Chapter 11 - Shadows on the Harbor
By late afternoon, the sleet had cleared, leaving the city washed in a sharp, cold November light.
Dominic stood on the private balcony of the forty-second-floor penthouse, watching the red-and-blue lights of a harbor patrol boat cutting a white wake across the dark water below. His phone buzzed in his vest pocket—a secure satellite line routed through Zurich.
He didn't answer it immediately.
Instead, he watched the reflection in the glass: Nora sitting at the marble island in the kitchen, carefully sketching a replacement scrollwork design for an 18th-century French console table Arthur was restoring down at the shop. She looked peaceful. For the first time in three years, the tight, defensive tension around her shoulders was completely gone.
Dominic pulled the burner phone from his pocket and pressed reject.
A soft step sounded on the parquet floor behind him.
“You’re ignoring your phone,” Nora said, resting her chin in her hand as she leaned against the sliding glass doorframe.
“It’s just Zurich,” Dominic said without turning around. “Accountants panicking because their primary shell corporation was liquidated by federal marshals.”
“Are they going to come after you?”
Dominic finally turned, his dark coat hanging open over his broad chest. He walked slowly toward her, stopping just inches away. “Nobody comes after Russo Development, Nora. Not in this city. Not while I’m breathing.”
“You talk like a warlord,” she murmured, though there was no fear in her eyes—only a deep, burning curiosity that had kept her awake through half the night.
“I talk like a man who spent ten years building an empire out of concrete and ash so nobody could ever hurt the people he cared about,” Dominic replied, his voice dropping into that low, rough register that made her skin tingle.
“And did it work?” Nora whispered, her hand rising to touch the faint scar along his jawline. “Did building an empire keep you safe?”
Dominic caught her wrist gently, his fingers wrapping around her pulse point. “It kept everyone safe except me.”
“And why didn't it keep you safe?”
“Because,” Dominic said, leaning down until his lips brushed her forehead, “three years ago, an ER nurse in a basement clinic left a needle on my tray and forgot to take my heart with her when she walked out the door.”
Nora’s breath hitched. She didn't look away. “You told me to leave.”
“I lied,” Dominic said simply.
Before she could answer, the secure phone in his pocket buzzed again—a high-priority ping that only meant one thing: Aaron Pike calling with urgent intelligence from the federal prosecutor’s office.
May you like
Dominic didn’t reach for it.
Instead, he pulled her flush against his chest, his mouth finding hers in a deep, consuming kiss that swept away every remaining shadow of the past three years.
