Chapter 4 - Cold Tea and Clear Lines
When Dominic returned to the third floor, the rain had stopped, leaving a heavy, silver mist clinging to the pine trees outside the balcony windows.
Claire was sitting at the small dining table in the corner, wearing his wool robe. Her hair was dry, brushed back from her face, though her skin was still unusually pale under the warm recessed lighting. She was holding a pen, writing rapidly on a sheet of yellow legal paper she had taken from his briefcase.
Dominic paused in the doorway, watching her.
Even after an attempted abduction, after being cornered in a filthy club bathroom, her instinct was to organize. Her handwriting was neat, precise, slanted slightly to the right—the same script that had organized his life for forty-eight months.
"You should be resting," he said softly.
Claire didn't look up, but her pen slowed. "If I rest, I think about the sound of that door breaking. If I work, I think about shipping numbers."
"Those aren't shipping numbers," Dominic observed, walking over to stand behind her chair.
He leaned down slightly, smelling the clean scent of cedar and lavender from her skin. The yellow pad was covered in names—names of port directors, customs inspectors, and junior attorneys from Evelyn Price’s firm.
"I realized something while I was in the bath," Claire said, turning her head slightly so her cheek was only inches from his chest. "Keller didn't have access to the Fourth Street manifests. Only three people had those keys. You, me... and Evelyn."
Dominic felt a cold wave of pride wash over his chest, quickly followed by a sharp, bitter pang. She was too smart for this world. She had worked out the betrayal while her skin was still wet from the tub.
"You knew," she said, reading his silence instantly. "He told you."
"He told me," Dominic agreed.
"What are you going to do?"
Dominic reached over her shoulder and took the yellow pad from her hand, setting it gently on the table. He took both of her hands in his, pulling her up from the chair until she was standing before him.
"I am going to end this," he said. "Not with guns in the street, and not with bodies in the river. Silas Harrow thinks he’s playing a game from twenty years ago. Evelyn Price thinks she’s using the federal courts to trap me into being a criminal again."
"And what are you?" Claire asked, her voice barely above a breath, her dark eyes searching his face with a fierce, quiet intensity.
"I am the man who keeps you safe," Dominic said. "That is the only title I care about now."
Claire stepped closer, her chest touching his vest. The distance between them—the four years of professional silence, the clean glass desks, the cold marble hallways—vanished entirely. She reached up, her small fingers touching the line of his jaw, feeling the heavy muscle clench under her palm.
"You abandoned the meeting tonight," she whispered. "Everyone in the city knows you walked out on the Harrow trade for me."
"Let them know," he said.
"They'll say you're weak, Dominic. They'll say you gave up your territory for a woman."
Dominic’s arms slid around her waist, pulling her firmly against him until there was no air left between them. His hands were large, heavy, and capable of terrible things, but as they rested on the small of her back, they were as gentle as a breath.
"Let them come and try to take it," Dominic murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. "They will find out exactly what I am willing to do to keep what is mine."
Claire closed her eyes, her head resting against his heart, listening to the slow, steady rhythm that hadn't changed even when the world outside was burning down.
"Dominic?"
"Yes, Claire?"
May you like
"Don't send me back to Elm Street," she whispered.
Dominic tightened his grip on her, his face buried in her damp hair. "You're never leaving this house again unless I'm holding your hand."
