Chapter 7 - The Lakewood Haven
Three weeks later, the snow in Cleveland had melted into a crisp, early-spring thaw.
The estate in Hunting Valley had been locked down under heavy guard, but Dominic had moved Elena away from the fortress. He had bought out the entire residential block surrounding her old, beloved bakery in Lakewood, transforming the loft above the shop into a state-of-the-art rehabilitation suite bathed in sunlight.
Every morning, Dominic rose at five. The mafia boss who had once commanded hundred-man crews now spent his mornings learning how to prepare high-protein broths, measuring anti-inflammatory supplements, and consulting with physical therapists.
Elena was out of the rigid plastic brace, replaced by a soft, flexible lumbar corset that she only wore during her walking sessions.
""Two more steps today, Mrs. Rainer,"" the physical therapist, Sarah, encouraged as Elena stood between the parallel bars in the sunlit loft.
Dominic stood at the end of the bars, his arms outstretched, ready to catch her if she wavered for even a fraction of a second. Elena took a shaky, agonizing breath. Her muscles had atrophied from months of guarded stillness, and the new titanium hardware in her spine felt stiff and alien.
She placed her left foot forward. Her heel struck the mat.
A sharp bolt of discomfort shot up her thigh, but it was muscular pain—clean, healing pain, entirely different from the fiery nerve agony that had crippled her all winter.
She took another step. Then another.
She reached the end of the bars and fell forward into Dominic’s waiting arms.
He caught her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest, burying his face in her neck. She smelled like her old self again—vanilla, fresh linen, and sunshine.
""You walked ten yards today,"" Dominic whispered, his voice thick with unbridled pride. ""Ten full yards.""
""I smell flour downstairs,"" Elena murmured against his chest, smiling softly. ""Did you have the kitchen restocked?""
""Every sack of French flour you ever loved,"" Dominic replied, gently lifting her and carrying her toward the plush chaise lounge by the window. ""The ovens are preheated. Whenever you are ready to bake again, the bakery is yours. But not an hour before you are ready.""
She looked at him, studying the softened lines around his dark eyes. The ruthless mob boss was still there, but the wall of cold, suspicious arrogance that had almost destroyed them had completely dissolved.
""What happened to Luca?"" Elena asked quietly, looking out over the Lakewood streets.
Dominic settled her onto the cushions, pulling a soft wool throw over her legs. His expression remained calm, devoid of any cruelty or boastfulness.
""Luca signed a full confession detailing his ties to the Chicago outfit and his role in the hit on the warehouse district,"" Dominic said evenly. ""He surrendered all his assets to the family trust and was put on a cargo freighter bound for South America under permanent exile. If he ever sets foot in North America again, he knows he will not live to see the sunset.""
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Elena reached out, intertwining her fingers with his. ""You let him live.""
""You taught me that vengeance doesn't heal broken bones,"" Dominic said, kissing her knuckles. ""I wanted him dead every second of every day. But keeping you alive, keeping you whole... that is the only thing that matters to me now.""
