust.
“They think because my house is full of baby blankets, I’ve forgotten how to hold a gun,” Dominic said softly. “Tell Marco to gather the capos. We meet at the foundry at four AM.”
“Yes, boss.”
The guard turned and walked silently down the stairs, his rubber-soled boots making almost no sound on the runner rug.
Dominic stayed at the top of the stairs, looking down into the dark foyer below.
“You shouldn't be listening to things that don't concern you, Claire,” he said without turning his head.
I stepped out from the shadow of the nursery door, wrapping my arms around my chest to ward off the chill draft coming up from the grand entrance.
“I was checking the hallway,” I said. “Noise wakes him up.”
Dominic turned around slowly. The light from the sconce hit the side of his face, accentuating the deep hollows beneath his cheekbones and the dark circles under his eyes.
“He’s sleeping?” Dominic asked.
“Like a log,” I said. “His temperature is normal, his stomach is soft. He’ll probably sleep until five.”
Dominic looked at me for a long moment, his gaze sliding from my tired eyes down to the red scratches on my hands.
“You should sleep too,” he said. “There’s a guest suite across the hall.”
“I’m fine here,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “Dominic... who is Salvatore?”
Dominic’s expression hardened instantly, the faint warmth that had briefly appeared in his eyes vanishing behind a wall of cold stone.
“That isn't your concern.”
“It is my concern if people with guns are going to come through those front gates while I’m holding a three-week-old baby,” I said, my voice rising slightly. “You brought me into this house under the pretense of taking care of your son. If this place is a target, I need to know.”
Dominic walked toward me, his heavy steps deliberate and slow, until he was standing right in front of me. He was so close I could smell the faint scent of smoke, aged scotch, and cedar on his skin.
“Nobody touches this house, Claire,” he said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. “Nobody touches my son. And nobody touches anyone under my protection. You are safe here.”
“Safe?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “You just ordered a hit on someone while standing outside a nursery.”
“I ordered the protection of my family,” Dominic corrected, his gaze unyielding. “There’s a difference.”
He reached out, his long fingers hovering near my shoulder, as if he wanted to brush back a stray lock of hair that had fallen across my forehead, but he stopped himself, pulling his hand back and balling it into a tight fist at his side.
“Go to sleep, Claire,” he said softly. “I have business to attend to.”
May you like
He turned and walked down the long corridor toward his private study, his silhouette disappearing into the shadows of the estate.
I stood there in the quiet hallway, watching him leave, feeling a strange, dangerous pulse of warmth deep in my chest that had nothing to do with fear.
