Chapter 3 - The Broken Promise
The east guest suite was a plush, luxurious prison. High ceiling beams, a king-sized canopy bed, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the rain-drenched gardens below.
Claire Whitmore sat on the edge of the velvet armchair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was still wearing the simple ivory dress from the afternoon, though the hem was wrinkled and stained with tears. She hadn't slept. She hadn't touched the tray of food the guards had brought her.
When the heavy brass lock clicked and the double oak doors swung open, Claire didn't look up immediately. She heard the familiar, heavy tread of Dominic’s leather shoes against the hardwood floor.
“I told you everything I can, Dominic,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. “If you’re going to shoot me, please... do it fast. Don't make me wait for sunrise.”
Dominic stopped three feet in front of her.
He didn't draw a gun. Instead, he unbuttoned his suit jacket, tossed it onto the bed, and slowly knelt down on one knee in front of her—the exact same posture he had taken six months ago when he asked her to be his wife on a terrace overlooking the Amalfi coast.
Claire gasped, her swollen, blue-green eyes snapping open in shock. “Dominic... what are you doing?”
Dominic reached out, taking her cold, trembling hands into his large, warm palms. “Paige is in New Jersey, isn't she?”
Claire froze. The breath left her lungs in a sharp, painful hiss. Her face turned ghost-white. “How... how do you—”
“Lily told me,” Dominic said gently, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, trying to restore warmth to her shivering skin. “The four-year-old saw you crying in the library. She heard you begging someone on the phone not to make Paige count.”
Claire’s restraint shattered completely. A violent sob escaped her throat, and she collapsed forward, burying her face against Dominic’s neck. Her fingers clutched at the lapels of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled grip.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Claire wept hysterically, her body trembling violently in his arms. “They had video of her, Dominic! They were starving her, keeping her in the dark! Arthur Vance said if I didn't plant the device and unlock the east gate on our wedding night, he would send her back to me in a box! I couldn't tell you! Jack Mercer said if I gave you a single hint, Paige would die in five minutes!”
Dominic wrapped his powerful arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest, feeling the sheer terror that had been eating her alive for weeks.
“Jack Mercer is in chains in my basement, Claire,” Dominic whispered near her ear, his voice laced with absolute, terrifying authority. “He will never touch your family again. And I promise you, on my father’s grave, Arthur Vance will not survive the night.”
Claire pulled back, searching his face through a haze of tears. “You... you don't hate me?”
“Hate you?” Dominic smiled faintly, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You looked directly into my security camera, Claire. You turned the green light toward the crack in the clock because you knew little Lily liked to look for shiny things. You gave me the clues without saying a word, risking your own life to give me a chance to fight back.”
Dominic stood up, pulling Claire smoothly to her feet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her velvet-lined ring box. He opened it, revealing the magnificent, six-carat emerald-cut diamond ring she had surrendered earlier.
He slid the ring back onto her finger, pressing a firm, warm kiss to her knuckles.
“Our wedding is in eleven days, Claire,” Dominic said, his gray eyes burning with an intense, unyielding flame. “And I intend to walk you down that aisle with your sister sitting in the front row.”
Claire squeezed his hand, a glimmer of hope finally breaking through the dark fog of her despair. “Where is she?”
“Jack gave up the location,” Dominic said, pulling a encrypted tablet from his pocket. “An abandoned meatpacking facility in Secaucus, New Jersey. Vance has six armed guards on site. They expect Jack to call in at 3:00 a.m. to confirm you’re still compliant.”
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“Then we have less than two hours,” Claire said, her chin lifting with a sharp, resilient edge Dominic had always admired. “What’s the plan?”
Dominic walked over to the closet, pulling out a dark tactical jacket and throwing it to her. “The plan is simple, my love. We go to New Jersey, we tear that facility apart, and we show Arthur Vance what happens when he touches the family of Dominic Hale.”
