Chapter 2 - The Shield of Ravensport
By nightfall, Villa Vale had transformed from a quiet mansion into an armed fortress.
Claire sat on the edge of a massive, king-sized bed in the west wing of the estate—the master private suite. She had tried to object when Dominic personally carried her bags up from the servants' quarters, but he had ignored every single one of her protests with terrifying calm.
"You are not staying in the basement rooms anymore," Dominic had told her as he set her battered suitcase down on an antique mahogany bench. "The servants' quarters have exterior doors that are too accessible from the gardens. Here, you are behind three security checkpoints and my personal guard."
Now, dressed in a soft, oversized silk robe that one of the estate’s housekeepers had brought her, Claire looked around the bedroom. The walls were lined with dark velvet wallpaper, a roaring marble fireplace kept the chill of the coastal rain at bay, and the air smelled of cedar and masculine cologne.
A knock sounded at the door before it swung open. Dominic walked in, having stripped off his suit jacket and tie. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, rolling up past his forearms to reveal thick muscles and faint silver scars from his younger years in the streets.
He carried a tray holding a bowl of rich chicken broth, fresh crusty bread, and a glass of red wine.
"You haven't eaten all day," Dominic said, setting the tray down on the nightstand beside her.
"I'm not hungry, Mr. Vale," Claire murmured, staring at her hands in her lap.
"Dominic," he corrected, pulling a plush velvet armchair close to the bed and sitting down. "When we are behind this door, my name is Dominic."
Claire swallowed hard, looking up at him through her dark lashes. The golden light of the fireplace illuminated the sharp angles of his face—the straight nose, the prominent jawline, the dark hair brushed back from his forehead. He was thirty-eight, twelve years older than her, and moved with a quiet, lethal grace that intimidated every man in the city. Yet right now, sitting in front of her with a bowl of soup, he looked entirely focused on her well-being.
"Why are you doing this?" Claire asked softly, her voice trembling. "I'm not a lady from high society. I'm not a mobster's daughter. I'm twenty-six, I'm overweight, and I've spent two years scrubbing your floors. Why would the King of Ravensport care if I get beaten by my ex?"
Dominic’s eyes darkened, a flash of intense frustration crossing his features before he reined it in.
"Is that really what you think of yourself, Claire?" he asked, his voice deep and resonant. "You think your worth is measured by a scale or a title?"
"That's what the world thinks," she said bitterly, looking down at her full thighs beneath the silk robe. "Every woman you bring to your galas is a size two model with diamond necklaces. I know what people say when I walk past them in the halls. They call me the heavy maid. They laugh when I have to order larger uniforms."
Dominic leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, bringing his face close to hers. The power of his presence was overwhelming, wrapping around her like an inescapable blanket.
"The women I bring to galas are arm candy hired by my publicity team to keep the press looking at the wrong things," Dominic said, his tone dead serious. "They are shallow, empty, and mean nothing to me. But you..." He reached out, his long fingers gently catching her chin, tilting her face up so she was forced to look into his dark eyes. "You work harder than anyone in this house. You are kind to the elderly kitchen staff. You read books in the library when you think no one is watching. And your body..."
His breath hitched slightly, his thumb lightly stroking the side of her jawline, avoiding her bruise.
"Your body is magnificent, Claire. You have curves that drive me out of my mind every time I see you walk down the hall. I have spent two years forcing myself not to stare at you because I thought you were happy in your quiet life. I thought you were untouchable."
Claire’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she was sure he could hear it.
"You... you noticed me?" she whispered.
"Every single day," Dominic confessed quietly. "And the thought that some pathetic worm put his hands on you... that he dared to bruise this skin..." His jaw clenched hard, his gray eyes flashing like thunder. "It makes me want to burn this city to the ground."
Before Claire could digest his words, the intercom on the nightstand buzzed sharply. Dominic pressed the button without taking his eyes off her.
"Speak," Dominic commanded.
Marco’s deep voice came through the speaker, crisp and cold. "Boss. We found Julian Vance. He was at a high-stakes poker room in the East District... running his mouth about how he had a maid at Villa Vale who was feeding him information about your schedules."
Claire gasped, her face going pale. "That's a lie! I never told him anything!"
"I know," Dominic said softly to her, before leaning into the mic. "Bring him to the docks. I am coming down now."
"Understood, Boss."
Dominic stood up smoothly, pulling a heavy silver watch onto his wrist. He turned to look at Claire, his demeanor shifting back into the terrifying sovereign of Ravensport.
"Eat your soup, Claire," Dominic said gently. "Rest. The guards outside your door will not let anyone in. When I return, your nightmare will be officially over."
"Dominic... please don't kill him," Claire begged, rising to her feet, her silk robe rustling. "If you murder him, it will haunt you!"
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Dominic walked over to her, taking her face in both of his hands. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against her forehead, right above her bruised eyebrow. The heat of his lips sent a shiver straight down her spine.
"A man like Julian Vance does not haunt me, Claire," Dominic whispered against her skin. "He is merely trash that needs to be cleared from my streets."
