Chapter 5 - A Message Sent
By noon, the estate was running on a heightened state of alert. Armed sentries stood at every blind spot along the perimeter, and two black armored sedans were stationed at the foot of the driveway. Inside, however, Dominic maintained a facade of serene domesticity for my sake. He had canceled all his outside meetings, spending the morning beside me on the terrace as the crisp October wind swept leaves across the lawn.
"Eat," Dominic instructed gently, pushing a plate of fresh fruit and warm brioche toward me. "The doctor said you need to keep your strength up."
"I can't stomach much right now," I admitted, looking down at my hands. "Dominic... what if Ethan tells people? What if he goes to the press? What if he claims the baby is his?"
Dominic didn't flinch. He set his porcelain coffee cup down with a soft click. "He has no legal claim, Clara. The timeline makes that impossible, and your divorce decree is ironclad. Furthermore, there is no press in this city that will print a single syllable with my name in it without my explicit authorization."
"You have that much power?"
"I have enough power to ensure that nobody invades your peace ever again," he replied calmly.
Before I could respond, Matteo stepped out onto the terrace. He gave me a polite nod before leaning down to murmur something directly into Dominic’s ear. Dominic’s expression didn't change, but the air around him grew instantly colder.
"Excuse me for a moment, Clara," Dominic said, standing and smoothing his jacket. "Stay here with the guards."
Curiosity—and an unyielding wave of anxiety—compelled me to follow him at a distance. When he disappeared into the basement wing where the security monitors were housed, I stepped onto the overlook above the indoor shooting range and garage.
Through the reinforced glass of the holding area below, I saw a man kneeling on the concrete floor, his hands zip-tied behind his back. It wasn't Ethan. It was a younger man in an expensive leather jacket, sporting a split lip and a bloodied nose.
"Julian Corban’s courier," Matteo’s voice echoed faintly through the intercom speaker left toggled on the console. "We caught him meeting Ethan behind an abandoned auto shop near the harbor. He was handing Ethan an envelope filled with cash and a one-way ticket to Florida—after Ethan served his purpose as a distraction."
Dominic walked into the frame below. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't draw a weapon. He merely stood over the courier, hands resting casually in his slacks pockets.
"You gave Ethan Vance my wife's location," Dominic said softly.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Varela!" the courier spat, though his voice cracked with genuine terror. "I was just doing a delivery. Mr. Corban just wanted to rattle your cage—"
Dominic moved with the same blinding speed he had displayed in the café. In a flash, his hand caught the courier by the throat, hoisting the man entirely off his knees until his toes barely scraped the floor, slamming him hard against the steel pillar behind him.
"You brought a violent, unstable man into my wife's presence," Dominic whispered, his face inches from the courier’s terrified eyes. "You made her cry. You put her health and the health of my unborn child at risk."
"Please—" the man wheezed, his face turning an alarming shade of purple.
"Tell Julian Corban that I am coming for every asset he holds in this state," Dominic said, his grip tightening until the courier’s eyes rolled back. "And tell him that if Ethan Vance takes another step toward Clara, I will hang his body from the Francis Scott Key bridge for every ship to see."
Dominic let go, and the man collapsed in a heap, coughing violently on the cold concrete.
May you like
I pulled back from the railing, my back against the wall, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. Dominic was a monster to the world. A terrifying, merciless predator. But as I touched the faint bruise on my neck, I realized something that should have horrified me: I had never felt safer in my entire life.
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