Chapter 4 - The Fortress on the Hudson
Rebecca watched Dominic give the order, her eyes narrowing with intense suspicion.
“You think Vanessa is behind this?” she asked, her voice tight against the falling rain.
“I don't think, Rebecca. I know,” Dominic said, shoving the phone back into his coat. “Vanessa was standing by the bar when the shooter drew his weapon. She dropped her glass before the first shot was fired. She knew the angle of attack.”
Rebecca took a deep, shuddering breath, her fingers digging into the fabric of her coat. “She framed me seven years ago, didn't she?”
Dominic closed his eyes, the guilt hitting him with the force of an avalanche. “I’m going to find out every single detail of what happened, Rebecca. I swear it on my mother’s soul. But right now, you and my children are walking targets on an open street.”
“They are not safe with you, Dominic,” she argued, stepping back toward the van. “Your world is filled with blood, guns, and corporate wolves.”
“And your world was just sprayed with automatic gunfire inside a charity gala!” Dominic countered, his voice booming through the alleyway.
Noah poked his head out of the van window, his gray eyes locked onto his father. “Mommy? Is that man our dad?”
The question hung in the rainy air like a struck bell.
Rebecca froze, her hand hovering over the door handle. She looked back at her son, then up at Dominic, whose eyes were filled with an agony so profound it cracked his billionaire composure completely.
“Noah, get back inside and buckle your seatbelt,” Rebecca instructed gently, avoiding the answer.
She turned back to Dominic, her jaw set in an iron line. “We are not going to your penthouse, Dominic. I will never set foot in that place again.”
“Then we go to the Hudson estate,” Dominic offered immediately, his tone desperate and accommodating. “The compound in Cold Spring. It’s surrounded by three hundred acres of private woods, military-grade perimeter sensors, and a fully staffed trauma medical wing. No press, no corporate executives, and no one enters without my biometric authorization.”
Rebecca looked at the street, noticing two unmarked black sedans slowly turning the corner of the block, their headlights reflecting off the wet asphalt.
Her foundation guards tensed, their hands dropping to their concealed holsters.
Dominic stepped between the street and the van, shielding the vehicle with his own body. He signaled to Marcus, whose tactical black SUV screeched into the alley, effectively blocking the approaching sedans from reaching the van.
“We don't have time to debate my sins, Rebecca,” Dominic urged, his voice softening into a raw plea. “Let me keep them alive tonight. Tomorrow, you can take them and disappear to the other side of the earth if you want. But tonight, let me be their shield.”
Rebecca looked at the approaching sedans, then looked at the man who had broken her heart seven years ago. He was bleeding from his temple, his tailored suit was ruined with plaster dust, and he was standing unarmed between her children and potential assassins.
“Follow our van,” Rebecca finally conceded, her voice cold and reluctant. “And if you try to take them from me, Dominic, I will kill you myself.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Dominic whispered, bowing his head in solemn relief.
The convoy roared out of Manhattan, four heavily armored vehicles carving through the midnight rain along the Henry Hudson Parkway.
Dominic sat in the lead passenger seat of his SUV, his eyes glued to the rearview camera feed that showed Rebecca’s van flanked tightly between his security operatives.
His phone buzzed in his palm. It was Marcus Reed, reporting from the Whitmore Hotel.
“Boss, we have a major problem,” Marcus said, his voice laced with uncharacteristic tension.
“Did you secure Vanessa?” Dominic demanded.
“Vanessa slipped out through the executive kitchen exit during the initial panic,” Marcus reported. “Her private security team extracted her into an unmarked helicopter from the West 30th Street heliport ten minutes ago.”
Dominic’s jaw clenched with such force that a muscle in his cheek twitched violently. “Where is the flight plan registered?”
“She didn't file one with the FAA, Boss,” Marcus replied. “It was an illegal black-flight departure heading north toward the Hudson Valley.”
Dominic looked out the rain-streaked windshield into the dark highway ahead.
May you like
Vanessa wasn't fleeing the country.
She was heading toward the exact same coordinates where Dominic was taking his newly discovered family.
