Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Penthouse
The transfer from the hospital to Dominic’s Upper East Side penthouse felt less like a discharge and more like a military extraction.
Four black SUVs flanked the armored vehicle carrying them through the slick, rain-swept streets of Manhattan. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a scalpel. Isabella sat across from them, staring fixedly out the tinted window, while Dominic kept his eyes locked on Clara, as if expecting her to dissolve into thin air.
"I'm not staying in your bedroom," Clara said the moment the elevator doors slid open to reveal a sprawling, minimalist penthouse overlooking Central Park. Floor-to-ceiling glass showed the moody, glittering expanse of the city, framed by stark black steel and white marble.
"The master suite is secure," Dominic replied, shrugging off his tailored jacket and tossing it onto a sleek leather sofa. His white shirt stretched tightly across his chest, emphasizing the heavy dark ink curling up his neck. "Every other room on this floor lacks independent panic-room infrastructure."
"I don't care about your infrastructure. I care about my sanity." Clara crossed her arms, ignoring the dull ache in her ribs where she had taken the brunt of the attacker's shove. "You kidnapped me into a marriage, you dragged me into a blood feud with a man I've never met, and now you expect me to share a bed with you?"
Dominic stopped mid-stride. He turned slowly, his dark gaze raking over her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "I didn't kidnap you, Clara. I claimed you because the alternative was finding you in a shallow grave behind a warehouse in New Jersey. And as for sharing a bed—" A dark, dangerous shadow of amusement crossed his lips. "—you're recovering from internal bruising and a severe concussion. The only thing happening in my bed tonight is sleep. For both of us."
Before Clara could fire back a retort, a soft chime echoed through the foyer. Enzo stepped out of the private elevator, his face tight.
"Mr. Rossi. We have a visitor in the lobby. Unannounced."
Dominic's body went instantly rigid. The casual, powerful air vanished, replaced by the lethal stillness of a predator locked on a target. "Who?"
"Not Costa," Enzo said, glancing briefly at Clara. "A lawyer. Representing the Victor Costa Estate. He’s carrying a certified hand-delivered courier package addressed to Mrs. Clara Rossi."
The room dropped ten degrees.
May you like
Clara looked down at her left hand. The heavy silver-white metal of the Rossi ring caught the amber glow of the penthouse track lighting, heavy, cold, and inescapable.
"Let him up," Dominic commanded, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "Let’s see what my new father-in-law has to say."
