Chapter 3 - Landing in Manhattan
The wheels of Flight 842 hit the tarmac at JFK with a heavy, screeching shudder that rattled the overhead bins. As the plane taxied toward the gate, the cabin erupted into the usual symphony of clicking seatbelts, rustling jackets, and people standing up too early in the aisle.
Dominic didn't move. He sat like a granite statue in Seat 3A, his dark overcoat draped over his knees, his eyes locked on Lily.
The little girl was stuffing her crayons back into her pink backpack, her tongue poking out between her teeth in deep concentration. When she finished, she looked up and caught Dominic staring at her. She didn't look away. Instead, she offered him a small, gap-toothed smile that nearly stopped his heart.
“We’re in New York,” Lily announced, as if breaking top-secret intelligence.
“We are,” Dominic agreed, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a thick, embossed card holder, and extracted a sleek black business card—the master card bearing his private direct line, bypasses for every gatekeeper in the city, and an encryption code that connected straight to his personal assistant. He didn't hand it to Lily; instead, he slid it across the tray table toward Julie.
Julie looked at the card as if it were a venomous snake. “What is this?”
“An address,” Dominic said, standing up to his full, imposing height of six-foot-four. He towered over the first-class cabin, his broad shoulders filling the aisle. “And a promise. If you try to run from me again, Julie, I won't just find you. I will buy the building you live in, the airline you flew on, and every single block of the neighborhood you call home. Do you understand me?”
Julie swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she picked up the card and slipped it into her coat pocket. “She lives in Brooklyn. Park Slope. Seventh Avenue. A brownstone split into apartments—she works out of the ground-floor studio.”
“Good girl,” Dominic said coldly.
He stepped out into the aisle, waiting for the queue to move. As the passengers began to shuffle forward, Lily tugged on the hem of his expensive wool coat.
Dominic looked down.
“Are you coming to see us?” Lily asked, her head tilted at an adorable angle.
Dominic knelt down on one knee, ignoring the dirt on the carpet, bringing himself eye-level with his daughter. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently brushing a stray dark curl away from her forehead. His fingers brushed her skin—soft, warm, impossibly fragile.
“I always keep my promises, Lily,” Dominic said, his voice thick with an emotion he hadn't felt in five years. “I’m not leaving.”
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With a sharp nod to Julie, Dominic turned and walked off the plane into the terminal, where a convoy of black Lincoln Navigators was already waiting idling at the curb, their tinted windows reflecting the grey Manhattan skyline.
It was time to claim what was his.
