Chapter 2 - The Shadows at JFK
The glass doors of Terminal 4 reflected the chaotic swirl of travelers, but inside my chest, time had completely frozen.
Dominic’s words lingered in the heavy air between us like smoke from a fresh gunshot. “We’re not alone.”
Before I could ask what he meant, his head security chief, Julian—a man I remembered from my former life as a silent shadow in a bespoke suit—stepped smoothly in front of us, resting his right hand inside his dark coat.
“North balcony, boss,” Julian muttered without moving his lips, his eyes sweeping the upper floor of the departure hall. “Two men in grey jackets. Earpieces. They’ve been tracking Mrs. Ferraro since she cleared security.”
Tracking me?
My blood ran instantly cold. I looked down at the twin carrier stroller beneath my hands. Inside, little Leo was sucking on his thumb, while Maya blinked her massive dark eyes—Dominic’s eyes—up at the bright fluorescent lights. They were eight months old, innocent, and entirely unaware that the airport terminal had just turned into a kill zone.
“Get the car to the curb,” Dominic commanded, his voice dropping into that terrifying, gravelly register that used to make whole rooms of hardened men go quiet. “Now, Julian.”
“Dominic, no,” I gasped, backing away from him, my knuckles white against the foam handle of the stroller. “I have a ticket to Seattle. My plane boards in twenty minutes. I am getting on that flight with my children—”
Dominic stepped into my space. He didn't grab me. He didn't touch me. But his broad, six-foot-three frame blocked out the entire airport, forming a human shield between my babies and the open crowd behind us.
“Elena, look at me,” he said, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that almost made me step back. The aristocratic coldness he used to wear like armor was completely gone, replaced by a raw, desperate focus. “You think you were fleeing from me. You weren't. You were fleeing directly into a trap.”
“What are you talking about?” My voice cracked. “You divorced me! You threw me out of our home nine months ago! You told me I was a burden and handed me papers through a lawyer!”
A terrible, agonizing flinch passed over Dominic’s face—a crack in the marble mask that I had never seen in the three years we were married.
“I did what I had to do to keep you alive,” he whispered, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Or at least... I thought I did. But if those men up there know about these babies, that plane to Seattle is a flying coffin. You step onto that jet, and none of you make it to the West Coast.”
Before I could process the terror in his words, a muffled thud echoed from the upper balcony above us. A glass panel near the flight display board shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.
Panicked screams erupted across the terminal. Travelers dropped their luggage and scattered in every direction.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He reached down, grabbed the double stroller with one massive hand, and wrapped his other arm tightly around my waist, lifting me almost off my feet as he pulled me toward the VIP service exit.
“Julian, cover the rear!” Dominic roared over the din of screaming passengers.
We burst through the double doors into the chilly rainy air of the private tarmac loop. A heavy, matte-black armored SUV pulled up to the curb with screeching tires. The rear door slid open automatically.
“In! Get in now, Elena!” Dominic urged, pushing the stroller inside ahead of me before shoving me into the leather interior and diving in after us.
The heavy door slammed shut, sealing us in dead silence. The dark tinted bulletproof glass cut off the chaos of the airport outside as the heavy vehicle accelerated violently away from the curb.
Inside, my heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I couldn't catch my breath. I dropped to my knees on the floor of the SUV, frantically unbuckling the harness of the stroller to check on my babies. Both Leo and Maya were crying now, frightened by the sudden movement.
“Shh, Mommy’s here, baby’s okay, Mommy’s here,” I sobbed, pulling both of them into my arms, hugging their warm, tiny bodies against my chest.
Opposite me, Dominic sat frozen on the leather bench.
The feared head of the Ferraro crime family—a man who controlled half the waterfronts on the Eastern seaboard—was trembling. He stared down at his big, scarred hands, then looked up at me holding our weeping son and daughter.
May you like
“Elena...” he breathed, his voice breaking. He slid off the seat onto the floor mats, dropping to his knees directly in front of me in the swaying vehicle. He reached out a hand, his fingers hovering half an inch from Leo’s soft cheek, utterly terrified that touching his own son might break him. “My God... Elena... what did I do?”
“You left us,” I spat, tears spilling over my cheeks as I held my children away from him. “That’s what you did, Dominic. You left us to die alone.”
