Chapter 2 - The Scent of Lavender and Blood
The rain had intensified into a torrential downpour by the time Dominic crossed the courtyard, the cold drops drenching his tailored wool coat. He didn't feel the chill. His entire chest was burning with an inferno of rage, sorrow, and unbearable self-loathing.
Two years.
For seven hundred days, he had slept in the master suite on the eastern wing while Claire stayed in the modest corner room at the end of the hall. He had told himself he was giving her space, being the honorable, restrained husband who wouldn't force himself upon an arranged bride whose father had traded her away for debt forgiveness. He had watched her flinch at his touch at galas, fundraisers, and board dinners, secretly agonizing over the cold certainty that beneath his expensive suits and cleaned-up empire, she only saw a killer from the waterfront docks.
He pushed through the front doors of the mansion. Mrs. Keller was in the foyer carrying a basket of fresh linens. She took one look at his face and stopped dead in her tracks.
""Dominic? What on earth happened to you? You're soaked through—""
""Where is she?"" Dominic's voice was raw, strained to the point of breaking.
""Upstairs,"" Mrs. Keller answered, her usual stern demeanor dissolving into immediate concern. ""She came in from the greenhouse complaining of a migraine. She asked for some chamomile tea and went to lie down.""
Dominic took the grand staircase three steps at a time. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. For a man who had faced down federal indictments and rival cartel hitmen without blinking, his hand shook as he reached out and touched the brass doorknob of Claire’s bedroom.
He didn't knock. He turned the handle and pushed the door open quietly.
The curtains were drawn, plunging the room into soft, gray shadows. The faint aroma of lavender hung in the air, mixed with the sharp, medicinal sting of deep-heating analgesic cream. Claire was sitting on the edge of the mattress with her back turned toward the door. She had slipped out of her sweater; she was wearing only a thin cotton camisole, her head bowed in quiet concentration as she struggled to reach behind herself with a small tube of prescription ointment.
Her breath caught in a sharp hiss of agony as she tried to twist her arm around her ribcage.
""Damn it,"" she whispered to the empty room, her voice trembling.
Dominic stood in the doorway, paralyzed.
From her left shoulder blade down to the small of her waist, her porcelain skin was marred by a jagged, thick, purplish scar. It was roughly the size of a fist, puckered and uneven where crude emergency surgery had patched muscle and tissue together without the luxury of cosmetic sutures. Surrounding the old scar was a deep, angry ring of bruising—fresh tissue trauma caused just last night when he had pressed his heavy, callous palm firmly against her lower back to guide her past that crowded table.
She wasn't afraid of him.
He had bruised her already damaged spine with his own careless hand, and she had dropped her glass and apologized to him while the entire high-society ballroom watched.
""Let me,"" Dominic rasped.
Claire gasped, instinctively jerking her sweater up to cover her chest as she spun around. When she saw him standing there, dripping wet, his eyes bloodshot and dark with agony, the color drained completely from her face.
""Dominic,"" she stammered, scrambling to pull the wool over her shoulders. ""I... you shouldn't be in here. I told you, I just have a headache, I was just resting—""
""Stop,"" Dominic commanded softly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him with a soft click. ""Claire. Please. Stop lying to me.""
""I don't know what you mean—""
Dominic reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out his grandfather’s missing cuff link, which he hadn't found in her box, and then he pulled out the second object he had taken from her vanity.
He opened his palm.
May you like
Lying in the center of his scarred hand was the deformed, flattened piece of copper. The bullet from Pier Twelve.
Claire looked down at his hand, and the breath left her lungs in a long, shuddering sob.
