Chapter 3 - Shadows of Chicago
Life inside the Valenti estate quickly settled into a surreal, beautiful routine. For the first time in her life, Sophie wasn't wearing hand-me-downs or shivering through the night. She had a sprawling garden to play in, a private chef making her pancakes shaped like animals, and most importantly, she had Dominic.
He was a revelation. The men in his syndicate were visibly baffled as their boss delayed high-stakes meetings to attend imaginary tea parties. He bought Mr. Buttons a tiny custom-made tuxedo. He sat on the floor of the living room, building elaborate block castles, his phone buzzing ignored on the coffee table.
But outside the impenetrable gates of the Lake Forest mansion, the ghosts of Dominic’s world were circling.
One evening, after putting Sophie to bed, I walked into Dominic’s study. The room was thick with the scent of whiskey and leather. He was standing by the window, staring out into the darkness, a heavy tumbler in his hand. His underboss, Silas, was just leaving the room, casting a dark, unreadable glance in my direction.
"What's wrong?" I asked, wrapping my arms around myself.
Dominic turned, his expression instantly softening as he looked at me. He set the glass down and crossed the room, pulling me against his chest. "Word is out," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "The Bratva. They know about you. They know about Sophie. They know I have a weakness now."
A cold spike of fear drove through my stomach. "Are we in danger?"
"I would burn this city to the ground before I let anyone touch a hair on your heads," Dominic swore, his voice dropping to a lethal, terrifying register. He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes. "I am ending it, Claire. All of it. I've been transferring my assets into legitimate businesses. Real estate. Shipping. It takes time to wash the blood out of an empire, but I'm doing it. For you. For our daughter."
Tears welled in my eyes. "You would walk away from all your power?"
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"You are my power," he whispered fiercely.
He leaned down and kissed me. It wasn't the frantic, desperate kiss of our past; it was deep, possessive, and full of a profound promise. The spark that had lain dormant between us for four years ignited into a blazing inferno. He swept me into his arms, carrying me toward the leather sofa in the study, proving to me with every touch that I was the only thing in his world that mattered. But as we lost ourselves in each other, I couldn't shake the creeping dread that in the mafia, nobody just walks away.
