Chapter 2 - THE SAFE HOUSE
The sharp click of the disconnected phone call hung in the air of the vast library like a poison fog.
Penelope remained crouched on the sofa, her hands pressed over her face, her body trembling with uncontrollable sobs. She had spent eight years holding onto a faint, desperate hope that somewhere deep inside her father's cold heart, he still cared for her. Hearing him tell Manhattan's most ruthless mobster to shoot her in the head destroyed the last remaining piece of her soul.
Dominic stood beside the glass table, looking at the silent phone.
His men—Marco and Matteo, two broad-shouldered enforcers standing near the library doors—exchanged tense, uncertain glances.
"Boss," Marco murmured quietly, stepping forward. "What do we do with her? The Gallaghers aren't playing ball. The Montgomery merger is official. The territory war starts tonight. She's dead weight."
Dominic turned his head slowly, his icy blue glare sweeping over Marco with enough dark intensity to make the veteran soldier take an involuntary step back.
"She is not dead weight," Dominic said, his voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying register that signaled absolute authority. "She is a witness to twenty years of Gallagher crime. And Richard Gallagher just threw her away."
Dominic walked back to the sofa. He unbuttoned his charcoal suit jacket, slipped it off his broad shoulders, and draped it gently over Penelope's trembling, exposed upper body. The tailored wool smelled rich—bergamot, leather, and smoke—and it was warm against her scarred skin.
"Cover yourself," Dominic instructed softly.
Penelope pulled the heavy suit jacket around her shoulders, covering the torn gown and her severe burns. She peeked up at him through her swollen, tear-stained eyes.
"Are you... are you going to kill me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Dominic leaned down, placing his hands flat on the armrest of the velvet sofa, surrounding her space without touching her.
"Richard Gallagher told me to put a bullet in your head," Dominic murmured, his eyes locking onto hers. "I don't take orders from men like your father. In my world, Penelope, we don't throw family into fires. And we don't execute women."
He straightened up and looked at Marco.
"Prepare the estate in Westchester. The iron-gated compound," Dominic commanded. "Transfer three squads of guards to the perimeter. Nobody steps foot on those grounds without my written authority. If Richard Gallagher thinks he can discard his daughter and carry on with his merger, he's mistaken."
"Yes, Boss," Marco nodded, quickly pulling out his radio to execute the orders.
Penelope looked at Dominic in utter confusion. "Why are you keeping me? I don't have any money. I don't have any power. My family hates me."
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Dominic reached out, taking his glass of amber liquor from the table. He took a slow sip, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.
"You're wrong, Penelope," Dominic said quietly. "You have the one thing your father and sister are terrified of. You have the truth."
