Chapter 2 - The Ghosts of Boston
"Stay here," Dominic commanded, his voice dropping into the low, absolute tone that made seasoned soldiers freeze.
"Mr. Vale, wait, that's just the delivery alley—" Claire started, but Dominic was already moving.
He pushed through the heavy fire door into the damp, narrow alley behind the warehouse. The rain from the previous night had left deep puddles, reflecting the dull gray sky. Standing near the dumpster were three men in leather jackets. One of them held a crowbar, while the other two were trying to force open the rusted lock on Harbor House’s basement storage window.
"Lose something?" Dominic asked, his voice cutting through the damp air like a razor.
The three men spun around. The one with the crowbar sneered, stepping forward. "Who the hell are you? Get back inside, suit, before we break your—"
The man stopped mid-sentence. His eyes traveled from Dominic’s polished leather shoes up to the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face. The cocky demeanor vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a cold, primitive terror.
"Vale," the leader whispered, his hand shaking so violently he dropped the crowbar onto the asphalt with a loud clang. "Oh God. Nobody said the Don was here."
"You’re Marcone’s crew," Dominic said calmly, taking a single step forward. He didn't draw his gun. He didn't need to. His reputation did the killing for him. "Victor Marcone thinks because my father is in a vault, my family's borders have moved. Tell your boss that if I see one of his dogs within five miles of Dorchester again, I won't just kill the men he sends. I will erase his entire lineage from the East Coast. Now run."
The three men didn't look back. They scrambled into a beat-up sedan at the end of the alley, tires screeching as they tore away into the morning traffic.
Dominic picked up the discarded crowbar, tossing it into the dumpster with a hollow thud. When he turned around, Claire was standing in the doorway, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and profound realization.
"That's who you are," she whispered, looking at him as if he were a monster that had temporarily chosen not to bite. "The stories in the papers... the whispers in the city. You’re the head of the syndicate."
"I am the man who keeps people like that from burning this building to the ground," Dominic said, walking back toward her. He stopped just inches away, the scent of expensive rain-dampened wool and iron radiating from him. "Marcone is looking for whatever my father was protecting here. If they know about this place, you are no longer safe, Claire."
"Why would they care about a children's center?" Claire asked, her voice trembling. "We don't have money. We don't have drugs. We have kids who need tutoring!"
"Noah!" Dominic called out.
Within five seconds, Noah Grant appeared at the end of the alley, his hand resting casually inside his coat pocket. "Yes, Don Dominic?"
"Increase the perimeter security. Put four of our best men on the roof, two at the main entrance, disguised as neighborhood watch. No one enters this block without being vetted." Dominic looked back down at Claire. "And prepare a room at the estate. Miss Bennett and her daughter are coming with us."
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"What? No!" Claire protested, stepping back into the building. "I am not moving my daughter into a mafia fortress, Mr. Vale! I don't know you, and I don't trust you!"
"You don't have to trust me," Dominic said, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, heavy intensity that made her breath catch. "But you will survive me. Pack a bag for Sophie. We leave in twenty minutes."
