Chapter 5 - The Contents of the Iron Safe
The revelation poisoned every breath I took inside the Rossi fortress.
Dominic had not encountered me by chance at the Aster Crown Hotel that fateful evening.
He had been watching me, tracking my shifts, and waiting for an opportunity to extract retribution for his dead father.
The only reason I was his wife instead of his prisoner was because my body had shielded his mother from Costa’s lead.
I waited until two in the morning, when the house was drowned in silence and Dominic was downtown handling territory skirmishes.
The mansion’s security guards patrolled the perimeter grounds, leaving the interior corridors quiet beneath dim wall sconces.
I slipped out of my bed, wearing soft slippers, and crept toward the library where the truth lay hidden.
The heavy door groaned slightly as I pushed it open, stepping into the scent of old leather and expensive bourbon.
Behind Dominic’s desk was a massive oil painting of an older man with the same ruthless jawline and piercing gaze.
I ran my fingers along the carved frame until my thumb struck a hidden latch, causing the canvas to swing forward on silent hinges.
An electronic keypad glowed in the darkness, requiring an eight-digit sequence to unlock the safe within the wall.
I stared at the blinking red cursor, my mind racing through every detail Isabella had shared about Dominic's past.
The date of his father’s murder had been etched into the family memorial in the private courtyard: October 14, 2004.
I punched in the numbers—10142004—and held my breath as a quiet click echoed through the empty room.
The heavy steel door popped open, revealing stacks of bearer bonds, passports, and a single black leather binder.
My trembling hands pulled the binder out, taking it to the desk beneath the faint green glow of a banker’s lamp.
The first page contained a full surveillance profile of me: my apartment address, my bank debts, my catering schedule.
Beneath my photograph was a clipped medical report from a private hospital in Queens dated twenty years earlier.
The document detailed the death of Antonio Rossi, who had suffered a fatal potassium overdose while recovering from a gunshot.
The nurse who had signed off on the lethal IV bag was Ellen Evans, my sweet, fragile mother.
Beneath the report was a handwritten note in Dominic’s sharp, aggressive handwriting: Find the daughter to locate the mother.
My vision blurred with tears of betrayed horror as the puzzle pieces slammed violently together.
Dominic had never seen me as a human being; I was merely bait to trap an ailing woman who was hiding in Ohio.
A cold draft swept across the back of my neck, accompanied by the distinct metallic click of a chambered round.
May you like
You are digging in soil that will only bury you, Clara, a voice murmured from the library doorway.
I turned slowly to face Dominic, his dark overcoat stained with fresh rain and his eyes burning with lethal fury.
