Chapter 6 - The Storm Outside
The storm broke over Long Island just as midnight struck.
Lightning tore across the black Atlantic sky, illuminating the crashing waves against the private beach below the estate with sudden, ghostly flashes of white. Thunder rattled the reinforced glass of the master study windows.
Inside the house, everything was dark except for the amber glow of the desk lamp in Dominic’s private office.
He sat behind the massive mahogany desk, staring at a stack of encrypted intelligence reports detailing a rival syndicate’s movements in Queens. But the words were blurring together. His mind wasn't on the docks, the unions, or the turf wars.
It was on the library rug.
Why did you leave us, Daddy?
The question had echoed in his skull for six hours, burning away the cold, efficient armor he had worn since the day Isabella died. He hadn't left them because he didn't love them; he had left them because he was a coward. He had believed that his presence was a curse—that the violence in his blood would eventually find its way into their nursery, just as it had found its way into his father’s house twenty years ago.
A soft knock sounded at the heavy oak study door.
Dominic didn't look up. “Enter.”
The door clicked open.
Elena stepped into the room. She was wearing an oversized flannel shirt over a pair of pajama pants, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked tired, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but there was no fear in her expression—only a quiet, resolute calm.
“They’re asleep,” she said softly, closing the door behind her.
Dominic leaned back in his leather chair, his dark eyes fixing on her face. “How?”
“Valentina has the photograph under her pillow,” Elena said, walking slowly toward the desk. She stopped a few feet away, her hands tucked into her pockets. “Lucia stayed awake until eleven asking questions about your childhood. And Mia fell asleep holding my hand while I read her the story about the three pigs.”
Dominic let out a harsh, bitter breath. “You shouldn't have told them about me.”
“I didn't tell them anything you haven't already shown them,” Elena fired back quietly. She leaned against the corner of the heavy oak desk, looking down at him with an intensity that made his chest tighten. “Mr. Russo—Dominic—you can't keep living like this. You can't rule an empire by day and hide in a crypt by night while three little girls wait for their father to come back from the dead.”
Dominic stood up. The movement was sudden, violent, knocking his leather chair back against the wood paneling with a sharp thud.
He towered over her, his massive frame radiating a dangerous, suppressed energy. “You don't understand what I am, Elena! You think I’m just a businessman with a few rough edges? The men who killed Isabella are dead, yes, but there are a hundred more waiting in the shadows. Every day I walk out those front gates, I wear a target on my back. If I let my guard down—if I let myself love my daughters the way a normal father does—somebody will use them to get to me.”
“And what do you think you’re doing to them right now?” Elena shouted, her voice finally breaking, the fierce control shattering to reveal a torrent of raw emotion. “You think locking them in a golden cage with armed guards and silent hallways is protecting them? You’re starving them, Dominic! You’re teaching them that love is a liability and that crying is a weakness!”
She stepped right into his space, her finger poking hard against his chest—directly over the spot where his heart beat behind his custom suit.
“If you die tomorrow, what do they have left? A vault full of blood money and a father who never even learned how to kiss them goodnight.”
Dominic grabbed her wrist.
His grip was iron-hard, instantly capable of crushing bone. He didn't realize he was doing it; it was the automatic, predatory reaction of a man who had spent a lifetime defending himself against physical threats.
Elena gasped, her eyes flying wide, a sharp intake of breath cutting off her words.
Dominic looked down at his hand wrapped around her delicate wrist. He saw the pale skin turning white beneath his calloused fingers.
A shockwave of pure self-loathing hit him.
He released her instantly, stumbling back a half-step as if he had touched a live wire.
“Get out,” Dominic whispered, his voice shaking. “Get out of my house before I forget who you are.”
Elena didn't run. She rubbed her wrist, her slate-gray eyes glittering with unshed tears, her chin held high with that stubborn, infuriating defiance that drove him insane.
May you like
“You already know who I am, Dominic,” she whispered, turning slowly toward the door. “I’m the only person in this entire city who isn't afraid of your shadow.”
She walked out of the study, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft, final sound that felt like a death knell in the empty room.
