Chapter 2 - The Lion's DenThe heavy leather doors of Dominic’s armored Maybach closed, sealing us off from the flashbulbs of reporters who had gathered outside the hotel gates like vultures.
The interior of the vehicle was silent, save for the soft purr of the custom engine. I leaned back against the plush leather, my heart pounding violently against my ribs as the adrenaline of the last hour began to fade, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache in my chest.
Dominic sat beside me, pouring two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass from the built-in bar. He handed it to me.
"Drink," he commanded gently. "It will stop the shaking."
I took the glass, my fingers brushing against his. "I'm not shaking because I'm afraid."
"I know," Dominic said, watching me closely. "You're shaking because you just realized the last four years of your life were built on a lie."
I took a slow sip. The burn of the high-end scotch anchored me. "How did you know about the Hudson Yards project? How did you know Nathan was bleeding my foundation dry?"
Dominic leaned back, crossing his long legs. "A man in my position doesn't enter a room without knowing every threat, every debt, and every fraud present in it. Nathan Wexler has been borrowing money from high-interest lenders in New Jersey for six months to cover his gambling debts in Atlantic City. He used your father’s legacy as collateral."
My breath hitched. "My father's legacy?"
"Your family's charity fund—the Blake Heritage Trust—holds fifteen percent equity in the Hudson Yards development," Dominic explained smoothly. "Nathan forged your signature three weeks ago to transfer control of those shares to his personal account."
Tears, hot and bitter, finally threatened to spill over my lashes. My father had passed away two years ago, leaving me as the sole guardian of his life’s work. I had trusted Nathan with the keys to my kingdom, and he had handed them to my sister while robbing me blind.
"Why are you helping me, Mr. Bellardi?" I asked, turning to face him. "A man like you doesn't offer protection for free."
A faint, dangerous smile touched Dominic's lips. He leaned in slightly, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my pulse spike.
"First," Dominic said softly, "call me Dominic. Second... Nathan Wexler’s primary lender happens to be a disgraced former associate of mine who thought he could operate in New York without paying his dues. By protecting you, I crush him and take control of Hudson Yards."
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"And third?" I whispered.
Dominic reached out, his thumb gently wiping away a single tear that had escaped down my cheek. "Third... I dislike men who hurt women who possess real grace. You built that gala tonight. You deserve the empire, Clara. Not the scraps he left you."
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