Chapter 1 - THE SHADOW AT THE WINDOW
The cold grease, burnt dark-roast coffee, and harsh citrus chemical cleanser in Rosie’s Diner seemed to vanish, replaced instantly by the suffocating weight of Dominic Salvatore’s words.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs, a trapped animal rattling its cage. I turned my head toward the large glass window facing Sixty-Fourth Street. The heavy rain had started to fall, streaking the dark glass with vertical, shimmering lines under the buzz of the orange neon sign. Outside, across four lanes of wet asphalt, a dark sedan sat parked under the weak light of a dying streetlamp.
For a fraction of a second, the flash of a camera lens caught the amber glare of the neon.
"Don't look," Dominic murmured smoothly, his hand gently grasping my chin to turn my face back toward him. His calloused thumb touched my skin—warm, firm, and astonishingly gentle given the cold lethal authority surrounding him. "Let them take their pictures, Emma. A dead man's cameras do not terrify me."
"My landlord..." My voice cracked, barely audible above the hum of the diner's old refrigerator. "Mr. Miller? He... he works for the people who blew up your car?"
"Miller is a low-level laundromat manager for the Moretti syndicate," Dominic said, stepping back slightly as his four armed bodyguards formed a tight perimeter around our booth, their eyes scanning the dark street through tailored jacket lapels. "When the Morettis realized someone pulled me out of that burning vehicle, they started digging. Miller was ordered to squeeze you. Raise your rent, drain your savings, make you desperate enough to sell information—or slip something into my drink if I ever returned to this neighborhood."
I pulled my hands close to my chest, trembling. Eleven hours on my feet had drained my body, but terror was injecting cold, raw adrenaline directly into my veins.
"My daughter," I whispered, the word rising like a plea. "Lily. She’s three years old. She’s with the babysitter in our apartment right now—"
"My men are already at your apartment building, Emma," Dominic interrupted calmly. He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a gold-plated fountain pen, and signed a thick stack of documents produced by his lead security officer. "Your daughter and her babysitter are completely safe. In fact, thirty seconds ago, my team brought them down to a bulletproof SUV outside your building."
I stood up so fast my knees banged against the underside of the formica table, sending the water glass tipping over. "You took my daughter?!"
"I protected your daughter," Dominic corrected, his grey eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that held me frozen in place. "The Morettis sent a two-man retrieval team to your apartment five minutes ago, Emma. If my men hadn't been standing outside your door, you would not be going home to a three-year-old tonight."
A wave of nausea hit me. I leaned heavily against the edge of the booth, the air leaving my lungs. The reality of the underworld—a world I had only ever seen on the late-night news while folding laundry—had smashed through the cheap glass doors of Rosie’s Diner and swallowed my small, quiet life whole.
"Why?" I choked out, tears finally breaking through my pride and burning down my cheeks. "I just pulled a man out of a car. That was all! I don't know anything about the Morettis, I don't know anything about you!"
Dominic reached into his coat and retrieved the cream-colored card he had placed on the table earlier. He tucked it gently into the front pocket of my faded blue apron.
"You saved the life of Dominic Salvatore," he said softly, his voice dipping into a low, baritone register that sent an electric shiver through my spine. "In New York, that makes you the most valuable target—and the most protected woman—in this city. The Morettis know I will burn down every warehouse they own if they touch a hair on your head. Which means they will try to use you to break me."
He stepped closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the sickly fluorescent lighting above us. The scent of expensive sandalwood, cedar, and rain clung to him.
"I gave you a choice a moment ago, Emma," Dominic said, extending his hand toward me. "I told you I would respect your answer if you refused my help. But that was before I knew they were watching this diner. Now, your choice is simple: You walk out that door with me tonight, or you stay here and wait for the Morettis to decide what your life is worth."
I looked at his open hand. His palm was broad, lined with faint scars, the knuckles heavy and strong.
Behind him, the rain hammered against the glass, and the dark sedan across the street slowly turned on its headlights, its engine idling like a predator waiting in the dark.
I thought of Lily. Her soft blonde curls, her tiny hand clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit, her innocent laughter echoing in a damp, unsafe apartment where a landlord worked for murderers.
I reached out and placed my hand in Dominic's.
His fingers closed around mine instantly—warm, heavy, and unbreakable.
"Good choice, Emma," Dominic murmured. He looked over his shoulder at his lead guard. "Marco. Burn the diner's security footage. Buy the building from the owner by midnight. And clear the street."
May you like
"Yes, Boss," Marco replied quietly, pulling a heavy silver pistol from his holster as he stepped toward the back exit.
Dominic wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close against his side as the heavy glass doors of Rosie's Diner swung open, launching me into a world of leather, steel, blood, and velvet.
