Chapter 3 - The New Empire
The top floor of the Costa Tower in lower Manhattan was a palace of black marble, brushed steel, and soaring glass walls that looked out over the Hudson River.
Within forty-eight hours of Richard Harrison’s downfall, Penelope moved into her new studio suite. It was a staggering upgrade. Where she once shared a cramped, dim cubicle with three other junior designers, she now had a two-thousand-square-foot personal office equipped with state-of-the-art digital drafting tables, broad lightboards, and an entire team of ten elite junior architects assigned exclusively to support her vision.
Sitting at her massive walnut desk, Penelope looked down at the contract in front of her.
Salary: $850,000 annually. Equity stake: 5% of all Costa Development projects. Complete autonomy over structural design.
She signed her name at the bottom with a firm, steady hand.
A soft knock sounded at her door. Frank, Dominic’s personal right-hand man and security chief—the same stoic man who had interrupted them on the terrace—stepped inside holding a velvet box.
“Miss Hayes,” Frank said with a polite, professional nod. “Mr. Costa asked me to deliver this to you before the evening briefing.”
Penelope set her pen down. “Thank you, Frank. What is it?”
“A token of partnership,” Frank replied, placing the velvet box on her desk before turning and leaving the room with military precision.
Penelope opened the box. Resting on black velvet was a sleek, custom-designed gold drafting pen, engraved along the side in crisp cursive: Penelope Hayes — Master Architect.
A small handwritten note lay beneath it.
Draw me something beautiful today, Penelope. — D.C.
A warm blush spread down Penelope’s neck. In the forty-eight hours since he had rescued her from Harrison & Associates, Dominic had been remarkably respectful, maintaining a distance that allowed her to adjust to her new reality. Yet, his presence was everywhere. The security team stationed discreetly outside her building, the private driver assigned to take her to work, the high-end catering delivered directly to her office—every detail was orchestrated by him.
At 5:00 PM, Penelope took her leather-bound notebook and walked down the private interior stairwell to Dominic’s executive penthouse on the sixty-fifth floor.
The doors parted to reveal a space that reflected its owner: grand, imposing, and dark. Heavy leather couches sat around a gas fireplace, while a sweeping teakwood desk overlooked the city skyline.
Dominic was sitting at the desk, his jacket off, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms covered in faint, dark tattoos—symbols of old-world Sicilian heritage and authority.
He looked up as she entered, and his expression softened instantly.
“Penelope,” he said, standing up and coming around the desk. “Come in. How are you settling into the studio?”
“It’s... incredible, Dominic,” she admitted, walking toward the window. “I’ve done more creative work in two days than I did in two years under Richard.”
“Good,” Dominic said, stopping a few feet behind her. She could feel the heat radiating from his broad frame. “That was the goal.”
“I have the initial revisions for the waterfront district project,” Penelope said, turning to face him and opening her binder. “If we re-angle the northern residential towers by fifteen degrees, we capture forty percent more afternoon sunlight while reducing wind-shear pressure on the glass panels by—”
“Penelope,” Dominic interrupted gently, his deep voice wrapping around her.
She paused, looking up. “Yes?”
“I didn't bring you here to talk about wind-shear pressure at five o’clock on a Friday,” Dominic said, a faint smile touching his dark lips.
“You didn't?”
“No,” Dominic said smoothly, reaching out and gently taking the binder from her hands, placing it on a nearby table. “I brought you here to invite you to dinner.”
Penelope’s heart gave a sudden, hard thud. “A business dinner?”
Dominic stepped closer, closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her head up to look into his dark, magnetic eyes.
“A private dinner,” Dominic corrected softly. “Just you and me. No drawings, no contracts, no Richard Harrisons.”
Penelope swallowed hard. “Dominic... people in the city are already talking. They’re saying you destroyed my old firm just because you wanted a new architect. If they see us together like that—”
“Let them talk,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl that sent electricity straight down her spine. “People whisper about me because they fear me. They will respect you because I stand beside you. I don't care about the city’s opinion, Penelope. I care about yours.”
Before Penelope could respond, the heavy double doors of the penthouse burst open without warning.
A tall, sleek woman in a tailored cream suit strode into the room, flanked by two older men in expensive European coats. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight, flawless bun, her icy blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on Penelope.
It was Victoria Sterling—daughter of Senator Sterling and heiress to the Sterling Financial Group, one of the oldest and most powerful old-money families in New York.
“Dominic,” Victoria said, her voice sharp and demanding as she walked right past security. “What is the meaning of this? I heard you pulled our joint venture funding for the Brooklyn pier project.”
Dominic didn't flinch. He slowly turned around, placing a protective, solid hand on the small of Penelope’s back. The touch sent a shockwave through Penelope’s body, grounding her instantly.
“Victoria,” Dominic said coldly. “You know my rules about entering my private office unannounced.”
Victoria’s eyes darted down to Dominic’s hand on Penelope’s waist, her lip curling in immediate disgust.
“Is this why?” Victoria sneered, looking Penelope up and down with open contempt. “You canceled a two-hundred-million-dollar banking merger because you were busy playing white knight to Richard Harrison’s discarded secretary?”
The room air froze.
Dominic’s posture shifted instantly. The warm, attentive man standing next to Penelope vanished, replaced by the terrifying Mafia King whose name brought powerful men to their knees.
“Victoria,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a whisper so quiet, so cold, it made the blood run cold. “Apologize to Miss Hayes immediately.”
May you like
Victoria blinked, caught off guard by the sheer lethality in his tone. “What?”
“You heard me,” Dominic stepped forward, shielding Penelope behind his massive frame. “Apologize to Lead Architect Penelope Hayes. Or I will liquidate your father’s shipping port leases before the markets close at six.”
