Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Jackson Boulevard
Dominic’s grip loosened until his fingers were barely rested over the pulse point of her wrist. His dark eyes searched her face, mapping every line, every eyelash, every quiver of her lips.
“No,” he whispered, his voice stripped of its usual authority. “No, that’s impossible.”
“I couldn’t close the fascia properly,” Clara murmured, tears spilling over her lashes as the memory flooded back. “I didn’t have local anesthesia. I kept apologizing because I knew every stitch felt like fire. You grabbed my hand right before you passed out and told me to keep the change in your pocket.”
Dominic let out a low, ragged breath. He slowly looked down at his abdomen, where her hand still rested over the blue-suture scar.
“I spent six months looking for you,” Dominic said, his voice raw. “Six months. My men searched every nursing school, every medical clinic, every emergency room within fifty miles of Jackson Boulevard. But I didn't know your name. I only knew your hands... and that you carried the scent of sweet rain and lemon soap.”
Arthur stepped forward, his suit jacket pulled back to reveal his shoulder holster. “Boss? What is she talking about? Is she saying—”
“Get out,” Dominic ordered without turning his head.
“Dominic, the waterfront ambush—”
“I said get out! Clear the floor!” Dominic roared, his voice echoing through the vast high-ceilinged room.
Arthur hesitated for a fraction of a second before bowing his head, motioning for the four guard details to follow him. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, leaving only the sound of rain beating against the glass.
Clara sat back on her heels, wiped her face with the back of her glove, and reached for the iodine bottle. “Hold still. I still need to clean the bullet graze.”
Dominic didn't flinch as she applied the yellow antiseptic directly into his open flesh. His eyes never left her face.
“Why didn't you tell anyone?” he asked quietly. “When your brother, Ethan, sold your family’s debt to my syndicate... when I brought you here three months ago and forced you into this contract marriage to pay off his sins... why didn't you say something?”
“Because I didn't know it was you,” Clara said, bandaging the new wound with precise, practiced movements. “That night in the alley, your face was covered in blood and grease. The alley light was broken. You were just a dying young man who called me an idiot for staying.”
“And you called me an ungrateful bastard,” Dominic remembered, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips for the first time since she had met him. “You threatened to stick the needle in my eye if I didn't stop moving.”
Clara secured the bandage tape with a sharp tug. “You deserved it.”
She stood up to clear her medical supplies, but Dominic reached out, catching the hem of her cardigan.
“Clara, wait.”
She stopped, looking down at him. For three months, she had viewed Dominic Rossi as a cold, calculating monster—a man who ruled Chicago’s underworld with an iron fist, a man who had claimed her as collateral for her useless brother’s debts. She had slept in the guest room behind locked doors, keeping her distance, treating him like a captor.
Now, looking at him, she saw the wounded boy who had nearly bled out under a flickering neon diner sign while she fought to save his life.
“The night I was shot,” Dominic said softly, his voice dropping into a thick, low tone, “I was fleeing my uncle’s men. It was the night the old power structure in the Rossi family fell. If you hadn't sewn me up in that alley, I would have died before morning. The Rossi empire wouldn't exist. I wouldn't be standing here.”
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“I didn't save a mafia boss, Dominic,” Clara said quietly, her eyes clear and dark. “I saved a human being. There’s a difference.”
“Not to me,” Dominic replied, his fingers tightening gently on her sweater. “To me, you were the angel who gave me a second life. And for seven years, I thought I’d dreamed you.”
