Chapter 2 - The Price of a Breath
The temperature in the Monarch Room seemed to drop twenty degrees in an instant.
Dominic didn't speak. He walked forward, his boots clicking with terrifying regularity against the floor. Every powerful man in the room—men who held the city's keys, men who bought judges and financed mayoral campaigns—stopped breathing. They knew the face. They knew the reputation. They knew that Dominic Vale didn't visit the North Side unless someone was about to lose everything.
He stopped two inches from Elena. His large, scarred hand reached out, his thumb gently brushing the raw, scraped skin near her ear where the clippers had cut too close.
"Who did this?" Dominic asked. His voice wasn't loud. It was a low, guttural purr that carried the weight of a death sentence.
Elena looked up into her husband's eyes. For almost a year, she had fought to keep this world separate from his. She had wanted to prove she could survive without the shadow of the Vale name protecting her. But looking at the fear in the room, she realized that some monsters only understood a larger monster.
"Table Twelve," Elena said softly.
Dominic turned slowly. His gaze locked onto Preston Hale and his five friends.
Preston, whose family name was stamped on half the skyscrapers downtown, tried to stand up. His knees shook so violently that his silverware rattled against his plate. "Look, Mr. Vale... it was a joke. We didn't know. We thought she was just... we were just having some fun. I can pay for it. Whatever it costs, my father—"
"Victor," Dominic interrupted, not taking his eyes off Preston.
"Sir," Victor stepped forward.
"Close the restaurant. No one leaves. Lock the elevators. If anyone uses a phone, break their fingers."
Within thirty seconds, the massive iron security grilles of the private elevators slid shut with a deafening clang. The panic in the room was palpable, but it was a silent panic. No one dared to scream.
Dominic walked over to Table Twelve. He picked up the expensive bottle of Bordeaux, turned it over, and let the dark red liquid pour directly onto Preston’s pristine leather shoes.
"Your father builds roads, Preston," Dominic said, his voice entirely calm. "He uses a lot of concrete. Do you know what else concrete is good for?"
May you like
Preston collapsed back into his chair, his face entirely white. "Please."
"You took something from my wife that took years to grow," Dominic whispered, leaning over the table, his face inches from Preston's. "So tonight, I am going to take everything your family built since the day you were born. And then, we will talk about what you owe her personally."
