Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of the Wolf
The black Mercedes moved through the rainy streets of Boston like a silent shadow. Grace sat in the leather back seat, her hands clamped together in her lap, her eyes fixed on the back of Marcus Reed’s head. He drove with a smooth, terrifying competence, never exceeding the speed limit, never looking back at her through the rearview mirror.
When they arrived at St. Bartholomew’s, Marcus didn't take her through the main emergency bay. He drove straight into the private underground parking garage, where a secure elevator stood waiting with a guard in a tailored suit holding the door.
Ten minutes later, Grace walked back into the penthouse suite.
The room was different now. The clinical equipment had been pushed toward the walls, replaced by a massive, mahogany desk covered in documents, a secure satellite phone, and a small silver tray with a crystal decanter of scotch. Dominic Vale was no longer in his bed. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed in a soft charcoal cashmere sweater and black trousers, his back to her as he watched the rain hit the glass.
He looked larger out of the hospital bed, his shoulders broad, his posture straight despite the thick layers of medical bandages hidden beneath his clothes.
"Is he safe?" Grace asked, her voice cracking as the door clicked shut behind her.
Dominic didn't turn around immediately. He poured two fingers of scotch into a glass, his movements precise and calm. "Leo is currently at home in his bed. Marcus’s men took him out of the diner, gave him a lecture on the realities of federal prison, and handed him a signed union card for the South Boston container terminal. He starts at six o'clock tomorrow morning. Thirty-five dollars an hour, full benefits."
Grace let out a long, ragged breath, her shoulders sagging with an immense wave of relief. She walked over to the visitor's chair and sank into it, completely spent. "You're a monster."
Dominic turned around then, the crystal glass in his hand reflecting the dim amber light of the room. He walked over to her, his gray eyes fixed on her face with a strange, intense focus. He set the glass down on the table beside her, then knelt down in front of her chair—exactly as she had knelt beside his stretcher three nights ago.
"I’ve been called worse," he said softly. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching a stray lock of her dark hair that had fallen across her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. His touch was incredibly light, almost reverent. "But I don't break my word, Grace. Your brother is safe. Your rent is paid for the next twelve months. Your landlord has already been informed that if the hot water in your building stops working again, he’ll find himself swimming in the Charles River."
Grace looked at him, her chest heaving. "Why do you care about my hot water, Dominic? Why are you doing all this for a nurse who happened to be on shift when you got shot?"
"Because you didn't just save my life, Grace," he said, his face inches from hers, his storm-gray eyes boring into her soul. "You gave me something I haven't had since I was a boy in the streets of Southie. You gave me an option."
"An option?"
"In my world, everyone wants something," Dominic explained, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic rhythm. "My men want my protection. My enemies want my head. The politicians want my money. Every woman I’ve ever known wanted the power that came with my name. But you... you climbed onto that rail with blood on your hands and told my executioners to get out of your way just because you thought a human life was worth saving. You didn't know who I was, and you didn't care. You gave me your own breath when the light went out."
"It was just my job," she whispered, though the distance between them was shrinking so fast she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"It wasn't a job to me," Dominic said, his hand sliding down from her hair to cup her jawline. His thumb traced her lower lip, his touch sending a sudden, wild electric shock straight to her core. "I told you, Grace. You're the only real thing in this city. And I’m a selfish man. When I find something real, I keep it."
Grace wanted to pull away. Every logical, rational part of her brain—the part that had watched Dorchester drug dealers ruin families, the part that knew the violent history of the Vale family—was screaming at her to run out of the room. But as his gray eyes locked onto hers, she realized the terrifying truth.
She didn't want to run.
The raw, primal strength of this man, combined with the fierce, protective tenderness he was showing only to her, was a drug more potent than anything she had ever pulled from the hospital pharmacy.
May you like
"What happens now?" she breathed.
"Now," Dominic said, standing up and offering his hand to her, his expression turning into something steady and resolute, "you help me find the people who tried to kill me. Because as long as they’re breathing, they're a threat to the only woman I’ve ever loved."
