Chapter 4 - The Art Studio on Seventh Avenue
The brownstone on Seventh Avenue in Park Slope smelled of freshly baked sourdough, damp autumn leaves, and turpentine. It was a cozy, cluttered sanctuary worlds away from the sterile, marble-and-glass fortress of Moretti Holdings.
Naomi Ellis stood at her worktable, a smudge of charcoal dusting her cheek, her dark curls pinned up in a messy bun with a wooden paintbrush. She was working on a children’s book illustration—a whimsical watercolor of a little rabbit looking out over a glowing cityscape—when the front bell chimed.
“Coming!” she called out, wiping her hands on a stained linen apron.
She assumed it was Julie and Lily returning from their weekend trip to Atlanta to visit their grandmother. She pulled the studio door open with a bright smile on her face, the words “How was the flight—?” dying instantly in her throat.
The smile vanished. The paintbrush slipped from her fingers, clattering softly against the hardwood floor.
Standing on her welcome mat, framed by the wrought-iron railing of the brownstone steps, was Dominic Moretti.
He wore a bespoke charcoal overcoat, unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a crisp white shirt and a silver silk tie. He looked older, harder, and infinitely more dangerous than he had five years ago. The lines around his eyes were deeper, and the cold authority radiating from his broad frame seemed to suck all the air out of the foyer.
“Hello, Naomi,” he said. His voice was a low, devastating rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
Naomi backed away, her hands flying to her mouth, her breath hitching in her throat. “How... how did you find me?”
Dominic stepped across the threshold, kicking the heavy oak door shut behind him with a dull, echoing thud that locked automatically. He didn't answer her question. Instead, he walked slowly into the studio, his dark, stormy eyes taking in every detail—the sketches of Lily pinned to the corkboard, the jars of brushes, the worn sofa, the evidence of a life built entirely in defiance of his existence.
“You did a good job,” Dominic said quietly, stopping in front of the corkboard where a dozen photographs of Lily were pinned. He reached out, his long finger gently tracing the edge of a snapshot where Lily was laughing on a swing set. “She has your smile. And my chin.”
Naomi’s back hit the edge of her worktable. She was trapped between the heavy oak furniture and a man who owned half the eastern seaboard. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“You shouldn't be here, Dominic,” she whispered, her voice shaking with a terrifying mix of fury and fear. “Get out.”
Dominic turned around slowly. The distance between them vanished in two long strides. He closed his hands gently around her wrists—not tightly enough to bruise, but with an immovable, iron grip that made escape impossible. He looked down into her wide, terrified brown eyes, his own gaze burning with an intensity that scorched her soul.
“Five years, Naomi,” Dominic whispered, his face inches from hers. “Five years I spent tearing this country apart looking for the woman who vanished from my bed. And all this time, you were living two subway stops away in Brooklyn, raising my flesh and blood.”
“I had to!” Naomi cried, tears finally breaking over her lashes, spilling hot down her cheeks. She shoved against his chest with all her strength, but he didn't budge an inch. She glared up at him, her voice cracking with desperation. “Look at you, Dominic! Look at what you are! You think I wanted to raise my daughter in a war zone? You think I wanted her to grow up wondering if her father was going to come home in a body bag or get arrested by the FBI? I saved her from you!”
Dominic didn't flinch. He absorbed her fury the way a cliff absorbs the crashing waves.
“You didn't save her from me, Naomi,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a dark, solemn vow. “You just delayed the inevitable. Because I am not leaving. Not this time. Not ever again.”
May you like
Before Naomi could draw breath to scream, the heavy front door of the apartment unlocked with a sharp click, and small, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
“Mommy!” Lily’s bright voice rang out through the studio. “We’re home! And guess who we met on the airplane!”
