Chapter 8
The private dining room erupted into a suffocating, violent silence. Marcus kicked his expensive shoes helplessly in the air, his hands clawing desperately at the iron grip of Dominic’s tattooed hand. The mafia boss’s charcoal-gray shirt pulled tight across his heavily muscular back, the detailed tattoo beneath the fabric flexing with immense physical power. Dominic’s expression remained terrifyingly restrained; there was no exaggerated anger, only a cold, mechanical execution of his judgment.
"Vance," Dominic spoke, his deep voice perfectly even despite holding a grown man off the floor by his throat.
"Boss," Vance responded immediately, stepping forward from the perimeter.
"Take him down to the basement of the warehouse," Dominic ordered, his piercing gray-blue eyes never leaving Marcus’s rapidly purpling face. "Break the hand he used to grab the girl. Break every single finger. Then strip him of everything he owns and throw him out of the city. If I ever see his face within fifty miles of Chicago again, you don't break him. You bury him. Understood?"
"Understood, Boss," Vance replied, his tone devoid of any emotion.
Dominic opened his hand, letting Marcus drop to the hardwood floor. The enforcer collapsed in a heap, coughing violently and gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat. Before Marcus could even attempt to beg for mercy, the other two bodyguards stepped forward. They hauled the gasping man to his feet by the lapels of his navy suit, dragging him swiftly and silently backward out of the heavy mahogany doors, sealing the room behind them.
The immediate threat was gone.
Dominic stood in the center of the room, taking a slow, deep breath to control his adrenaline. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, smoothing the fabric over his forearms. He turned around to face the table.
Lily was still sitting in the velvet chair, her hands clamped over her mouth. She was entirely unhurt, but the sheer, restrained violence she had just witnessed had left her paralyzed. She had spent weeks running from Marcus in absolute terror, only to watch this handsome, quiet man dismantle him in less than three minutes.
Rosa stepped out from the corner, still holding Noah, who was now sleeping soundly against her sage-green blouse. She approached the table and gently placed a comforting hand on Lily’s shoulder.
"It's over, sweetheart," Rosa whispered kindly. "He can't hurt you anymore."
Dominic walked slowly back to his chair. He didn't sit down. Instead, he crouched beside Lily, bringing his piercing gray-blue eyes level with hers. He made sure to keep his tattooed arms resting casually on his knees, projecting safety rather than intimidation.
"Lily," Dominic said, his deep voice returning to a warm, gentle cadence. "Look at me."
Lily slowly lowered her hands. Her fair, rosy skin was still pale, but the absolute panic in her eyes was beginning to recede. She looked into his face.
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"He is gone," Dominic promised her, his tone an unbreakable vow. "He will never come near you or your brother again. You are safe now."
Lily’s lower lip trembled. The exhausting weight of survival finally broke her walls. She burst into tears, leaning forward. Dominic caught her, letting the fragile little girl wrap her thin arms around his broad neck, burying her face into his charcoal-gray shirt as she finally allowed herself to cry.
