Chapter 8 - The Aftermath in the Workshop
The police sirens in the distance sounded like wounded gulls wailing over the harbor.
Grant sat slumped against the iron safe, his right wrist swelling rapidly beneath a makeshift splint fashioned from two cedar shims and a roll of duct tape that Aaron Pike had calmly produced from his briefcase. He was crying silently now, nursing his broken hand while two of Dominic’s private security guards stood over him like marble pillars.
Arthur had already been escorted back upstairs by one of the nurses, grumbling about young men who didn’t know how to hold a hammer properly.
Nora stood near the center of the workshop, her fingers tracing the carved acanthus leaf on the arm of an unfinished armchair. The air smelled of wood dust and adrenaline.
Dominic walked over, his dark coat unbuttoned, his tie slightly askew. He stopped a few feet from her, looking down at the scattered papers Grant had failed to pack into his duffel bag.
“He’s done,” Dominic said quietly. “The SEC filings, the Cayman wire transfers, the municipal bribery logs—Aaron has a full digital copy synced to federal prosecutors downtown. By sunrise, Harrison & Cole won't even be a footnote in the registry.”
Nora looked up at him. The harsh overhead work light cast deep shadows across his face, highlighting the faint scar on his jaw and the quiet, immovable strength in his eyes.
“You knew he was going to come here for the ledger,” she said.
“I knew a desperate man always tries to burn the evidence when he realizes the fire is already surrounding him,” Dominic replied simply.
“You used me as bait.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. A flicker of something raw and unprotected crossed his features before he reined it back behind the iron wall. “I used his greed against him. But I never put you in the line of fire, Nora. You walked in here because you wanted your own answers.”
“I wanted to know why I’m such a fool,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as the weight of the last forty-eight hours finally crashed down on her shoulders. “Three years ago, I fell for a man who walked out of my life without looking back. And then I almost married a monster because I was too terrified to admit that the only man I ever trusted was a ghost.”
Dominic didn’t speak for a long time.
The grandfather clock in the corner ticked off the seconds—slow, heavy, deliberate.
Then he closed the distance between them.
He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t hesitate. His strong, warm hands reached out, framing her face with a tenderness that contrasted violently with the brutal efficiency he had just displayed in the alley.
“I didn’t walk away because I wanted to,” Dominic murmured against her hair, his breath warm against her temple. “I walked away because every time I looked at you across that folding table, I knew that if I stayed, my world would eventually bleed onto yours.”
“I’m not afraid of your world anymore,” Nora whispered, her hands coming up to rest against the solid wool of his vest, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her palms.
“Good,” Dominic said, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Because Russo Development just officially transferred the deed of this entire block into a private trust bearing your grandfather’s name. You’re not selling, Nora. And you’re not leaving.”
“And what about you?” she asked, tilting her chin up to meet his dark, burning gaze.
May you like
Dominic smiled—a rare, slow, devastating curve of his lips that she hadn't seen in three long years.
“I’m moving in upstairs,” he said. “If your grandfather is going to complain about the noise, he needs someone younger to blame.”
