Chapter 4 - THE CONFRONTATION IN THE DARK
The room was silent save for the hum of the old refrigerator and the frantic, shallow sound of Meline’s breathing.
Dominic did not move. He sat in the shadow, the weak light from the streetlamp outside the window catching the sharp line of his jaw and the dark, bottomless depth of his eyes. He looked older. There were faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes, his hair slightly longer than he usually kept it.
But his presence still filled the small room, suffocating and absolute.
"Meline," he said.
The sound of her real name, spoken in that low, gravelly voice she had dreamed of for three months, made her knees weak. She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter to keep from falling.
"How did you find me?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
"You ran well," Dominic said, standing up slowly. He didn't approach her. He stayed where he was, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, but his eyes never left her face. "But you left a trail. You always leave a trail when you’re scared."
"Go away," she said, her voice rising in panic. "Go back to Chicago. Go back to Seraphina."
Dominic's face went rigid at the mention of the name. "The engagement is off, Meline."
"I don't care," she lied, tears hot and stinging in her eyes. "It doesn't matter to me. I don't want your money, Dominic. I don't want your life. I left everything. I gave you your watch back. Just leave me alone."
"I can't do that," he said.
"Why?" she shrieked, her control finally snapping. "Because you want to buy me off? Because you want to 'handle' me quietly so I don't ruin your reputation? I heard you, Dominic! I stood outside your office and I heard you tell her I was just a civilian! That I was a severance! That I wouldn't be a problem!"
Dominic took a step forward, his hands coming out of his pockets, palms up in a rare gesture of surrender. "I was lying to her, Meline. I had to make the Duca family believe you were nothing to me. If they knew what you were—if they knew what you had become to me—they would have used you as leverage. They would have killed you to get to me."
"And now?" she sobbed, backing away until her spine hit the brick wall of the kitchen. "Now you’re here to do what? Take my baby?"
Dominic’s eyes dropped to her stomach.
The wool coat had fallen open, revealing the clear, round curve of her fifteen-week pregnancy beneath her dark sweater.
For a second, the fearsome boss of the Valente syndicate looked like he had been struck by lightning. His chest rose and fell in a jagged breath. He took another step, his boots silent on the cheap rug, until he was standing just inches from her.
He reached out, his large, scarred hand hovering over her belly, hesitating, as if he were afraid he would break her if he touched her.
"Can I?" he whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion she had never heard from him before.
"No," she said, pulling back. "Don't touch me."
Dominic did not force her. He let his hand drop, but he did not step back.
"I didn't come here to take him, Meline," he said softly. "I came here to save you."
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He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper—the printed medical file from Northwestern Memorial.
"You have to come back with me," he said. "Not because of the family. Not because of the business. Because if you stay here, if you try to have this baby alone under a fake name, you’re going to die."
