Chapter 6 - A Cold Heart Thawing
By dawn, the winter sun broke over Lake Michigan, painting the snowfields in hues of rose and gold. The smoke had cleared from the estate grounds, where Dominic’s cleanup crews were systematically erasing every trace of the midnight assault.
Inside the private medical wing, Emily sat beside Dominic, cleaning a deep shrapnel laceration along his left shoulder. Her hands were steady, practicing the surgical suture techniques she had once dreamed of using in an emergency trauma center.
“You should have let Dr. Marcus do this,” Dominic remarked, his jaw tightening slightly as the needle passed through his skin.
“Dr. Marcus is currently sedating your guards’ concussion cases,” Emily said calmly, knotting the suture with precision. “Besides, you don’t like people seeing you weak, do you, Mr. Vale?”
Dominic glanced at her sideways. “Weakness gets you killed in my line of work.”
“So does trusting the wrong people.” Emily wiped away the excess antiseptic. “Why do you do it, Dominic? You have enough money to buy an island and disappear. Why stay in this slaughterhouse?”
Dominic was silent for a long moment. He looked toward the glass partition where Lily and Grace were peacefully asleep, guarded by two loyal soldiers.
“My family built Chicago’s ports a century ago,” Dominic said, his tone heavy with history. “If I walk away, men like Volkov will flood these streets with fentanyl, human trafficking, and pure chaos. I keep the peace by being more dangerous than the monsters at the gate. But when Sarah died... I forgot how to protect what mattered most.”
He reached out, his calloused fingers gently touching the purple bruise blooming along Emily’s jawline where Reed had grabbed her. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, sending a sudden, startling jolt of warmth through Emily’s veins.
“You risked your life for my daughters twice in twenty-four hours,” Dominic said softly, his dark eyes searching hers. “No one has ever fought for them like that. Except their mother.”
Emily looked down, her heart fluttering uncomfortably. “They’re sweet girls. They deserve a normal childhood.”
The heavy oak doors swung open as Dominic’s underboss, a stern Italian named Marco, walked in carrying a silver tray. His expression was grim.
“Boss,” Marco said. “A courier just left this at the front gate. Sent via drone from the South Side.”
Dominic picked up the small velvet bag from the tray and turned it upside down. A charred, silver locket fell onto the steel table.
Emily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
May you like
It was her mother’s antique silver locket—the one item she had left in her apartment lockbox before it was burned to ashes. Attached to the scorched chain was a handwritten note in Cyrillic and English:
“A pretty bride deserves a red wedding. See you at the Navy Pier Gala, Dominic. Bring the waitress.”
