Chapter 6 - Shadows on Michigan Avenue
By midnight, the storm outside the penthouse on Michigan Avenue was howling against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
I sat on the wide velvet sofa in the living room, holding a glass of scotch to calm my trembling nerves. My black dress was ruined with ash and dust, but I hadn't bothered to change yet.
Dawson stepped out of his bedroom, wearing a clean pair of dark trousers and a loose black t-shirt. He walked over to the bar, poured himself a glass of water, and sat down on the sofa beside me.
The silence between us was heavy, filled with the lingering echoes of gunshots and shattered crystal.
"You saved my life tonight," I said quietly, looking at his bandaged knuckles.
"You saved mine first," Dawson replied, staring into his glass. "If you hadn't noticed the service code connection, Marco would have walked out of that ballroom clean while my father blamed the Russos."
He set his glass down on the coffee table and turned to face me, resting his arm against the back of the sofa.
"My father told you this job was a trap, didn't he?" Dawson asked softly.
I nodded. "He said your enemies would target me."
"He was right," Dawson whispered, his hand reaching out, his long fingers gently tracing the line of my jawline, sending a shiver straight down my spine. "You're not safe here, Clara. Carmine Russo knows who you are now. My father knows you're effective. They will use you as a bargaining chip."
"I signed a contract, Dawson," I said, leaning slightly into his touch. "I don't run away when things get complicated."
"This isn't complicated," Dawson breathed, leaning closer until his lips were inches from mine. "This is suicide. I'm a monster, Clara. You saw what I did in that ballroom. You saw what I almost did to Marco."
"I didn't see a monster," I whispered, looking directly into his golden eyes. "I saw a man who protected the people he cares about."
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Dawson let out a low, ragged groan, pulling me into his lap and pressing his mouth against mine with a fierce, desperate passion that consumed every doubt in my mind. His hands wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard chest as I tangled my fingers in his dark hair.
In the middle of Chicago's bloodiest mob war, inside the penthouse of the city's most feared heir, I surrendered to the fire I had been trying so hard to control.
