Chapter 6 - The Morning After
At 8:00 AM on Saturday morning, the Chicago sun broke through the storm clouds, casting a cold, sharp light over the city streets.
I sat at the dark mahogany table in our dining room, wearing a soft cream silk robe, sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea. The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the television mounted on the kitchen wall.
Dominic walked into the dining room wearing a tailored charcoal suit, his tie knotted tightly at his throat, carrying a tablet in his hand. He looked fully rested, his face carved from dark granite, completely devoid of the exhaustion that usually followed a long night.
He set the tablet on the table beside my tea.
“Morning news,” he said simply.
I pulled the screen toward me.
The lead headline on the Chicago Tribune digital front page read:
MUNICIPAL DEVELOPER ARTHUR HALE UNDER FEDERAL INVESTIGATION FOR CONTRACT FRAUD; SON ARRESTED IN MONARCH ROOM ASSAULT
Beneath the headline was a video clip. I clicked play.
The video showed Preston Hale and his five fraternity brothers being led out of the 1st District police station in handcuffs at six o'clock this morning. Preston’s face was bruised, his clothes rumpled, his head bowed as dozens of news reporters thrust microphones toward his face.
“Mr. Hale! Did your father use union funds to pay for your legal defense?!” a reporter shouted off-camera.
“Is it true the Monarch Room has been permanently closed by city health inspectors?!” another called out.
Preston didn't answer. He was sobbing openly as officers shoved him into the back of a police transport van.
I scrolled down to the corporate section.
Hale Development’s stock had plunged seventy-four percent in early trading after three major construction unions announced an immediate strike on all Hale jobsites, citing pension discrepancies.
Dominic pulled out a chair beside me and sat down, taking a sip from his black coffee.
“Arthur Hale surrendered his passport an hour ago,” Dominic said flatly. “The District Attorney’s office refused to grant bail for Preston due to witness intimidation risks. He will remain in Cook County Jail until his preliminary hearing on Thursday.”
I looked up from the tablet, meeting my husband’s dark gaze.
“And the restaurant?” I asked.
“The deed for the Monarch Room was transferred to Vale Holdings at seven-thirty this morning,” Dominic replied. “Mr. Moretti settled his gaming debt by surrendering the building and the business license.”
I set my teacup down on its porcelain saucer with a soft click. “What are you going to do with it, Dom?”
Dominic leaned back in his chair, looking at me with a faint, rare smile touching the corner of his lips.
“I’m not doing anything with it, El,” he said. “It’s registered under your maiden name. Elena Hayes now owns the Monarch Room.”
I blinked, taking a second to process his words. “What?”
“You spent eleven months carrying plates in that building to prove you could build something independent of my reputation,” Dominic said softly, reaching across the table to lay his large hand over mine. “Now you own the floor you knelt on. You can close it, you can sell it, or you can reopen it as a place where no waitress ever has to tolerate a man like Preston Hale again.”
I looked at the silver ring around my neck, then back at my husband.
The sheer, overwhelming power of his love—dark, dangerous, protective, and absolute—sent a warm shudder straight through my heart.
“I’m not closing it,” I said quietly.
Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“We re-open in two weeks,” I said, my gray eyes sharpening into steel. “And I’m keeping Dennis on as a dishwasher.”
Dominic let out a low, rumbling laugh that echoed pleasantly through the high ceilings of the dining room.
May you like
“You are a ruthless woman, Elena Vale.”
“I learned from the best,” I replied smoothly.
