Chapter 10 - You're My Wife Tonight—But Tomorrow Is Your Choice
At 5:30 the next morning, Finley Hart sat at the dining table in the Russo estate and examined a map of Chicago's waterfront.
Dominic stood opposite her, wearing a black shirt and dark trousers. Calder occupied the chair to her right, while Evelyn Price joined them by telephone from her office.
Three cups of coffee had gone cold.
Nobody had touched the breakfast Elena brought into the room.
The warehouse Gabriel Vale had identified stood near an abandoned stretch of the industrial waterfront. It had once been part of a shipping complex, but the surrounding businesses had closed years earlier. The property was now registered to a company that no longer appeared to conduct legitimate operations.
It was the perfect place for a man who wanted to disappear.
It was also the sort of place where people went when they wanted to control the circumstances of a meeting.
Finley studied the map.
“Why does he want me there?”
Dominic answered immediately.
“Because he believes you're the one person who can identify something in the original records.”
“But I don't know what it is.”
“Neither do we.”
Calder pointed to the eastern side of the property.
“There are two entrances. The main gate is exposed, and the loading entrance is partially obstructed. The building has a second floor, but we haven't confirmed whether it's structurally safe.”
“Has anyone entered the property recently?” Finley asked.
“According to the available records, no.”
“According to the available records,” she repeated.
Calder gave her a brief, approving look.
“Exactly.”
Dominic folded his arms.
“We aren't going to walk into the warehouse without knowing what's waiting inside.”
“Then how do we find out?”
“We use the meeting to establish contact without surrendering control of the situation.”
Finley looked at him.
“You mean you want to negotiate.”
“I want to know why Gabriel has spent eleven months arranging a meeting with you.”
“And if he refuses to explain?”
“Then we leave.”
She studied his face.
“You would leave without the records?”
“If necessary.”
The answer surprised her.
She had expected him to prioritize the documents, the money, or the possibility of finally confronting the man who had helped destabilize his family's empire.
Instead, Dominic was prepared to abandon the investigation rather than put her in a situation she did not understand.
It was the first time she had seen him place a limit on his own ambition.
“I'm not asking you to abandon the investigation,” she said. “I'm asking you to stop treating me as though I'm the most fragile person in the room.”
Dominic's expression tightened.
“I'm not.”
“You are. Every time the situation becomes dangerous, your first instinct is to move me somewhere safe and tell me the rest later.”
“Because I don't want you hurt.”
“I know.”
She leaned forward.
“But I don't want to be protected into ignorance. I want to understand what is happening, and I want to make my own decisions about what risks I'm willing to take.”
Dominic looked at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Tell me what you think we should do.”
Finley glanced at the map.
“We don't go because Gabriel told us to. We go because we have a reason to ask questions. We make it clear that nobody will be exchanging documents or making financial agreements. We bring our lawyer into the process, and we establish a way to leave if the meeting becomes unsafe.”
Calder considered her suggestions.
“That's reasonable.”
Dominic looked at him.
“Don't encourage her.”
“Sir, I believe she's correct.”
Finley smiled.
“Thank you, Calder.”
He nodded solemnly.
“I'll try not to make a habit of agreeing with you in front of him.”
Dominic shook his head.
For a moment, the tension in the room eased.
Then Evelyn spoke through the telephone.
“There is another issue. If the records show that Finley's identity was used without authorization, we need to preserve evidence of the misuse. That means no deleting files, no unauthorized access to private accounts, and no attempts to retrieve information through methods that could compromise the investigation.”
Dominic nodded.
“Agreed.”
Finley looked at the map again.
“There's something else.”
“What?” Dominic asked.
“The company registered in my name. Simon created it because he needed an account that wouldn't attract attention. But if he used my identity, he must have had access to my personal information.”
“Yes.”
“He had my old employment records, copies of documents from our apartment, and access to some of my personal accounts when we lived together.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“Did he have access to your identification documents?”
“He helped me complete a rental application once. He may have kept a copy of my identification.”
“Then we need to establish what else was accessed.”
Finley nodded.
“I want to handle that with Evelyn.”
“Of course.”
She looked at him.
“You're not going to argue?”
“Would you prefer that I did?”
“No. I'm simply adjusting to the experience of being taken seriously.”
Something softened in his face.
“You should never have had to adjust to it.”
For a moment, she could not speak.
Then she looked down at the map before he could see how much the words affected her.
***
At 9:00 a.m., they arrived near the warehouse.
The sky was pale gray, and the wind carried the smell of wet concrete and the lake. The surrounding streets were quiet, with only a few delivery trucks moving through the industrial district.
Dominic had insisted on a controlled meeting.
Finley had insisted that she be allowed to participate in the conversation.
They had compromised.
