Chapter 4 - THE CRACK IN THE ARMOR
The next morning, the sun broke over the Atlantic in a blaze of gold and crimson, casting long shadows across the breakfast patio.
When I walked down wearing a simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up—discarding the heavy armor of my usual three-piece suits—Rosa dropped a silver fork onto her plate with a sharp clatter.
At the long mahogany table outside, Chloe was sitting with the triplets. Mia was eagerly showing her a drawing of a remarkably lopsided blue horse, while Valentina chattered happily about pancakes.
And Lucia... Lucia was sitting quietly, her eyes darting toward me as I approached. She didn't speak, but she didn't flinch, and she didn't run away.
"Good morning, girls," I said, pulling out a chair at the head of the table. My voice felt foreign in the bright morning air, softer than usual.
"Morning, Daddy," Valentina chirped, while Mia waved a sticky maple-syrup-covered finger in the air.
I looked across the table at Chloe. She had a small smudge of blueberry jam on her chin, and she was watching me with an expression of intense, guarded curiosity.
"Mr. Russo," she greeted politely, her tone carefully neutral for the children's benefit.
"Dominic," I corrected, my eyes holding hers.
A faint flush dusted her cheeks, but she didn't look away. "Dominic, then. Since you’re up and clearly looking for something to do, the girls need new art supplies, and the organic market in town is running low on strawberries. I was planning to take them into the village this afternoon."
Rosa, standing near the kitchen doors, gasped audibly. "Into the village? Chloe, you know Mr. Russo's orders—"
"Orders change," I interrupted, never breaking eye contact with the young maid. "My security detail will accompany you. Two cars. No exceptions."
"We don't need a motorcade to buy strawberries, Dominic," Chloe said, narrowing her eyes. "We need a normal afternoon where nobody looks at these little girls like they're walking targets."
"The world outside these gates is not normal, Chloe," I said coldly, leaning forward. "You survived whatever corporate nightmare you came from, but the people gunning for me don't care about art supplies. If you go into town, you go with my men trailing twenty paces behind. Do we understand each other?"
Chloe stared at me for a long, tense moment, her jaw tight. Then, she let out a sharp breath. "Fine. But if your men ruin the trip by interrogating the cashier at the bakery, I’m quitting."
"You don't quit on me," I said, a dangerous, low rumble in my voice. "I fire people. And I haven't fired you yet."
Later that afternoon, as the black armored SUVs rolled out of the estate gates toward the quaint Long Island village, my phone buzzed on the console beside me. It was a encrypted text from Marcus, my head of security, tracking the detail.
May you like
“They’re at the local bookstore, boss. The girls are looking at picture books. The maid... she’s handling them like she’s done this a hundred times.”
I stared at the screen, a strange, unfamiliar knot twisting in my stomach. For fifteen years, my life had been simple: friends, enemies, targets, and survivors. There was no room for warmth, no room for domesticity, and certainly no room for a blue-eyed girl who looked at me like I was just a broken man hiding behind an expensive suit.
