Chapter 2 - the entryway table
Dominic did not hesitate. He set his heavy boot against the base of the wooden door frame, preventing the latch from clicking shut.
"Claire," Dominic said, his voice dropping to an ice-cold register that echoed off the peeling wallpaper of the hallway. "Open this door."
Inside, the sound of a brass chain locking into place rattled through the wood.
"Go away, Dominic!" Claire’s voice came frantically from the other side. "Leave us alone! You've already taken everything from my family!"
Vincent stepped up beside Dominic, his hand resting on the grip of his weapon beneath his coat. "Boss, the Bellini family was wiped out seven years ago. Claire Bellini was officially declared dead in the dockside warehouse fire. If she's alive, she's a security risk to the entire syndicate."
"Stand down, Vincent," Dominic commanded without looking back. He turned his attention back to the door. "Claire, I didn't set that fire seven years ago. You know I didn't."
"You signed the execution order!" Claire screamed back, her voice breaking with raw emotion. "My father, my brother... everyone died because of the Vescari family!"
Dominic’s jaw set into hard granite. Seven years ago, the Bellini family—the oldest crime family in Chicago—had been systematically eradicated in a single night of fire and bloodshed. Dominic had spent seven years believing Claire had perished in that blaze alongside her father.
"I never signed an order against your family, Claire," Dominic said softly. "I spent seven years searching for your body."
Silence fell over the small apartment. After a long, agonized moment, the chain rattled loose. The door swung open six inches.
Claire stood in the gap, clutching her faded cream sweater tight against her throat, her dark-brown hair messy, tears glistening on her pale cheeks. Behind her, little Lily sat quietly on a worn sofa, holding her stuffed rabbit, watching the broad-shouldered man in the black overcoat with wide, curious eyes.
"Why are you here, Dominic?" Claire asked, her voice trembling. "What do you want from us?"
"I want to know why my brother's photograph is sitting on your table," Dominic said, his grey-blue eyes locked onto hers.
Claire flinched as if struck. She stepped back, allowing the door to open wider.
Dominic stepped into the small, freezing apartment. The room was sparsely furnished, heated only by a small electric space heater hummed in the corner. On the entryway table sat the silver-framed photograph: Marco Vescari, smiling brightly, holding a tiny newborn wrapped in a pink blanket.
Dominic picked up the frame, his gloved fingers tracing the glass. "Marco died six years ago in an automobile crash in Upstate New York. Lily is six years old."
Claire swallowed hard, looking down at the worn carpet. "Marco brought me here after the fire. He hid me from the syndicate. He... he saved my life, Dominic."
"And he never told me," Dominic said, a dark wave of grief washing over his face. "My own brother kept you hidden for a year before he died."
While Dominic spoke, Vincent moved quietly around the small kitchenette, inspecting the premises. He reached down into a plastic trash bin near the counter, pulling out a small brown medicine bottle.
Vincent examined the prescription label, his brow furrowing into dark lines.
"Boss," Vincent said, holding up the bottle. "You need to see this."
Dominic took the pill bottle from Vincent's hand. He read the printed label on the side: Patient: Claire Bellini. Prescribed by Dr. Aris Vance — Vescari Security Medical Detail.
Dominic’s chest tightened. Dr. Aris Vance was the private chief physician employed exclusively by Vincent’s internal security division.
Dominic slowly raised his head, his grey-blue eyes fixing on Vincent with lethal intensity.
May you like
"Dr. Vance has been treating Claire for two years, Vincent," Dominic said softly. "Why is my chief security officer's private doctor writing prescriptions for a woman who is supposed to be dead?"
Vincent’s disciplined face remained unreadable, but his jaw tightened noticeably.
