Chapter 2 - A Shadow in the Sun
For the next three weeks, Dominic Vale’s schedule underwent a radical transformation.
The man who usually spent his afternoons managing multi-million-dollar shipping logistics, settling territorial disputes between rival syndicates, and meeting with corrupt city officials began clearing his calendar every day at 2:00 PM.
He sat on a small wrought-iron chair in the corner of Willow & Bloom, sipping bitter black espresso from a paper cup, reading financial reports while Nora worked.
"You're scaring away my regular customers," Nora said on a damp Tuesday afternoon, tossing a bundle of clipped leaves into the bin near his feet.
"I’m sitting quietly," Dominic replied without looking up from his tablet.
"You're six-foot-two, wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit, and your bodyguard is currently staring down an elderly woman across the street because her umbrella looked suspicious."
Dominic glanced toward the window. Outside, Adrian immediately looked up at the sky, pretending to inspect the clouds.
"He's thorough," Dominic noted.
Nora shook her head, walking over with a wet cloth to wipe down the table beside him. The scent of rain, fresh earth, and lavender followed her. Dominic found himself leaning into it, his eyes trailing over the soft curve of her neck and the dark auburn curls that had escaped her hair clip.
"Why are you really here, Dominic?" she asked quietly, stopping her work to look down at him. "You don't need flowers."
"I like the noise," he admitted.
"What noise?"
"There isn't any," he said, turning his tablet screen off. "In my office, every phone call costs someone money or someone's life. Here, you just argue with tulip suppliers."
Nora’s lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile. "They shorted me forty stems, Dominic. That's a crisis."
"I could have Adrian speak to the supplier," Dominic offered smoothly.
"If you send a mob enforcer to threaten a flower wholesaler in Michigan, I will throw a vase at your head," Nora warned, pointing a finger at his nose.
Dominic raised his hands in surrender. "Noted."
Before he could say more, the heavy brass bell above the door chimed loudly. A tall man in a navy trench coat walked in, flanked by two burly men whose hands rested suspiciously inside their jackets.
May you like
The warmth in the shop instantly evaporated. Dominic’s posture shifted from relaxed customer to lethal predator in less than a second.
It was Victor Marcone—the leader of the South Side syndicate.
