Chapter 3 - The Don’s Shadow
Morning broke over Lake Michigan not with sunlight, but with a bruised, violet sky heavy with more snow.
Emily woke up in a bedroom larger than her entire former apartment. The sheets were pure silk, the duvet down-filled, and a massive marble fireplace crackled softly near the foot of the four-poster bed.
For a fleeting second, she thought the entire nightmare had been a fever dream.
Then she saw the two armed guards standing outside her balcony window, and the reality crashed down upon her.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in?" Emily called out, pulling the silk duvet up to her collarbone.
The door swung open, and Lily and Grace skipped into the room. They were wearing matching pink flannel pajamas, their blond hair brushed, their cheeks rosy and healthy. Behind them walked a tall, elegant woman in a tailored suit holding a armful of luxury garment bags.
"Emily!" Grace squealed, running across the room and clambering onto the high bed without hesitation. "Daddy said we could come see you!"
Lily followed, sitting cross-legged beside her sister. "Daddy said you're staying with us now. Forever and ever."
Emily felt a lump form in her throat. She wrapped her arms around both girls, kissing their foreheads. "I'm so glad you two are feeling better."
"This is Mrs. Gable," Lily said, pointing to the woman in the suit. "She brought you new clothes because Daddy said your old ones got ruined."
Mrs. Gable offered a respectful, warm smile. "Good morning, Miss Parker. Mr. Vale requested that I bring a full wardrobe from Saks Fifth Avenue for you. Coats, dresses, casual wear, shoes, and jewelry. Everything has been tailored roughly to your measurements."
Emily stared at the dozen garment bags being hung inside the walk-in closet. "I... I can't accept all of this."
"Mr. Vale does not take no for an answer, Miss Parker," Mrs. Gable replied gently. "He is currently in the lower level war room with his lieutenants. He asked that you join him for breakfast in his private study whenever you are ready."
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a soft cream-colored cashmere sweater, tailored dark trousers, and leather boots that fit like a glove, Emily walked down the grand staircase.
She felt like an impostor in a castle. Just yesterday, she was scrubbing grease off diner tables for tips. Today, she was walking through a billionaire Don’s fortress.
When she reached Dominic’s private study, she found him standing before a wall of glass overlooking the stormy lake. He had traded his suit jacket for a dark velvet robe, holding a cup of black coffee.
On the table sat a spread fit for royalty: fresh pastries, smoked salmon, fruit, eggs, and rich coffee.
"Sit, Emily," Dominic said without turning around.
She sat at the mahogany table. "The girls look wonderful. Dr. Vance did a amazing job."
Dominic turned. His dark eyes swept over her, taking in the cashmere sweater and the way the cream color complemented her warm skin and dark hair. Something sharp and intense flickered in his gaze before he controlled it.
"Dr. Vance did his job," Dominic said, walking over and sitting opposite her. "You did what no doctor could do. You gave them hope when they were dying."
He reached into his pocket and placed a sleek, black metallic card on the table between them.
"What is this?" Emily asked.
"An unrestricted black card," Dominic said. "It is tied to my personal account. Buy whatever you need. If you want to order medical textbooks, hire private security for your mother's grave, or buy property—use it."
Emily looked at the card, then pushed it back across the table. "I told you last night, Mr. Vale. I don't want your money."
Dominic leaned forward, resting his powerful forearms on the table. His aura was overwhelming, suffocating, yet oddly intoxicating.
"It isn't a payment, Emily," he said softly. "It's a tool. You are target number one for Viktor Rostova right now. You cannot go to work. You cannot go to a store alone. You cannot return to your life. Until I kill Rostova, your life exists inside my perimeter."
"And how long will that take?" Emily challenged, her eyes locked with his. "A week? A month? A year? I am not a prisoner, Dominic."
Using his first name felt like crossing a line, a spark of electricity leaping between them.
Dominic’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. "You are free to leave through those gates whenever you wish, Emily. But three sniper rifles are currently aimed at the main road outside my property. The moment you step outside without my men, you die. Is that the freedom you want?"
Emily bit her lip, anger and fear warring inside her. "Why me? Why did Rostova write my name?"
Dominic’s smirk disappeared. His face went dark, cold, and deadly serious.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a manila crime-scene folder. He slid a photograph across the table.
Emily looked down.
It was a photograph of the dead driver inside the crashed van. But it wasn't just her name written in blood on the windshield. Beneath her name was a single, terrifying symbol drawn in red paint:
A cracked crown over a syringe.
Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She recognized that symbol.
May you like
"My mother..." Emily whispered, her face draining of color. "My mother used to draw that on her old medical journals..."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed into slits of deadly focus. "Your mother wasn't just a head nurse, Emily. Twenty years ago, before you were born, Sarah Parker worked at a private clinic in Geneva. A clinic owned by the Rostova family."
