Chapter 4 - The Blackstone DinnerClara returned to Dominic’s penthouse shortly before midnight.
The photograph remained inside her coat pocket.
She had spent the drive from Evanston telling herself not to react emotionally.
Emotion destroyed fighters.
Anger narrowed vision.
Fear tightened muscles.
Doubt delayed decisions.
Her first trainer had taught her that when she was sixteen years old.
Never enter a fight without knowing what you are fighting.
Yet when the private elevator opened and Clara saw Dominic standing near the windows with a phone against his ear, every lesson disappeared beneath a single question.
What happened to my father?
Dominic noticed her immediately.
“I will call you back.”
He ended the conversation.
“How is Arthur?”
Clara stepped into the room.
“Fine.”
Something in her voice made him study her.
“You are lying.”
“I am tired.”
“You lie badly when you are angry.”
“Maybe I am learning from you.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“What happened?”
Clara wanted to throw the photograph onto the table.
She wanted to demand the truth.
Instead she remembered Adrian Vale’s calm face in the surveillance photograph.
Vale wanted a reaction.
He had deliberately visited Arthur.
He had deliberately left a message designed to separate her from Dominic.
That meant the information could be true.
It also meant it could be poison.
Clara forced herself to breathe.
“Arthur is adjusting.”
Dominic watched her for several seconds.
He knew she was withholding something.
He chose not to push.
“Your clothes arrived.”
Clara looked toward the dining room.
Several garment bags hung near the table.
“You bought me an entire department store?”
“Almost.”
“I told you I own dresses.”
“And I told you they were inadequate.”
“I am going to hit you again.”
“You already received fifty thousand dollars for the first time. I am not paying twice.”
Despite herself, Clara almost smiled.
Almost.
Two hours later, she stood before a mirror wearing a black evening gown that made the woman who had hidden beneath the Cobalt Lounge uniform seem like another person.
The dress was simple.
That made it more dangerous.
No sequins.
No elaborate decoration.
It followed the lines of her body before falling to the floor in a narrow column of black silk. The back was open. A single thin diamond bracelet circled her wrist.
Her hair was not braided.
It fell in dark waves to her shoulders.
Clara stared at herself.
For years, she had chosen clothing based on one requirement.
Do not be noticed.
Tonight Dominic had chosen the opposite.
When she walked into the living room, conversation stopped.
Marco stood near the elevator.
Two security men waited beside him.
Dominic stood between them wearing a black tuxedo.
His expression did not change immediately.
His eyes did.
They moved from Clara’s face to the dress and returned slowly.
Marco noticed.
“So this is the strategy?” he asked dryly. “Distract everyone?”
Dominic ignored him.
Clara approached.
“You look surprised.”
“I am reconsidering several decisions.”
“Which ones?”
“Bringing you into a room with other men.”
Clara’s eyebrow rose.
“There is the arrogant criminal I remember.”
Dominic offered his arm.
She did not take it.
Instead she walked toward the elevator.
Marco followed.
Dominic smiled to himself and entered after her.
The Blackstone Hotel had hosted presidents, celebrities, financiers, political families, and criminals sophisticated enough to pretend they belonged to the other categories.
Vale’s dinner occupied a private ballroom on the third floor.
Security stood at every entrance.
No visible weapons.
That meant there were many invisible ones.
Clara recognized the pattern immediately.
Expensive suits.
Clear earpieces.
Men positioned where they could see both doors and windows.
“This is not dinner,” she whispered.
Dominic placed one hand lightly against her lower back.
“No.”
“What is it?”
“A coronation attempt.”
Across the ballroom, Adrian Vale turned.
His attention found them instantly.
He smiled.
Vale was taller than Clara expected.
His silver hair was combed neatly away from a lean face that might have looked distinguished if not for the complete absence of warmth in his eyes.
Approximately forty guests stood around small cocktail tables.
Three men separated from the crowd when Dominic entered.
Clara assumed they were Falcone, Russo, and Caruso.
Their expressions revealed guilt before they said anything.
Vale approached.
“Dominic Castellano.”
“Adrian.”
“No hug?”
“I prefer knowing where your hands are.”
Vale laughed softly.
Then he looked at Clara.
“Miss Hayes.”
Clara’s entire body became still.
