Chapter 4 - Unraveling the Thread
I recounted every single detail for Dominic: the heavy rain, the small broken whimper near the dumpster, the torn tuxedo, the blood, and above all, the ten digits written in thick black marker across the boy's forearm.
When I mentioned the phone number, Dominic’s jaw tightened.
"It's a private, encrypted satellite line," Dominic explained, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Only three people in the world have that number memorized: myself, my head of security, and Leo’s nanny. She was supposed to be watching him at the private family gala downtown tonight."
"She let him get taken?" I asked, my eyes widening.
"She didn't just let him get taken," Dominic said, his voice turning cold enough to freeze nitrogen. "Her body was found in the service stairwell of the hotel three hours ago. Her throat was slit."
A chill went down my spine that had nothing to do with the freezing rain outside. I was sitting in the fortress of a man whose enemies were professional assassins, and I had accidentally stumbled right into the middle of a war zone.
"So why write your number on his arm?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
"Because whoever took him wanted me to know," Dominic replied, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. "It was a message. A challenge. They thought they could snatch my only son, humiliate me, and leave him to freeze in an alley like trash. But they didn't count on a twenty-three-year-old waitress working a double shift behind Sal’s Diner."
He looked back at me, his gaze softening with a profound, disarming intensity.
"You didn't run away," Dominic said softly. "You didn't panic and call the cops where news crews could broadcast my son's face all over the city. You stayed in the freezing mud, wrapped him in your own coat, and called me directly."
"I couldn't just leave a child there," I said simply, feeling a flush rise in my cheeks. "Nobody should ever be left alone like that."
Before Dominic could respond, the heavy oak door of the suite opened a crack, and Mason Reed—Dominic’s chief enforcer—stepped inside, looking grim. He glanced at me before leaning down to whisper urgently in Dominic’s ear.
"Boss, we tracked the burner phone used to call the ransom line," Mason said, his voice low. "It originated from a warehouse down in the South Chicago shipping yards. Owned by the Moretti family."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
Dominic slowly stood up, towering over Mason. The sorrow and exhaustion of a worried father completely vanished, replaced by the terrifying, ruthless patriarch of the Vance empire.
"Moretti," Dominic whispered, testing the name like poison on his tongue. "Marcus Moretti thinks he can make a play for the waterfront docks by taking my son."
"They're hoarded down there with a dozen armed men," Mason warned. "It's a fortress, boss. If we hit them tonight, it's going to be a bloodbath."
"Then we bring a river of blood," Dominic said coldly. He turned his head, looking directly at me. "Willa. You are staying right here in this suite. Security is stationed outside the door. Nobody gets in without my authorization."
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"Wait!" I stood up from the armchair, dropping the blanket. "You're going after them now? Dominic, you can't just start a war!"
"A war was started the moment they laid a hand on my boy," Dominic said, walking toward the door with absolute, terrifying resolve. He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Rest, Willa. When you wake up in the morning, everything is going to be handled."
