Chapter 2 - The Truth in the Rain
The cold hit him like an iron fist, but Dominic didn't feel it.
The icy rain drenched his tailored hair and soaked into the shoulders of his six-thousand-dollar coat within seconds, but his eyes were fixed entirely on the woman kneeling in the slush twenty feet away.
Behind him, two black SUVs belonging to his security detail screeched to a halt. Six heavily armed men in dark tactical jackets scrambled out, their hands resting on their sidearms, forming a defensive perimeter around their boss.
"Hold your fire! Stay back!" Dominic commanded without looking behind him.
The heavy thud of his leather boots against the wet asphalt made the woman turn her head.
Claire Bennett froze.
Her auburn hair was soaked flat against her forehead. Her face was dangerously thin, her cheekbones sharp, her skin pale from malnutrition and exhaustion. Dark circles shadowed her beautiful, hazel-green eyes. But as she looked up and caught sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man advancing toward her through the dark, her eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing terror.
"No..." she breathed, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. "No, no, no..."
She didn't run to him. She didn't cry his name in relief.
She scrambled backward like a frightened animal, throwing her body over the two small boys, shielding them with her arms and her heavy, waterlogged coat.
"Don't touch them!" she screamed at him, her voice cracking with raw, frantic panic. "Don't touch my children! Please! We don't have anything! Take the cart! Take the metal! Just don't hurt my boys!"
Dominic stopped five feet away.
The sight of her flinching from him—the sight of his wife, the woman he had once held until dawn while she slept peacefully against his chest, screaming in fear at his approach—tore a hole straight through his soul.
"Claire," he said. His voice, usually so steady and commanding, trembled uncontrollably.
Claire’s breath hitched. She looked up, her green eyes searching his face through the downpour.
She saw the silver-gray eyes. She saw the familiar line of his jaw. She saw the man she had loved, the man whose face she had drawn a thousand times in sketchbooks that were now long gone.
"Dominic?" she whispered.
"It's me," he said, taking a slow step forward, dropping to his knees directly in the cold, wet sludge. He didn't care about his trousers. He didn't care about his boots. He lowered himself until he was at eye level with her and the two boys. "Claire... my God... Claire..."
The taller boy, the one with Dominic’s eyes, stepped out from beneath his mother’s arm. He put his small body between Dominic and his mother, holding up his tiny, fist-clenched hands.
"Get away from my mom!" the boy yelled, his voice squeaky but fierce. "Don't hurt her!"
Dominic looked down at the boy. The child’s knuckles were red and swollen from the cold. His lips were slightly blue. Yet, he stood there, four years old, ready to fight a six-foot-two mob boss to protect his mother.
Dominic felt tears—hot, scalding tears—mixing with the icy rain on his cheeks.
"What is his name?" Dominic asked, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Claire clutched her smaller son tighter to her chest, her body trembling so hard her teeth chattered. "Please, Dominic... don't do this. Don't take them. They're all I have. I did what your father told me to do! I left! I never came back! I took the blame! Just let us go!"
Dominic froze. The cold rain seemed to vanish, replaced by a sudden, roaring fire in his ears.
"What did you just say?" Dominic asked softly. "My father?"
Claire stared at him, confusion flashing across her exhaustion-streaked face. "Your... your father. Five years ago. He came to the apartment while you were in Miami. He had three men with guns. He showed me the photos of your brother's execution... he told me if I didn't sign those bank papers and disappear forever, he would have you killed in your sleep. He said a farm girl from Iowa would never ruin the Vale name."
Dominic felt as though the earth beneath his knees had opened up and swallowed him whole.
The dossier. The three million dollars. The note.
It had all been orchestrated by his father, Vincent Vale. The old man had staged the betrayal, forged the bank documents, and forced Claire into the night with nothing but the clothes on her back, threatening to murder Dominic if she ever contacted him again.
And for five years, Dominic had lived in his father’s shadow, taking over the syndicate when the old man died of a stroke three years ago, believing his wife had abandoned him for money.
Meanwhile, she had been living in hell.
Dominic looked down at the smaller boy in Claire’s arms. He reached out a trembling, gloved hand, gently touching the child’s freezing, wet cheek.
"How old are they, Claire?" Dominic asked, his voice breaking.
Claire swallowed hard, a fresh tear cutting through the dirt on her cheek. "Leo... Leo is four. And Sam is three. They... they were born after I left Chicago, Dominic. I tried to raise them. I tried so hard. I worked three jobs, but I got sick... I couldn't pay the rent..."
Dominic closed his eyes.
Four and three.
They were his sons. They were twin stars born out of the darkness of his stolen past. They had been born in cold clinic rooms, raised in drafty tenements, fed on cheap soup, and forced to pull scrap metal through the winter rain to survive—all while he slept in a thirty-million-dollar mansion in Gold Coast, eating off silver plates, preparing to marry a syndicate princess.
Dominic opened his eyes. The grief in them was instantly swallowed by a cold, apocalyptic fury.
He stood up.
He reached down, scooped little Sam into his left arm, holding the shivering child against his warm wool coat. With his right hand, he reached for Leo, lifting the four-year-old onto his hip.
"Dominic, no! Please!" Claire screamed, scrambling to her feet, grabbing his coat. "Don't take my babies!"
Dominic reached out with his arm, wrapping it tightly around Claire’s waist, pulling her flush against his chest.
"I am not taking them from you, Claire," Dominic said, looking down into her terrified green eyes with absolute, unshakeable devotion. "I am taking all three of you home. And no one in this city will ever make you cold again."
At that moment, the door of the Escalade slammed open.
Vanessa Bellini stepped out into the rain, holding her diamond-encrusted clutch, her expensive mascara running slightly, her face twisted in utter disgust.
"Dominic! What the hell are you doing?!" Vanessa screamed over the wind, pointing a trembling, manicured finger at Claire and the children. "Who are these disgusting paupers? Put those filthy street rats down right now! You are ruining your coat! We have dinner with my father in forty minutes!"
Dominic turned his head slowly.
He held his two sons tightly against his chest. He held his wife against his side.
He looked at Vanessa Bellini as if she were a bug crawling across a sidewalk.
"Carlo," Dominic said, his voice ringing out like a death knell through the silent industrial alley.
The driver stepped forward instantly. "Yes, Boss?"
"Take Miss Bellini’s luggage out of my car," Dominic commanded flatly. "Call her father. Tell Anthony Bellini that the alliance is canceled, the wedding is off, and if his daughter ever steps foot in Chicago again, I will seize every ship his family owns on the Eastern Seaboard."
Vanessa’s jaw dropped in absolute, paralyzed shock. "You... you can't be serious! You're breaking our engagement for a homeless whore and her bastard brats?!"
Dominic didn't even blink.
He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a heavy, dark steel Glock 19 pistol, racked the slide with one hand, and aimed it directly at Vanessa’s forehead.
"Say one more word about my wife and sons," Dominic said, his voice completely devoid of human warmth, "and your father will receive your body in a shipping crate."
Vanessa gasped, stepping back so fast her high heels buckled, falling flat on her rear into the icy gutter.
Dominic turned back to Carlo. "Load the cart into the back of the security SUV. We keep every piece of metal in it. It stays in my estate forever to remind me of what I almost lost."
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"Right away, Boss," Carlo said, bowing his head.
Dominic walked toward the warmth of his armored Cadillac, carrying his boys, holding his wife.
