Chapter 2 - The Weight of a Name
The silence in the Monarch Room was heavy enough to crush glass.
Dominic’s fingers lingered on the stubble of my shaved head, his touch impossibly gentle contrast to the cold, murderous fury burning in his gray eyes. When he turned his head to look at Preston Hale, the temperature in the room dropped thirty degrees.
Preston, recovering from his initial shock, puffed out his chest, attempting to reclaim the arrogant swagger of a billionaire’s son who had never faced a real consequence in his life.
“Hey, pal, you must be lost,” Preston sneered, lifting his champagne glass with a shaky hand. “This is a private party. If you’re looking for a job, the back alley is around the corner.”
None of Dominic’s four bodyguards moved, yet every single patron at the surrounding tables instinctively leaned back, sensing the violent tectonic shift beneath their feet.
Dominic didn’t raise his voice. He didn't need to.
“Preston Hale,” Dominic said, his voice smooth, dark, and flat as winter ice. “Senior Vice President of Hale Global Logistics. Son of Marcus Hale. Twenty-seven years old.”
Preston blinked, thrown off balance. “How do you know who I am?”
“I know everyone who owns property in this city, Preston,” Dominic replied softly. “And more importantly, I know everyone who thinks they can operate here without rules.”
Dennis Crowley, the restaurant manager, finally pushed his way through the tables, sweating profusely, his face the color of skim milk.
“Mr. Vale! Sir!” Dennis stammered, frantically waving his hands. “We didn't know you were—that is, Elena here was just assisting with a private celebration, there was a minor misunderstanding—”
Dominic’s gaze shifted to Dennis for a single, terrifying second.
“Dennis,” Dominic interrupted. “How long have you managed this establishment?”
“Five—five years, sir.”
“Then you know who owns the commercial lease on this building, don't you?”
Dennis swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “The Vale Holding Group…”
“Correct,” Dominic said, his eyes returning to Preston. “Which means my wife has owned the roof over your head for the last three years. She just chose to spend her Friday nights wiping down your tables because she wanted to understand what honest work felt like.”
May you like
The words hit the room like a physical blow.
Preston’s glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor with a sharp crash that made everyone jump.
