Chapter 4 - The Boss's Wrath
Bea thrashed wildly, bringing her knee up to strike her attacker, driven by pure, adrenaline-fueled survival instinct.
"Stop. It's me," a low, dangerous voice hissed in her ear.
Dominic.
He released her mouth, keeping his body pressed tightly against hers in the darkness. He was holding a sleek, heavy handgun, his chest heaving. The civilized, wealthy shipping magnate was entirely gone. In his place was the apex predator of the New York underworld, radiating a terrifying, lethal violence.
"Where is Leo?" Dominic demanded, his voice shaking with a fear she had never heard from him before.
"He's safe. I hid him in the maintenance shaft behind the guest suite wardrobe," Bea whispered rapidly, clutching his shirt. "They are here for him, Dominic. The Morettis. They want leverage. They have three men on this floor, armed with suppressed rifles. The night guards on the east wing let them in."
Dominic stared at her in the dark. The fact that the maid knew the tactical situation, the identities of the traitors, and had successfully hidden his son before his own security team even realized the house was breached, hit him like a physical blow.
He didn't ask how she knew. He simply accepted her brilliance.
"Stay here. Do not move," Dominic ordered, his eyes burning with a cold, absolute fury.
He didn't wait for her response. Dominic stepped out from the shadows of the alcove, moving down the darkened hallway with the silent, deadly grace of a panther.
Bea didn't obey. She followed him at a distance, unwilling to be left behind while her home was under siege.
The three assassins were grouped near the shattered vase, sweeping the area with flashlights attached to their rifles.
Dominic didn't give them a warning. He didn't ask questions. He unleashed hell.
Two rapid, suppressed shots echoed in the tight corridor. The first two assassins dropped to the floor instantly, neutralized with terrifying, clinical precision. The third man, the leader, panicked. He spun around, firing wildly into the darkness.
Bullets chewed through the drywall, shattering picture frames and showering the hallway with debris. Dominic dove behind a heavy oak pillar, returning fire, but his gun clicked empty. He dropped the magazine, reaching for a spare.
The assassin, realizing Dominic was reloading, charged forward, raising his rifle.
Bea didn't think. She acted.
She stepped out from the adjacent doorway, grabbing a heavy wooden chair from the hall console, and swung it with every ounce of strength she possessed. The chair crashed into the back of the assassin's knees, buckling his legs and sending him crashing to the floor, his rifle clattering away.
Before the man could recover, Dominic was on him.
The violence was brutal, intimate, and absolute. Dominic didn't use a weapon. He used his bare hands, driven by the wrath of a father protecting his son, punishing the man who dared to bring a war into his sanctuary. The sounds of breaking bone and choked gasps filled the hallway until the assassin finally stopped moving.
Dominic stood up, his white shirt torn, his hands and face splattered with blood. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, surrounded by the bodies of his enemies. He looked like a monster. He expected Bea to scream. He expected her to run from him, terrified of the violent truth of who he really was.
He slowly turned to look at her in the dim light filtering through the windows.
Bea was standing a few feet away, her chest heaving, the remnants of the broken chair at her feet. She looked at the blood on his face, at the bodies on the floor, and then, she looked directly into his eyes.
She wasn't afraid. She was magnificent.
Bea walked toward him, stepping over the fallen men without a flinch. She reached out, her small, soft hands gently cupping his bloodstained face.
"Is it over?" she asked softly.
Dominic’s breath hitched. The adrenaline crashing through his system was suddenly replaced by a profound, overwhelming wave of devotion. He dropped his empty gun, pulling her fiercely into his arms, burying his face in her dark curls.
"It's over," he breathed, holding her so tightly she could feel the frantic pounding of his heart against her chest. "Because of you. You saved him, Bea. You saved my entire world."
"I told you," Bea whispered, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. "I see everything in this house."
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Dominic pulled back, looking deeply into her bright, intelligent green eyes. The invisible maid was entirely gone. The woman standing before him was a queen who had just defended her castle.
He leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't a gentle, tentative kiss. It was desperate, bruising, and fiercely possessive, a physical claim born of blood and adrenaline. Bea kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands twisting into his shirt, anchoring herself to the most dangerous man in the city.