Dominic noticed.
“So you know each other?” he asked.
“We have never met.”
Clara answered before Vale could.
Vale’s smile widened.
“Not formally.”
Dominic’s eyes became dangerous.
“What does that mean?”
Vale lifted a champagne glass from a passing tray.
“It means Philadelphia remembers its champions.”
Clara looked directly at him.
“And its cowards.”
For the first time, Vale’s smile weakened.
Dominic’s hand remained at Clara’s back.
Possessive.
Protective.
A warning.
Vale noticed the gesture.
“Interesting.”
“What is?” Dominic asked.
“You.”
Vale looked between them.
“For a man who spent his life avoiding emotional liabilities, you seem to have acquired one.”
Clara felt Dominic’s hand leave her.
He stepped closer to Vale.
“She is not a liability.”
Vale tilted his head.
“Everything we care about becomes a liability eventually.”
His eyes returned to Clara.
“Ask your father.”
Clara’s pulse hammered.
Dominic became still.
That reaction was small.
Almost invisible.
Clara saw it.
Vale saw her see it.
He had accomplished exactly what he wanted.
The ballroom doors closed behind them.
Dinner began twenty minutes later.
Vale had arranged one long table beneath three crystal chandeliers.
Dominic sat near the center.
Clara beside him.
Marco remained three seats away.
Falcone, Russo, and Caruso sat across from them.
Conversation began politely.
Business.
Construction permits.
Shipping routes.
Union negotiations.
Political donations.
Everything was spoken in respectable language.
Clara translated automatically.
Construction meant control.
Shipping meant smuggling.
Donations meant purchased politicians.
Negotiations meant threats.
Vale eventually placed his wine glass down.
“Chicago is changing.”
Dominic cut into his steak.
“Cities do that.”
“The old family structures are inefficient.”
“For someone who invited three of my captains without permission, you spend a surprising amount of time discussing efficiency.”
The table became silent.
Falcone looked down.
Caruso shifted nervously.
Vale smiled.
“I invited businessmen.”
“You invited my men.”
“Perhaps that distinction is the problem.”
Dominic stopped cutting his steak.
Vale continued.
“Organized crime built itself around families, neighborhoods, bloodlines, tradition. Romantic ideas. Expensive ideas.”
He looked around the table.
“I build networks.”
“Networks break,” Dominic said.
“So do families.”
Vale’s gaze shifted toward Clara.
“Daniel Hayes discovered that.”
Clara placed her fork down.
Dominic’s voice became ice.
“Leave her father out of this.”
There.
Confirmation.
Clara turned toward him.
“You knew him.”
Dominic did not answer.
The entire table seemed to disappear.
Vale leaned back.
“You did not tell her?”
“Shut your mouth.”
Clara stared at Dominic.
“What happened to my father?”
“Not here.”
“Here is fine.”
“Clara.”
“What happened?”
Dominic’s eyes met hers.
She saw something unexpected inside them.
Regret.
That terrified her more than guilt.
Vale took a drink.
“Daniel Hayes worked for Dominic’s father.”
Clara turned slowly toward him.
“My father owned a boxing gym.”
“He owned a boxing gym because Vincent Castellano allowed him to leave Chicago.”
Dominic stood.
The movement caused every security man in the ballroom to tense.
“Enough.”
Vale remained seated.
“You came to my dinner, Dominic.”
“And now I am leaving.”
“Because the truth makes your new queen uncomfortable?”
Dominic’s hand closed around the back of his chair.
Wood creaked.
Clara stood as well.
“No.”
She looked toward Vale.
“You wanted me here because you wanted this conversation.”
Vale smiled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Dominic cannot build an empire with someone who does not trust him.”
Clara understood.
This was not merely about breaking them emotionally.
Vale wanted instability inside the Castellano organization.
A leader distracted by conflict.
An outsider distrusted by captains.
A woman questioning the man protecting her.
Divide.
Then purchase the pieces.
Clara pushed her chair backward.
“Then you wasted your dinner.”
Vale’s smile disappeared slightly.
Clara looked at Dominic.
“We are leaving.”
Dominic watched her.
She could see surprise.
He had expected anger.
Perhaps confrontation.
She gave him neither.
Not yet.
