Chapter 5 - The Siege of the South Yards
The clock on the mantelpiece of the medical suite ticked past 3:30 in the morning. Sleep was entirely out of the question.
I paced back and forth across the plush Persian rug, listening to the muffled, steady breathing of little Leo sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed. Every few minutes, I glanced at the heavy oak door, imagining Dominic walking into a hail of gunfire down in the South Chicago shipping yards.
Why did I care? I had known the man for barely two hours. He was a billionaire syndicate boss, a dangerous titan of the underworld who probably had more blood on his hands than I had ever seen in my entire life. ☕ Yet, when he looked at his son, I saw something pure—something human.
At 4:15 AM, the heavy door clicked open.
I whipped around, my heart in my throat.
It was Dominic.
He looked different. His expensive tailored suit was stained with mud and dark splashes of blood that weren't his own. His hair was slightly disheveled, and a deep scratch ran along his jawline. But he was walking upright, his eyes burning with an intense, triumphant fire.
"Dominic?" I breathed, rushing forward. "Are you alright? What happened?"
He stopped, letting out a heavy, bone-deep sigh as he dropped his heavy leather gloves onto the table. "It's over. Marcus Moretti won't be bothering anyone ever again."
"You... you killed him?" I whispered, horror and awe warring in my chest.
"I delivered justice," Dominic corrected gently, stepping closer. He looked down at me, noticing the dark circles under my eyes and the tension in my shoulders. "You're still awake. I told you to rest."
"How could I rest knowing you walked into a slaughterhouse?" I shot back, a sudden surge of adrenaline overriding my fear. "You have a son upstairs who almost lost his father tonight! What would Leo have done if you didn't come back?"
Dominic went completely still. The fierce, warlike aura surrounding him suddenly cracked, replaced by a quiet, devastating vulnerability. He reached out, his large, callused hand gently touching my cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair.
"Nobody has ever yelled at me for trying to protect my family, Willa," he said, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. "Usually, people just nod and hand me the bills."
I froze beneath his touch, my breath catching in my throat. The proximity was intoxicating—he smelled of rain, cedarwood, and gunpowder, a scent that was entirely too masculine and entirely too dangerous.
"I'm not 'people,' Dominic," I whispered, my gaze locked onto his gray eyes.
Before either of us could move, a soft stir came from the hospital bed.
"Daddy?"
Leo’s sleepy voice broke the tension. Dominic dropped his hand immediately, turning around and walking swiftly to the side of the bed.
"I'm here, buddy. I'm right here," Dominic said, sitting down and smoothing Leo’s dark curls.
"Is the bad man gone?" Leo asked, rubbing his heavy eyes.
"He's gone forever," Dominic promised, his voice thick with emotion. "You're never going to have to worry about him again. And neither is Willa."
Leo turned his head on the pillow, fixing his big, dark eyes on me where I stood near the fireplace. "Willa? Are you staying with us?"
May you like
I looked at Dominic, who was watching me with an unreadable expression, waiting for my answer. My old life—the forty-three dollars in tips, the overdue rent notice, the endless exhaustion behind Sal’s Diner—felt a million miles away.
"For a little while, Leo," I smiled softly, walking over to the edge of the bed. "I think I'm going to stay right here."