The initial contact would take place in a small office attached to the warehouse, with Calder nearby and Evelyn available by telephone. No one would exchange money or sign documents. If either side attempted to change the agreed conditions, the meeting would end.
It was not a perfect arrangement.
It was a choice they had made together.
Finley stepped out of the car.
Dominic stood beside her.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Neither am I.”
She gave him a faint smile.
“That's surprisingly comforting.”
“I thought honesty was one of your conditions.”
“It is.”
He offered his hand.
She accepted it.
They walked toward the entrance.
A man in a gray coat waited beneath the canopy.
He was tall and lean, with dark hair and a pale scar running along the side of his jaw.
Finley recognized him immediately.
The man from Simon's photograph.
Gabriel Vale.
He looked older than she had expected. His face carried the weariness of someone who had spent years looking over his shoulder, but his eyes remained sharp and alert.
He glanced at Dominic.
“Russo.”
“Vale.”
Then he looked at Finley.
“Miss Hart.”
Finley did not offer her hand.
“You know my name.”
“I do.”
“Then you can explain why you have been using it.”
Gabriel studied her for a moment.
“You're more direct than Simon suggested.”
“Simon has been wrong about me before.”
A faint smile crossed Gabriel's face.
“Indeed.”
Dominic's voice cut through the exchange.
“We agreed to discuss the records.”
“And we will.”
Gabriel opened the door.
Inside, the office was bare except for a long table, three chairs, and a metal cabinet. A single window overlooked the loading yard.
No one sat immediately.
Dominic examined the room.
Finley watched Gabriel.
He appeared relaxed, but she noticed that he kept glancing toward the cabinet.
“Let's begin,” she said.
Gabriel looked at her.
“You want to know why your name appears in the original beneficiary records.”
“Yes.”
“Because your father was one of the people your mother was trying to protect.”
The words made no sense.
Finley stared at him.
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“He worked as a maintenance supervisor for a manufacturing company. He had nothing to do with financial networks or criminal organizations.”
“Your father did not control Blackthorn,” Gabriel replied. “He was never involved in the financial arrangements. But he discovered something about them that could have exposed several people.”
Dominic's expression changed.
“What did he discover?”
Gabriel looked toward him.
“Six years before his death, Finley's father worked at a facility that stored records for several companies connected to Blackthorn. He noticed that certain shipments were being documented under false descriptions.”
Finley shook her head.
“That doesn't make sense. My father never mentioned anything like that.”
“Because he didn't understand what he had found.”
Gabriel continued.
“He reported the discrepancies through the company's internal system. The report was forwarded to a manager who had been paid to suppress it. The manager contacted Arthur Bell. Bell contacted your father, Dominic. And the problem disappeared.”
Dominic's face hardened.
“My father never told me.”
“He didn't tell many people.”
Finley felt a chill move through her.
“What happened to my father?”
Gabriel hesitated.
“He died in an accident.”
“I know that. He was driving home from work when another vehicle crossed the center line.”
“Was the accident investigated?”
“Yes.”
“Was the other driver identified?”
Finley looked at him.
“No.”
Gabriel lowered his gaze.
“I can't prove that the accident was connected to Blackthorn. But your father's report disappeared three days before his death. And the people responsible for suppressing it were the same people who later altered the beneficiary records.”
Finley felt as though the room had become smaller.
Her father had been an ordinary man.
He had worked hard, paid his bills, and spent weekends repairing things around the house. He had taught her how to change a tire, how to negotiate a salary, and how to recognize when someone was trying to sell her something she didn't need.
He had never spoken about dangerous people.
He had never suggested that his work could threaten anyone.
Now a stranger was telling her that a routine report might have placed him in the path of a criminal network.
“Are you saying someone killed my father?” she whispered.
Gabriel met her eyes.
“I'm saying I don't know. But I believe someone wanted the report destroyed.”
Dominic stepped closer to the table.
“Where are the original records?”
Gabriel looked at him.
“In the cabinet.”
“Then give them to us.”
“Not until Finley understands why she's here.”
Dominic's expression became cold.
“She understands enough.”
“No,” Gabriel said quietly. “She doesn't.”
He turned toward Finley.
“The company registered in your name wasn't simply a way to conceal money. It was a mechanism for establishing a connection between you and the original beneficiary records. Simon believed that if anyone discovered the transactions, the evidence would point toward you.”
Finley felt her stomach tighten.
“Why would he do that?”
“Because Gabriel Vale was never the only person interested in Blackthorn,” Dominic answered.
He looked at the older man.
“Who else was involved?”
Gabriel's face changed.
“Arthur Bell.”
“We know that.”
“And Stella.”
Finley closed her eyes briefly.
She had suspected as much.
Hearing it confirmed still hurt.
Gabriel continued.
