Chapter 4 - The Return in the DarkAt 1:45 AM, the private express elevator chimed inside the penthouse.
I was sitting on the edge of the velvet sofa, holding the heavy brass key in my trembling hands, staring at the digital clock on the wall.
When the mahogany doors slid open, Dominic stepped into the foyer.
His charcoal coat was soaked with rain, his dark hair damp, his white silk dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Standing behind him in the elevator were six of his broad-shouldered security guards, their faces pale, their eyes filled with utter, speech-bound awe.
Dominic didn't say a word to his men. He stepped into the living room, unbuttoned his soaked jacket, and tossed it onto a chair.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I jumped off the sofa, rushing across the carpet toward him. "Dominic! Are you hurt?!"
He didn't answer with words. He reached out, his broad, warm arms wrapping securely around my waist, pulling my frame flush against his solid chest, burying his face into the crook of my neck as he let out a long, shuddering exhale.
My hands came up instinctively, clutching his damp shirt, feeling the fierce, steady beat of his heart beneath my palms.
"I told them no, Claire," Dominic whispered into my hair, his baritone thick with an unbroken, reverent devotion. "I told the entire city no."
I pulled back slightly, looking up into his storm-gray eyes. "What did they do?"
"They left," Dominic smiled softly, reaching out his hand to gently, reverently stroke my cheekbone. "Don Salvatore realized that a man who has something to fight for is far more dangerous than a man who has everything to lose."
He took my hand, guiding me toward the wide leather passenger seat of his private vehicle parked in the subterranean garage below, where a quiet security detail waited.
"Where are we going?" I asked softly, watching the city lights flash past the tinted windows as the car glided onto the highway.
"We are going to my private estate on Lake Geneva, Claire," Dominic promised, resting his heavy, exhausted head down onto my lap.
I froze.
Sitting in the front passenger seat and driver seat were two of Dominic's senior guards—men who had spent ten years watching him rule an underworld empire with an iron fist.
The two guards glanced into the rearview mirror, their jawlines sagging open in total, breathless shock as they saw the feared Don of Chicago laying his head peacefully flat across a pediatric nurse's lap.
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They had never seen him this soft. They had never seen him unarmored. They had never seen him look at any human being with such absolute, fragile surrender.
I smiled softly, my fingers sliding through his dark, damp hair, gently massaging his scalp as the car carried us into the quiet night.
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