Chapter 7 - The Contract on Her Life
Clara stared at him, certain she was hallucinating the side effects of heavy painkillers.
“Your... your what?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“My wife,” Dominic repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument or confusion. “Two days ago, while you were bleeding out on an operating table with seven hollow-point bullets in your body, I had a priest brought into the intensive care unit. I put this ring on your finger.”
Clara tried to pull her hand away, but her muscles were too weak, and his grip, though gentle, was unyielding.
“Are you insane?” she breathed, panic fluttering in her chest. “I’m a waitress from Queens! I work for tips! I don't even know you!”
“You know me well enough,” Dominic replied quietly. “You threw yourself in front of an assassin’s bullet to save my mother. In my world, that creates a debt that can never be repaid. And since I don't share what is mine, I claimed you.”
Before Clara could process the madness of his words, the door to the ICU burst open.
Enzo strode into the room, holding a encrypted tablet. His face was grim, devoid of its usual professional detachment.
“Boss,” Enzo said, stopping short when he saw Clara’s eyes open. He hesitated, looking at her, then back at Dominic. “We have a problem.”
Dominic stood up slowly, releasing Clara’s hand, his expression instantly shifting from gentle caretaker back to ruthless syndicate boss. “Talk.”
“Victor Costa didn't run,” Enzo said, handing the tablet over. “After we hit Warehouse 42, Costa realized he had nothing left to lose. He’s put a million-dollar bounty on the girl. Every freelance hitman, ex-merg, and street thug from here to Boston knows she’s recovering in this hospital.”
Dominic’s eyes darkened into a bottomless abyss. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“How many men does Costa have on the street?” Dominic asked softly.
“All of them,” Enzo replied. “They’re mobilizing right now. They know she survived. If they can’t kill her here, they’ll bomb the building.”
Clara listened to the exchange, terror gripping her heart. She looked up at Dominic, realizing with horrifying clarity that marrying him hadn't saved her—it had tied her to the center of a bloody, violent war she didn't even understand.
“You... you’re a mobster,” Clara whispered, tears of shock welling in her eyes.
May you like
Dominic turned back to her. He leaned over the bed, his face inches from hers, his dark eyes burning with an intense, unwavering vow.
“I am,” Dominic said softly. “And right now, I am the only thing standing between you and a grave. You saved my family, Clara. Now, let me burn the world down to keep you safe.”