“Stella discovered that her father had been using Bellmont Capital to move money through the old network. She confronted him. He convinced her that the transactions were temporary and that Simon could help clean up the records.”
“And Simon believed him?”
“Initially. Then he discovered that the missing funds were connected to a trust established by Dominic's mother. He began to understand that he had been helping conceal something far larger than a routine financial irregularity.”
Finley stared at him.
“Then why didn't he stop?”
“Because by that point, his own name was on the documents. He was afraid that if he went to the authorities, he would be prosecuted alongside the people who had recruited him.”
“So he used my name instead.”
“Yes.”
The simplicity of the answer was devastating.
Finley had spent eleven months wondering what she had done wrong.
Now she understood that Simon had made a decision to protect himself, and that he had been willing to sacrifice her future to do it.
She looked toward Dominic.
“What happens now?”
“We preserve the records,” he said. “We give them to the appropriate investigators. We establish what happened to your father's report, and we determine who altered the financial accounts.”
Gabriel laughed softly.
“You think the authorities will be interested in a six-year-old report?”
“They will be interested when it is supported by the original records.”
“And if the records implicate you?”
Dominic's expression did not change.
“Then I answer for what I did.”
For the first time, Gabriel appeared surprised.
He studied Dominic carefully.
“You sound like your mother.”
Dominic went still.
“Don't speak about her.”
“She believed the network could be dismantled without destroying everyone who had depended on it. Your father thought the same thing until he realized how many people had benefited from the arrangement.”
“My father made his choices.”
“Yes,” Gabriel replied. “And you inherited the consequences.”
He opened the cabinet.
Inside was a thick file containing printed ledgers, correspondence, and several sealed envelopes.
He placed the file on the table.
“These are the original records. They include the beneficiary lists, the transfer instructions, and the report filed by Finley's father.”
Finley stared at the papers.
For years, she had believed her father's death was a tragic accident.
She had grieved, attended the funeral, and returned to work because bills did not stop arriving simply because a family had lost someone.
She had never imagined that a forgotten report might contain the answer to a question she had not known to ask.
Gabriel pushed the file toward her.
“Your name is in the records because your father was connected to the original report. Simon used that connection to create a false beneficiary structure.”
Finley looked at him.
“Why didn't you contact me directly?”
“Because I didn't know whether you were being watched.”
“So you allowed someone else to use my identity?”
“I did not authorize the company registration.”
“But you knew it had happened.”
Gabriel lowered his gaze.
“Yes.”
Finley felt anger rise in her chest.
“You knew that my name was being used, and you did nothing.”
“I was trying to find a way to expose the network without putting you in greater danger.”
“You decided that for me.”
The words echoed through the office.
For a moment, Gabriel appeared unable to respond.
Finley continued.
“Everyone keeps saying they were trying to protect me. Simon used my name because he wanted to protect himself. Elena kept secrets because she wanted to protect Dominic. You stayed silent because you believed I was safer without knowing the truth.”
She shook her head.
“Not one of you thought to ask what I wanted.”
Nobody spoke.
Dominic watched her with an expression she could not fully interpret.
She turned toward Gabriel.
“I want copies of every record connected to my father. I want a full account of how my identity was used. And I want the names of everyone who knew what was happening.”
Gabriel nodded slowly.
“You have my word.”
“I don't want your word. I want the documents.”
For the first time, the older man looked almost impressed.
He opened the file and began sorting the papers.
Dominic remained beside Finley.
He did not interrupt.
He did not attempt to soften her anger or tell her that the situation was more complicated than she understood.
He allowed her to ask the questions she had come to ask.
And that mattered.
***
The meeting lasted nearly two hours.
By the time they left the warehouse, they had established that Simon had created the false company, Arthur Bell had approved several suspicious transfers, and Gabriel had retained original records that could connect the transactions to a wider network.
They had not established whether Finley's father's death was connected to the missing report.
That question remained open.
So did the question of Dominic's father's involvement.
The records would need to be examined independently.
Evelyn arranged for the documents to be transferred through a secure legal process. Gabriel agreed to cooperate with the investigation, although he refused to discuss several transactions until his own lawyer had reviewed the records.
It was not a perfect resolution.
It was, however, a beginning.
When Finley and Dominic returned to the car, the city had brightened beneath the clearing clouds.
She sat beside him in the back seat.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then she said, “I don't know what to feel.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You don't have to decide today.”
“My father might have been killed because he found something he didn't understand.”
“We don't know that yet.”
“I know.”
She stared through the window.
“I want the truth, even if it changes everything I remember about him.”
Dominic nodded.
“Then we'll find it.”
She turned toward him.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.”
“And if the truth implicates you?”
His gaze held hers.
“Then you decide what that means for us.”
The answer startled her.
