Chapter 5 - Touch of a Ghost
The Westchester safehouse was a masterclass in modern security and understated luxury.
Behind its reinforced steel doors lay a sprawling, warm living space filled with oak beams, leather furniture, and a roaring stone fireplace. Within twenty minutes of our arrival, two female security operatives had brought in twin cribs, baby formula, diapers, and clean clothes, setting up a secure nursery room directly off the master bedroom.
I sat on the edge of the large king-sized bed, watching Dominic.
The fearsome mob boss was currently sitting on the hardwood floor beside the cribs, holding a tiny bottle of warm milk in his massive, tattooed hand, feeding little Maya. His suit jacket was thrown across a chair, his dark sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the heavy silver watch I had bought him for our second anniversary.
He was holding our daughter as if she were made of the thinnest glass in the world.
Every few seconds, his eyes would flick toward the second crib, where Leo was sleeping soundly, sucking on a pacifier. Then his gaze would shift back to me, filled with an overwhelming, silent apology that words could never capture.
“She looks like you,” Dominic murmured softly, his dark eyes fixed on Maya’s face as she drank greedily. “She has your nose. The same tiny curve.”
“She has your eyes,” I said quietly, hugging my knees against my chest. “They both do. When they were born... I looked at their faces in the delivery room, and all I could see was you. I hated you for it.”
Dominic flinched, but he didn't look away. “You had every right to hate me, Elena. If I were in your place, I would have burned my memory to the ground.”
“Why didn't you look for me, Dominic?” I asked, the deep, aching wound in my chest spilling open again. “Even after the divorce... if you loved me so much that you gave me up to save my life... how could you go nine months without ever checking to see if I was okay?”
Dominic set the empty bottle on the side table, gently lifting Maya onto his broad shoulder to burp her with practiced, surprisingly delicate taps against her back.
“I did check, Elena,” he said softly, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace in the adjoining room. “Every single day. My men told me you were living in Queens. They told me you were working at a design firm. They brought me reports on your routine, your safety, your health.”
My eyebrows knit together. “My design firm? Dominic, I had to quit my job six months ago because my pregnancy was high-risk! I was on bed rest for two months! I haven't worked in a design firm since October!”
Dominic went completely stock-still.
He slowly turned his head to look at me, his dark eyes widening in horror as the realization hit him like a physical blow.
“The weekly reports...” Dominic whispered, his voice trembling with a sudden, sickening dread. “Every Monday morning, Silvio handed me a typed security audit of your life. It said you were fine. It said you were living alone, working full-time, spending weekends with your sister...”
“I haven't spoken to my sister in a year!” I cried out, standing up from the bed. “She moved to London last summer! Dominic... the reports were fake!”
Before Dominic could answer, the heavy security intercom on the wall let out a sharp, double beep.
Julian’s voice boomed through the speaker: “Boss. Silvio and Marcus just entered the lower courtyard. They’re coming up the elevator now.”
Dominic set sleeping Maya gently down into her crib, pulling the soft blanket up to her chin.
He stood up to his full height. The warm, vulnerable father who had been cradling his baby girl vanished in a fraction of a second. In his place stood the Don of the Ferraro family—a lethal predator ready to tear apart anyone who threatened his den.
He reached into the bedside drawer, pulled out his heavy silver handgun, and checked the chamber with a single, practiced click.
He walked over to me, wrapping his left hand around the back of my neck, pulling my forehead against his lips in a deep, fierce kiss that smelled of rain and sandalwood.
“Stay in this room with the children, Elena,” Dominic commanded softly against my lips, his dark eyes burning with absolute murder. “Lock the steel door behind me. Do not open it for anyone except me.”
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“Dominic...” I whispered, grabbing his wrist. “Be careful.”
A cold, terrifying smile touched the corner of his lips. “They took nine months of my children’s lives from me, my love. They should be the ones praying.”
