Chapter 3 - THE FIRST STRIKE
Morning arrived with bright golden light streaming through the massive windows of the east wing suite.
I woke up on silk sheets, feeling rested for the first time in three years. Next to my bed, a walk-in closet had been filled overnight with elegant clothes in my exact size—soft cashmere sweaters, tailored trousers, silk blouses, and Italian leather shoes.
When Lily and I walked down to the grand dining room, Dominic was already seated at the head of a thirty-foot mahogany table, reviewing financial charts on a tablet while drinking dark espresso.
Lily, wearing a yellow sundress from the nursery wardrobe, immediately gasped. "Big house!"
Dominic looked up. The cold, unyielding expression he usually wore softened by a fraction of an inch as his eyes landed on my daughter.
"Good morning, little one," Dominic said, setting his tablet aside.
Lily, completely devoid of the fear that gripped grown men in Dominic's presence, walked straight up to his chair and pointed at his espresso cup. "Is that chocolate?"
"It is dark coffee," Dominic replied, leaning down slightly. "Not for three-year-olds."
"I want pancakes," she announced bossily.
I nearly fainted. "Lily! Mind your manners!"
Dominic let out a low, rich laugh that resonated through the grand room. "It is quite all right, Emma. In this house, guests get what they ask for." He gestured to a butler standing in the corner. "Fresh pancakes with strawberries for the young lady. Immediately."
As Lily was escorted to a smaller breakfast table near the garden window by Mrs. Gable, Dominic gestured for me to sit in the leather chair to his right.
A silver tray was placed before me containing fresh fruit, pastries, and hot coffee.
"You look better," Dominic noted, his gaze lingering on my face. "The color has returned to your cheeks."
"I feel like I'm living in a fairy tale," I admitted quietly, stirring sugar into my cup. "Or a nightmare. I still haven't decided which one."
"It is reality, Emma," Dominic said, his tone turning serious. He slid a newspaper across the table toward me.
The front page featured a burning building with bold headlines: QUEENS APARTMENT COMPLEX SEIZED IN MAJOR FEDERAL RAID. LANDLORD ARRESTED FOR EXTORTION AND MOB TIES.
My breath caught in my throat. "Mr. Miller..."
"At four o'clock this morning, my legal team presented twenty years of Miller's fraudulent tax records to the State Attorney General," Dominic explained calmly, taking a sip of his coffee. "By five o'clock, the FBI raided his office. He is currently sitting in a federal holding cell in Manhattan. He will spend the next thirty years in prison."
"You did this in six hours?"
"I told you, I buy souls when I am annoyed," Dominic replied. "Furthermore, the entire apartment complex was bought by my holding company at auction three hours ago. The rents for all tenants have been reduced by fifty percent, and a full renovation begins on Monday."
I stared at him in utter disbelief. He had neutralized my abusive landlord, secured the homes of dozens of struggling families, and dismantled a mob operation—all before breakfast.
"Why?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Why do all this for me, Dominic? The burn scar on your arm is gone. Your debt for saving your life was paid the moment you brought us here."
Dominic leaned across the corner of the table. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching mine.
"A debt is paid with money, Emma," he said, his grey eyes piercing into my soul. "What I feel when I look at you... has nothing to do with debts."
Before I could process his words, the heavy double doors of the dining room burst open.
Marco rushed in, his face pale, holding a encrypted satellite phone.
"Boss," Marco said, his voice tense. "We have a situation at the South Docks. Antonio Moretti just crossed the river. He's demanding a sit-down at the harbor by noon."
Dominic didn't flinch. He slowly withdrew his hand from mine, stood up, and buttoned his suit jacket.
"Did he bring his captains?" Dominic asked coldly.
"All six of them," Marco nodded. "And Boss... he claims he has a witness who can prove you ordered the strike on Miller."
Dominic turned to look at me. His expression was no longer warm—it was pure, forged steel.
"Stay inside the estate today, Emma," Dominic ordered gently. "Do not leave the grounds. My men will guard you with their lives."
"Dominic, wait!" I stood up, taking a step toward him. "Is it dangerous?"
May you like
He stopped near the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.
"Only for Antonio Moretti," he said flatly, before disappearing down the hallway.