He continued, “I'm not going to ask you to excuse me because you care about me. If my family caused harm, I won't pretend otherwise. And if I've done something that makes it impossible for you to remain in my life, I won't tell you that your feelings are wrong.”
Finley looked down at their hands.
“Do you know how unusual that is?”
“What?”
“Being allowed to decide whether someone is good for you without being told that loving them means you owe them another chance.”
Dominic was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “I don't want your love to become another obligation.”
Her throat tightened.
She turned toward him.
“Then don't make it one.”
He nodded.
She reached for his hand.
He took it gently.
Outside, Chicago moved around them, unaware that a collection of old documents had just reopened a history that powerful people had spent years trying to bury.
Finley rested her head against the seat.
For the first time since the wedding, she felt exhausted rather than afraid.
She had answers now.
Not all the answers.
But enough to understand that her life had not been the failure she once believed it was.
Simon had made his choices.
Dominic had made his.
Her father had made his.
And now she had the opportunity to make hers.
***
That evening, Dominic took Finley to a small Italian restaurant overlooking the lake.
It was not one of the grand establishments where politicians gathered and businessmen negotiated contracts over expensive wine. It was a quiet place with wooden tables, soft lighting, and a handwritten menu.
The owner greeted Dominic by name.
Finley noticed that the man did not appear afraid of him.
He simply seemed pleased to see him.
They were seated beside a window.
For a while, they talked about ordinary things.
Finley told him about the first job she had taken after college, the apartment she had rented on her own, and the career she had abandoned because Simon had persuaded her that his opportunities should come first.
Dominic told her about the first time he had tried to cook for himself and accidentally set a kitchen towel on fire.
“You burned a towel?”
“I was nineteen.”
“You were old enough to know better.”
“I was also old enough to believe that turning the heat to maximum would make pasta cook faster.”
Finley laughed.
“You're a dangerous man.”
“I have other qualities.”
“I'm sure your tailor appreciates them.”
He smiled.
The conversation was easy in a way that surprised her.
She had expected that their relationship, if it could even be called one, would remain tangled in the circumstances of the wedding.
Instead, she found herself discovering the person beneath the reputation.
He listened when she spoke.
He asked questions without turning every answer into an interrogation.
When she disagreed with him, he did not treat the disagreement as an attack.
He was still difficult.
Still guarded.
Still capable of making a room fall silent with a single glance.
But he was also a man who remembered the names of restaurant staff, who quietly paid the medical bills of a former employee without telling anyone, and who kept his mother's favorite book on the bedside table in his private study.
He was complicated.
So was she.
Perhaps that was the point.
Halfway through dinner, Dominic put down his fork.
“There's something I need to tell you.”
Finley looked up.
“Go ahead.”
“The night of the wedding, I didn't sit beside you because I thought you were interesting.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That's a remarkably romantic opening.”
“I know.”
“Continue.”
“I had been watching the entrance. Vescari's men were searching the room, and I needed a reason to remain at the table without drawing attention to myself. When I saw you, I realized that sitting beside you would give me a plausible explanation for being there.”
“So I was convenient.”
“Yes.”
She considered the answer.
“And after Simon approached us?”
“I could have left you out of it. I could have explained the situation and asked you to help me get out of the ballroom.”
“But you didn't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Dominic looked at her.
“Because when I saw the way he was speaking to you, I wanted to stop him.”
Finley was quiet.
He continued.
“I told myself it was practical. You were already under scrutiny, and pretending to be your husband would make the situation easier to manage. But that wasn't the whole truth.”
“What was the rest?”
“I didn't like watching someone make you feel small.”
The words were simple.
They were also the first explanation he had given her that did not sound like a strategy.
Finley looked down at her plate.
“I didn't need you to rescue me.”
“I know.”
“But I'm glad you sat down.”
Dominic's expression softened.
“So am I.”
She smiled.
Then she reached across the table and took his hand.
There was no audience.
No ballroom.
No former fiancé waiting to see whether she would cry.
No enemies searching the room.
There was only a man and a woman who had met under extraordinary circumstances and discovered that they had both spent too much of their lives trying to control the consequences of being vulnerable.
Finley squeezed his fingers.
“Dominic?”
“Yes?”
“I'm not ready to be anyone's wife.”
His expression remained calm.
“I know.”
“I don't want to rush into a relationship because you protected me. And I don't want to mistake gratitude for love.”
“Neither do I.”
She looked at him carefully.
“Then what are we doing?”
He considered the question.
“Starting with the truth.”
She smiled.
“That's a better beginning than most marriages get.”
He laughed softly.
And when he kissed her outside the restaurant beneath the cold October sky, Finley did not think about the wedding ring, the ballroom, or the lie they had told to survive the evening.
May you like
She thought about the choice she was making.
For once, it was entirely her own.
