Chapter 4 - The Shadow of the Mercer Empire
Thursday arrived with a cold, pale dawn over Manhattan.
At 6:00 a.m. sharp, a sleek black Maybach was waiting for me at the private entrance of the Park Avenue building. The driver, a tall, silent man named Vance who looked like he had spent a decade in special operations, opened the door for me without a word.
When I arrived at Mount Sinai, the atmosphere was completely transformed from my previous desperate visits.
Instead of waiting in the crowded, noisy public lobby, I was immediately escorted by the chief of neurosurgery to a private family suite on the top floor. My brother Caleb was already there, pacing the hardwood floor in a clean, high-end suit that someone had delivered to his apartment the previous evening.
"Grace!" Caleb threw his arms around me, hugging me tightly. "It’s incredible! Dr. Vance—the world-renowned neurosurgeon from Boston—is in the operating room right now! He brought three specialists with him!"
"How is Mom?" I asked, wiping a tear from my eye.
"She’s brave," Caleb smiled, his eyes red from crying. "She asked where you got the money. I told her you were working for a very important businessman who believes in taking care of his people."
I turned my head toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window of the waiting room. Down on the street forty stories below, I could see the black Maybach parked by the curb, with two armed men in suit coats standing guard near the entrance.
Dominic hadn't just paid for the surgery. He had wrapped my entire family in an impenetrable armor of security.
The operation lasted eight long, excruciating hours.
At 3:30 p.m., the heavy double doors of the surgical wing opened, and Dr. Harrison stepped out, pulling off his surgical cap. He wore a weary but triumphant smile.
"Miss Miller," Dr. Harrison said, walking over to us. "The resection was a complete success. We managed to remove ninety-eight percent of the tumor without touching the spinal cord pathway. Your mother is conscious, her vital signs are stable, and she will make a full recovery."
Caleb fell to his knees, sobbing openly into his hands. I sank against the wall, sliding down to the floor as tears of pure, overwhelming gratitude washed over me.
Mom was going to live.
By 6:00 p.m., after spending an hour holding my mother’s pale, warm hand in the ICU, I knew I had to return to Park Avenue. Contractually, I belonged to Dominic Mercer now.
When Vance drove me back to the penthouse, the sun was setting behind the Hudson River, painting the sky in deep shades of indigo and orange.
I entered the penthouse quietly, removing my shoes at the threshold. The apartment was still, illuminated only by the warm amber glows of the accent lamps.
I walked into the kitchen, prepared to make Dominic’s evening tea, when I noticed a light shining from under the door of his private library.
I walked over and knocked softly. "Mr. Mercer?"
"Come in," his deep voice called out.
I opened the heavy oak door. The library was a massive room lined with thousands of leather-bound books, a grand stone fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
Dominic sat in a high-backed leather chair near the fire, a crystal glass of scotch resting in his hand. He had removed his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing thick, muscular forearms covered in faint, silver scars.
"How is your mother?" he asked without turning his head.
"The surgery was a complete success," I said, my voice trembling with raw emotion. "Dr. Harrison said she will walk again within three weeks. She’s going to make a full recovery."
Dominic took a slow sip of his scotch. "Good."
I stepped deeper into the room, stopping three feet from his chair. I bowed my head deeply.
"Thank you, Mr. Mercer," I said softly. "You saved my mother’s life. You gave me my family back. I will work for you for twelve months, or twelve years, or whatever you require. I will never forget what you did."
Dominic turned his head slowly, looking up at me. The flickering orange light from the fireplace cast deep shadows across his sharp jawline and gray eyes.
"You don't owe me gratitude, Grace," he said quietly. "You signed a contract. You are fulfilling your side of the bargain, and I am fulfilling mine."
"It was more than a contract," I insisted, looking directly into his eyes. "You ruined your political alliance with the Ashfords for me. You destroyed a multi-billion-dollar merger because of how Evelyn treated a housekeeper."
Dominic set his glass down on the side table with a slow, deliberate motion. He stood up, towering over me in the warm firelight.
"I didn't destroy the merger because of a housekeeper," Dominic said, taking a step toward me. His presence was so overwhelming, so magnetic, that my breath hitched in my chest. "I destroyed it because Evelyn Ashford was a snake who thought she could use my name to crush people weaker than her. And because..."
He reached out, his long, warm fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my forehead. His touch was surprisingly soft, devoid of the cold brutality he showed the rest of the world.
"...because when I saw you sitting in that closet, bruised, starving, and begging for your mother’s life, I realized that you had more courage in your little finger than the entire Ashford family combined."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The proximity, the warmth of his hand against my cheek, sent a sharp shiver down my spine.
Before I could speak, the heavy red phone on his mahogany desk began to ring.
It was the secure line—the line that only six people in the world had the number to.
Dominic dropped his hand, his expression instantly returning to cold, lethal granite. He walked over to the desk and picked up the receiver.
"Mercer," he said flatly.
He listened in silence for thirty seconds. As he listened, his gray eyes narrowed, and his jaw locked into a tight, murderous contour.
"Where?" Dominic asked coldly.
A short pause.
"Burn the truck," Dominic commanded. "And bring Arthur to the safe house in Queens immediately."
He hung up the phone and looked up at me.
May you like
"What is it, Mr. Mercer?" I asked, terror spiking in my chest. "Is something wrong?"
"The Ashfords have made their move," Dominic said calmly, walking over to his wall safe and pulling out a secondary shoulder holster containing a dark sleek pistol. "They just intercepted one of my supply trucks in Brooklyn. And they took Arthur."
