Chapter 4 - THE SPARK IN THE DARKNESS
When Dominic returned to the TriBeCa estate at six in the morning, the rain had cleared, leaving behind a cold, crisp pink dawn over the Manhattan skyline.
He walked down the long, carpeted hallway of the residential wing, his boots making no sound.
He stopped outside the guest suite. The steel door was slightly ajar.
Dominic pushed it open gently.
Elena was no longer in the hospital bed.
She was standing by the massive floor-to-ceiling window, wearing an oversized dark grey cashmere sweater and comfortable trousers that belonged to Sarah. She was clutching a warm mug of chamomile tea in both hands, her bandages hidden beneath the thick fabric of the sweater.
She turned slowly as the door creaked.
Her dark brown eye caught his. The purple swelling on her cheek had been treated with anti-inflammatory serum, making her face look remarkably clearer, though the yellowing bruise still lingered along her jawline.
"You smell like rain," she said softly.
Dominic stopped near the edge of the plush rug, keeping a respectful ten feet of distance between them. "And gasoline."
Elena looked down at her tea, a faint, bitter smile touching her lips. "Did you find Terrence?"
"Terrence Cole will never raise his hand to another person," Dominic answered plainly. "He is gone."
Elena's breath caught in her throat. She looked back up at Dominic, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit. She found none. Only the calm, unyielding truth of a man who executed his words without hesitation.
"He was... he was a monster," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "For two weeks, he told me every day that no one was coming for me. He said my father was a traitor and that I was going to die in that warehouse."
"He was wrong," Dominic said, taking two slow steps closer. "You are in my house now, Elena. No one enters this space unless I allow it. You are safe."
Elena stared at him, her chest rising and falling as she fought back a fresh wave of emotions. For eleven months, she had lived in dark basements, beaten, starved, and treated like a piece of leverage. She had forgotten what respect felt like. She had forgotten what it meant to have someone stand between her and the monsters of the world.
"Why?" she asked softly, stepping closer to him, her bare feet silent on the rug. "Why are you doing this for me? My father was Hector Vance. He was Caldwell's man. He was your enemy's right hand."
Dominic looked down into her dark, feverish brown eyes, seeing the fiery spirit that eleven months of torture had failed to extinguish.
"Your father was a thief, Elena," Dominic said smoothly. "But you are not your father. And Vincent Caldwell crossed a line when he put iron chains around a woman's wrists in my city."
He reached out, his large, warm hand stopping inches from her cheek, giving her the choice to step away.
Elena didn't step away.
Instead, she leaned her face slightly into his warm palm, closing her eye as a single, warm tear ran down her skin onto his fingers. His touch was large, calloused, and rough from years of violence, yet it was the gentlest thing she had felt in an eternity.
"Caldwell has the mercenaries," Elena murmured, her voice steadying as she looked up at him. "Terrence told me before you arrived. Caldwell hired twelve shooters from the Montreal Syndicate. They're coming to kill you, Dominic."
May you like
Dominic's thumb gently wiped the tear from her cheek.
"Let them come," Dominic whispered, his amber eyes burning with a dark, lethal warmth. "I've been waiting for Caldwell for ten years. This time, I won't leave a single piece of his empire standing."