They crossed the ballroom together.
Marco followed.
Behind them, Vale called out.
“Ask him about the warehouse on Halsted Street, Clara.”
She stopped.
Dominic did too.
Vale’s voice carried across the room.
“February nineteenth, seven years ago.”
Clara knew the date.
Her father had died February twentieth.
Police said his vehicle went through a barrier on Interstate 95 outside Philadelphia.
Clara turned toward Dominic.
His face revealed everything she needed to know.
He remembered the date.
She continued walking.
No one spoke inside the elevator.
Marco stood near the doors.
Dominic stood behind Clara.
When they reached the underground garage, Clara turned.
“Tell Marco to take another vehicle.”
“Clara.”
“Do it.”
Dominic nodded once.
Marco left without argument.
The armored sedan carried Clara and Dominic toward the St. Regis.
Snow had begun falling.
For several blocks, neither spoke.
Finally Clara said, “Start.”
Dominic looked toward the passing city.
“My father controlled underground gambling throughout the Midwest.”
“I know what your family does.”
“He also financed boxing operations.”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“Philadelphia?”
“Yes.”
“Rosetti?”
“Sometimes.”
“Daniel Hayes?”
Dominic closed his eyes briefly.
“Your father kept financial records.”
Clara stared at him.
“He was an accountant?”
“No.”
“What?”
“He was my father’s bookmaker.”
The words felt impossible.
“My father hated gambling.”
“He learned to hate it.”
“Do not speak about him like you knew him.”
“I did know him.”
Clara’s hands tightened.
“How well?”
“Well enough that when I was seventeen, he taught me how to throw my first proper left hook.”
Her anger faltered.
Dominic looked at her.
“Daniel Hayes trained me.”
Clara could not breathe for a moment.
“My father trained you?”
“In a warehouse gym on Halsted.”
The location Vale mentioned.
“Why?”
“My father believed soldiers should know how to fight without weapons.”
Dominic looked down at his hands.
“Your father hated Vincent Castellano. But he had debts. He had Arthur. He had you.”
Clara’s chest tightened.
“He wanted out.”
“Yes.”
“And your father would not let him.”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Dominic remained silent.
Clara’s voice broke.
“What happened?”
“Daniel collected evidence.”
“Against Vincent?”
“Against everyone.”
“Did you know?”
“Not until the final night.”
Clara felt cold.
“February nineteenth.”
“Yes.”
“What happened in that warehouse?”
Dominic’s voice changed.
“He came to me.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed I was different from my father.”
“Were you?”
Dominic looked at her.
“I wanted to be.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
The vehicle stopped at a red light.
Snow drifted across the windshield.
Dominic continued.
“Daniel had copied ledgers. Payments to judges. Police. Politicians. Fight promoters. Rosetti. Vale.”
“Vale?”
“Yes.”
Clara remembered the photograph.
“What did my father want from you?”
“Help leaving the country with you and Arthur.”
Her eyes burned.
“He never told us.”
“He believed it was safer.”
“What did you do?”
Dominic looked away.
“I agreed.”
Hope appeared for one terrible second.
Then died.
“Something went wrong.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“My father discovered the plan.”
Clara’s breathing became shallow.
“He sent men to the warehouse.”
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
“Was my father?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
Dominic’s head snapped toward her.
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Clara searched his face.
“Did your father?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Dominic remained still.
“Vale.”
The name entered the vehicle like another passenger.
“Adrian Vale shot Daniel twice.”
Clara looked toward the window.
The lights outside blurred.
“My father died in a car accident.”
“No.”
Her fingers began trembling.
Dominic continued carefully.
“Daniel survived the shooting.”
Clara turned.
“What?”
“I got him out.”
“You said—”
“He was alive when I put him into a vehicle.”
Clara stared.
“He made me promise to get you and Arthur away from Philadelphia.”
“Then why did he die?”
Dominic’s expression became haunted.
“The vehicle never reached the safe house.”
Clara felt the world tilt.
“What happened?”
“It was found the next morning outside Pittsburgh.”
“That is impossible.”
“The driver was dead.”
“And my father?”
“Gone.”
Clara stopped breathing.
May you like
Dominic’s next words changed everything.
“We never found Daniel Hayes’s body.”
Related Stories
