Chapter 7 - The Uninvited Guest
The breakthrough in their tense coexistence came at a price. Knowing Dominic’s true motives didn't make the danger disappear; it only brought it right to their doorstep.
Three days after discovering Julian’s captivity, Claire was alone on the penthouse terrace, watching the sunset bleed crimson over the lake. Dominic was locked in war council with Marcus and his tactical commanders in the lower levels of the tower.
Suddenly, the elevator doors of the private foyer chimed.
Claire frowned. No one was allowed onto the 62nd floor without Dominic’s biometric clearance. She stepped inside from the terrace, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Dominic?”
Standing by the grand piano in the living room was not Dominic.
It was a tall, scarred man in an impeccably tailored navy suit, holding an unlit cigarette. Behind him stood two muscular enforcers with silenced handguns drawn.
“Mrs. Vance,” the scarred man purred, bowing slightly with mocked gentility. “Or should I say, the runaway bride’s prize? I am Salvatore Valenti.”
Claire’s heart stopped. She instinctively backed toward the glass doors of the terrace. “How did you get up here?”
“Dominic has many loyal men,” Sal Valenti smiled, his yellowed teeth flashing. “Unfortunately for him, loyalty has a market price. And my price is always higher.” Valenti flicked his lighter, igniting the cigarette with theatrical leisure. “I grew tired of waiting for your husband to answer my ransom demands. He thinks he can ignore me because he took a pretty young wife to replace Julian.”
“Dominic will kill you for this,” Claire said, forcing every ounce of terror down into her gut, standing tall just as Dominic had taught her.
“Perhaps,” Sal chuckled. “Or perhaps he will finally sign over the south terminal when I hold a gun to your pretty head. Julian was worthless to him. Let’s see if his brand-new bride carries more sentimental value.”
Sal made a motion with his hand, and the two armed thugs lunged toward Claire.
Claire didn't scream. Her survival instincts took over. She grabbed a heavy bronze sculpture off the console table and hurled it directly into the face of the first attacker. The heavy metal connected with a sickening crunch, dropping the man to his knees, clutching his shattered nose.
The second thug grabbed Claire by her hair, yanking her back onto the floor. Claire kicked violently, sinking the heel of her designer pump into the man’s knee. He roared in agony, raising his silenced weapon to strike her across the temple.
Before the blow could land, the service doors behind the kitchen blew inward with a concussive blast.
A single gunshot cracked through the room. The man holding Claire collapsed instantly, a neat bullet hole through his forehead, spilling blood across the white marble.
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Dominic Vance stood in the ruined doorway, holding a tactical Kimber .45 pistol in two hands, smoke curling from the barrel. His eyes were not those of a businessman; they were the eyes of an ancient predator unleashed.
“Get your hands off my wife, Sal,” Dominic spoke in a tone so low, so lethal, it shook the very foundation of the room.
