Chapter 7 - Shadows on the Ledger
The peace inside the penthouse lasted exactly forty-eight hours.
Dominic had thrown himself into domesticity with terrifying efficiency. He bought out half of FAO Schwarz for Lily, filled the industrial kitchen with organic groceries, and canceled three major board meetings to stay home and build a cardboard castle in the living room.
Naomi watched from the kitchen island, sipping black coffee, torn between fierce resentment and a treacherous, fluttering warmth in her chest as she watched Dominic—the man who controlled dockworkers and politicians—painstakingly taping together cardboard towers with pink safety scissors.
Then, the secure phone in Dominic’s study buzzed.
It was a low, dull thrum that vibrated through the wall panels. Dominic froze, his large hands resting on the cardboard castle. He looked up, catching Naomi’s eye across the open-plan loft.
“Stay here,” he instructed softly.
He stood up, walking toward his private study, and closed the heavy glass door behind him.
Naomi didn't hesitate. Driven by five years of accumulated paranoia and survival instinct, she set her mug down and crept across the marble floor until her ear was pressed against the frosted glass of the study.
Inside, Dominic’s voice was a low, glacial hiss.
“I don't care what the Russian syndicate wants. Tell them the docks in Brooklyn are closed permanently. If Viktor so much as sends a car down Seventh Avenue, I will burn his shipping warehouses to the waterline.”
A pause. Then Dominic spoke again, his voice dropping into a register of pure, unadulterated violence.
“Listen to me very carefully, Salvatore. If anyone—anyone—in the organization so much as whispers my daughter’s name or looks in the direction of the Park Slope studio, I won't just strip your rank. I’ll feed you to the harbor crabs yourself. Am I understood?”
Naomi’s hand flew to her mouth. The blood rushed in her ears.
Everything she had feared—everything she had run away from five years ago—hadn't vanished just because she was living in a penthouse. The shadow of the Moretti empire hadn't gone away; it was hovering right outside the glass doors, waiting to pounce.
The study door clicked open suddenly.
Dominic stopped dead, standing in the doorway. His dark, stormy eyes locked onto Naomi, who was standing frozen in the hallway, her face pale as death.
“You lied to me,” Naomi whispered, her voice cracking with betrayal. “You told me you were safe. You told me it was over.”
Dominic took a step toward her, his expression darkening. “Naomi—”
“Don't!” she screamed, backing away down the hallway. “Don't touch me! You brought us right back into the crosshairs! You arrogant fool—you put our daughter in the middle of a war zone just to satisfy your own ego!”
“I built this empire to protect what is mine!” Dominic roared, his voice finally breaking through its icy veneer, echoing off the high ceilings of the penthouse.
From the corner of the hallway, a small, trembling voice cut through the shouting.
“Mommy? Daddy? Why are you yelling?”
They both froze.
Lily was standing in the doorway of her new bedroom, clutching her stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest, her big gray eyes wide with sudden, terrified tears.
May you like
Dominic’s face went completely white. He looked at Lily, then back at Naomi, the fierce, protective warlord instantly collapsing under the weight of his daughter’s fear.
Naomi didn't say another word. She turned on her heel, scooped Lily up into her arms, and bolted toward the private elevator, pressing the emergency button with a trembling, frantic finger.
