Chapter 5 - The Unholy Alliance
Dominic stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden, his back to me, his broad hands resting on his hips. The fury coming off him was almost physical—a dark, silent storm that filled every corner of the room.
“Victor was the one who recommended Vanessa Sloan for the Midtown office,” Dominic said quietly. “He told me she was sharp, quiet, and reliable. He put her there specifically because he knew she could build the ghost system without triggering my automated flags.”
“They didn't just want the forty-eight million, did they?” I asked softly, standing up from the table.
Dominic turned around. “No. Forty-eight million is pocket change for an operation this size. They used that money to buy illegal firearms contracts through Marcus Vance’s European contacts. They were planning to launch a hit on my waterfront warehouses next Friday—using my own money to finance the coup that would remove me from the city.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “And if I hadn't found the ledger...”
“If you hadn't found the ledger,” Dominic said, stepping toward me until he was standing directly in front of me, “I would have been ambushed blind. You saved my life, Abigail. And my empire.”
I looked up into his dark, intense eyes. “I just did my job. I saw numbers that didn't match.”
“Don't diminish what you did,” Dominic commanded softly. He reached out, his thick, calloused thumb gently wiping a stray lock of hair away from my cheek. His touch was electric, sending a shiver straight down my spine. “You took on a syndicate to protect your son, and in doing so, you gave me the head of my enemy on a silver platter.”
I swallowed hard, my breath hitching as his fingers lingered against my jawline. “What are you going to do now?”
“Now,” Dominic said, a cold, lethal smile spreading slowly across his handsome face, “we turn their own trap against them.”
“We?”
“Victor Ross and Vanessa Sloan are hosting an exclusive charity gala tomorrow night at the Plaza Hotel,” Dominic explained, his eyes locking onto mine with burning intensity. “It’s their cover event to secure a fifty-million-dollar credit line from European investors using Northstar’s fake assets as collateral. Marcus Vance will be there in the shadows, waiting to sign the final transfer documents.”
“You’re going to crash it,” I realized.
“I am going to walk into that ballroom,” Dominic said. “And I want you on my arm.”
I blinked in utter shock. “Me? Dominic, I’m an accountant! I don't belong at the Plaza in a floor-length gown surrounded by billionaires and mobsters!”
Dominic took my hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft, lingering kiss against my knuckles.
“You belong wherever I put you, Abigail,” he whispered, his slate-grey eyes burning into mine. “You are going to wear the most expensive dress in Manhattan, you are going to walk into that room like a queen, and when the moment is right, you are going to press 'enter' on that laptop and destroy them in front of the entire city.”
I looked at him—at the raw power, the dark devotion, and the absolute certainty in his gaze.
For six years, I had been invisible. I had been the overworked, underpaid single mother who people talked over and walked around.
May you like
Dominic Vale didn't walk around me. He looked at me like I was the only woman in New York who mattered.
“Okay,” I whispered, my heart racing. “I’ll do it.”
