Chapter 3 - The King in the Cold
Dominic Moretti did not like New Year’s Eve. He tolerated it because power required a stage, and a stage required an audience. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse lounge, a crystal tumbler of sparkling water in his hand—he never drank when his enemies were in the room—watching the governor laugh at a joke told by a corrupt union boss.
“Dominic,” Marco DeLuca said, stepping up beside him, his voice low enough that the security detail stationed five feet away couldn't catch the words. “The shipments from the docks are secured. The police escort for the morning trucks is taken care of.”
Dominic nodded, his dark eyes never leaving the crowd. His tailored tuxedo fit his broad shoulders perfectly, a testament to the Italian tailors who knew how to cut fabric around a concealed shoulder holster without leaving a single line. His face was a masterpiece of aristocratic indifference—high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and eyes the color of a winter sea.
“Good,” Dominic said, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that commanded attention without ever rising in volume. “Where is the quarterly report from the logistics firm? I want to review it before the morning.”
“It’s on your desk downstairs,” Marco replied, taking a sip of his drink. “Emma was finishing the data entry when I went down an hour ago. She’s probably still there, or just left. The girl works too hard, Dominic. You’re going to kill her before she turns thirty.”
Dominic froze. The tumbler in his hand stopped halfway to his lips.
“What did you say?” Dominic asked, his voice dropping an octave, a sudden, dangerous stillness settling over him.
“Emma,” Marco said, blinking at the sudden change in the boss’s demeanor. “She was downstairs. Working on the files you left.”
“I left those files for Thursday,” Dominic said, his fingers tightening around the crystal until the glass groaned under the pressure. “I explicitly wrote 'when you can' on the note.”
“Well, you know how she is,” Marco said with a casual shrug. “She doesn't leave until the job is done. I told her to go home, but she was determined—”
Dominic didn't let him finish. He set the glass down on a passing waiter’s silver tray with a force that shattered the stem. He turned on his heel and walked out of the penthouse lounge, his security detail scrambling to follow him as he bypassed the guests and hit the button for the private express elevator.
“Dominic, what’s the matter?” Marco asked, rushing into the elevator car just before the doors slid shut.
“The temperature broke ten below zero an hour ago, Marco,” Dominic said, his face turning into a mask of pure stone as the elevator dropped like a stone through the center of the tower. “She lives in Rogers Park. That’s an hour on the train. She doesn't have a car.”
“She’s a smart girl, boss. She’s probably on the subway by now—”
The elevator chimed as it hit the executive floor. The doors slid open to reveal a dark, empty office. The only light came from the small green LED on the security panel near the desk.
Dominic walked straight to my desk. His hand went to the laptop—it was shut. He touched the surface; it was cool. Then his eyes drifted to the small coat rack in the corner of the office.
A pair of black leather gloves sat on the small shelf beneath it.
Dominic’s breath caught in his throat. He picked up the gloves, his fingers crushing the soft leather. He turned to the security screen behind my desk, his fingers striking the keys with a violent efficiency.
“Check the side exit,” Dominic ordered, his voice shaking with a raw emotion Marco had never heard in the fifteen years they had worked together. “Show me the camera for the alleyway.”
The monitor flickered, displaying the high-angle view of the narrow street between the buildings. The snow was falling so thickly it looked like white static, but through the blur, Dominic saw a small, dark shape move out of the door at 11:12 p.m. He watched the shape trudge three steps, stumble against the wind, and then vanish from the camera’s view behind the massive shadow of the iron dumpster.
May you like
The camera didn't show her getting back up.
Dominic didn't wait for the security team. He tore through the back corridor, his polished leather shoes skidding on the tile as he hit the heavy push-bar of the security door and exploded into the freezing night.
