Chapter 4 - The Third Floor
The third floor of the lakefront estate was Dominic’s private sanctuary—a sprawling, secure suite that spanned the entire top level of the house. It featured a private library, a master bedroom overlooking the lake, and a secondary living quarters reserved for emergency family use.
When the elevator doors opened, Marco—a heavily built guard with a grey-ing beard—was standing post outside the doors, holding a silver tray with two plates of warm chicken tenders, fresh fruit, and two glasses of apple juice.
"Boss," Marco said, bowing his head slightly. "They're inside the library suite. The girl was a little shaken, but her mother calmed her down."
"Good," Dominic said. "Take the food in."
Dominic walked into the library suite behind Marco.
The room was warm, lined with mahogany bookshelves and furnished with deep leather sofas surrounding a roaring marble fireplace. Clare was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hands wrapped around a cup of chamomile tea, her eyes wide with lingering shock.
Ellie was sitting on the thick rug near the hearth, her small wooden toy board resting on her knees. She was methodically sliding a small brass bolt back and forth, listening to the soft click-clack it made.
When Dominic entered, Clare stood up so fast she nearly spilled her tea. "Mr. Vale... I... we didn't know what was happening down there—"
"Sit down, Clare," Dominic said gently.
He walked over to the armchair opposite the sofa and sat down. He didn't carry his cane. His posture was straight, his dark eyes clear and focused.
Marco set the food tray down on the coffee table near Ellie. The little girl looked at the chicken tenders, then up at Marco, offering him a tiny, shy smile. "Thank you."
Marco’s rough, scarred face melted into a soft expression. "You're welcome, little miss. Enjoy." He nodded to Dominic and stepped outside, closing the double oak doors behind him.
Ellie picked up a slice of apple, taking a tiny bite while keeping her eyes fixed on Dominic’s legs.
"Your leg doesn't have the black frame anymore," Ellie observed quietly.
"No," Dominic said, a faint hint of a smile touching his lips. "Thanks to you, I don't need it today."
Clare looked between Dominic and her daughter, her voice trembling. "Mr. Vale... what did she find down there? What was wrong with your leg?"
Dominic looked at Clare. He saw the genuine, innocent fear of a mother who had no connection to the violent world he inhabited—a woman who worked sixty hours a week to provide a clean, safe life for her child.
"Someone was sabotaging my medical equipment to make sure I couldn't walk, Clare," Dominic explained plainly. "They wanted people to think I was too sick to run my business."
Clare’s breath hitched in her throat. "Dr. Mercer?"
"Mercer was part of it," Dominic replied. "But the man who planned it was Arthur Voss."
Clare placed her teacup on the table with a shaking hand. "Arthur... he’s been coming to this house for ten years. He always brought Ellie small candies when he passed the linen room..."
"The most dangerous men always look like gentlemen, Clare," Dominic said quietly.
He turned his attention back to Ellie. The little girl had finished her apple slice and was looking at his shoes.
"Ellie," Dominic said, leaning forward slightly. "How did you know the shiny part on my brace was backwards?"
Ellie reached down and touched the wooden latch toy in her lap. She pointed to a small, silver-plated door hinge that was mounted on the side of the board.
"My toy was broken when Uncle Toby made it," Ellie said in her small, serious voice. "The hinge was upside down, and it pinched my thumb when I closed it. Mommy fixed it with a butter knife. She flipped it around so the smooth side was outside."
Clare let out a soft, nervous tear. "My brother Toby built her that activity board for her third birthday, Mr. Vale. He didn't align the hinges properly. I spent an hour flipping them so she wouldn't hurt her fingers. She watched me do every single one."
Dominic looked at the four-year-old child. A simple, mundane moment between a working mother and her daughter—a mother fixing a toy with a butter knife—had ended up uncovering a multi-million-dollar assassination plot designed by one of the most sophisticated criminal minds in the Midwest.
"A butter knife," Dominic murmured softly to himself.
He looked at Clare. "You and Ellie are staying here tonight. The whole house is locked down, and I have work to finish downstairs."
"Mr. Vale... are we in danger?" Clare asked, her eyes searching his face.
"No," Dominic answered, his voice absolute and unyielding. "You are in the safest house in Chicago. Nobody touches anyone under my roof. Marco will stay outside this door. If you need anything—anything at all—you tell him."
He stood up smoothly, stepping toward the door.
Before he reached the handle, Ellie called out softly. "Mr. Vale?"
Dominic stopped, turning back. "Yes, Ellie?"
"Is your leg going to hurt tomorrow?"
Dominic looked down at the tiny girl holding her wooden activity board. For twenty years, he had lived in a world where people looked at him with fear, greed, or calculated deception. Nobody had asked him if he was in pain since his mother died thirty years ago.
"No, Ellie," Dominic said softly, his voice warmer than it had been in years. "It's not going to hurt anymore."
May you like
He walked out of the room, leaving the door secured behind him.
Downstairs, the storm outside had reached its peak, but inside the estate, the storm was just beginning.
