Chapter 4 - The Mark On Her Doorstep
It was nearly two in the morning when Dominic’s armored black sedan finally pulled up to the curb outside Nora’s dilapidated brownstone apartment building in Lincoln Park. The snow was falling in heavy, blinding sheets now, burying the parked cars along the narrow street under thick mounds of white powder.
Dominic had insisted on accompanying her himself, sitting silently in the back seat beside her while two armed drivers scanned the icy alleys.
""You aren't staying here tonight,"" Dominic said, staring up at the dark, flickering hallway light visible through the frosted glass of her apartment building's front door.
""I have to work at five in the morning, Mr. Moretti,"" Nora countered, unbuckling her seatbelt with stubborn resolve. ""I have dough to mix and bread to bake. The world doesn't stop because some mobsters are playing spy games with my music box.""
""The men who broke into your home know where you live,"" Dominic pointed out, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative register that tolerated zero opposition. ""They know you brought that box to my estate. If Valenti realizes his listening device went dead inside my walls, the first place his enforcers will look for answers is your apartment.""
Nora paused with her hand on the door handle. A terrible, suffocating dread settled into her chest. She looked up at the fourth-floor window where a single paper snowflake still hung taped against the glass. It was her sanctuary, the tiny one-bedroom apartment where she had lived for six years, playing her grandmother's records and trying to build an honest life on twenty dollars an hour.
""I can't afford a hotel,"" Nora said, her voice dropping to a fragile whisper. ""I don't have anywhere else to go.""
""I own three hotels downtown,"" Dominic replied evenly. ""Or you can stay at the estate. Tony would prefer the second option.""
""I am not moving into a mob boss's mansion because my crossing guard duties got complicated,"" Nora snapped, her pride flaring up despite the icy fear running down her spine. ""I will go inside, pack a bag with my work clothes, and stay with Mrs. Higgins from the bakery.""
Before Dominic could respond, Frank turned around in the passenger seat, his eyes glued to a tactical monitor mounted beneath the dashboard. ""Boss. Look at the front stoop.""
Dominic leaned forward instantly. Nora followed his gaze.
There, stamped fresh into the pristine snow leading up to her building's entrance, were three sets of heavy boot prints. On the weathered wooden doorframe, scrawled in thick red industrial paint, was a single inverted cross—the unmistakable calling card of Vincent Valenti's street crew.
""They're already inside,"" Dominic stated with ice-cold finality.
He drew a custom matte-black semi-automatic from his shoulder holster with terrifying fluidity, checking the chamber with a single flick of his thumb. Nora’s breath caught in her throat. The sheer lethality of the man beside her was undeniable; he wasn't just a wealthy businessman with guards—he was an apex predator.
""Frank, secure the rear fire escape,"" Dominic ordered calmly. ""Call the sweep team. Nora, you stay down in this vehicle.""
""No,"" Nora gasped, grabbing his forearm. The muscle beneath his wool overcoat was as hard as iron. ""My cat is up there. Barnaby is an old rescue, he's terrified of loud noises—""
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""I will bring your cat down,"" Dominic said, looking into her wide green eyes. For a fraction of a second, his gaze softened, his thumb brushing against the back of her knuckles. ""Stay down, keep your head below the tinted glass, and lock this door behind me. Understood?""
Before she could argue, Dominic slipped into the howling storm, moving like a phantom through the blizzard toward the front entrance of her building.
