Chapter 2
A live security recording filled the screen.
Abigail stood against the marble concierge desk.
Richard Lawson towered over her, red-faced and aggressive.
A windbreaker covered his plain clothes and partially concealed the shape of his service weapon.
He shouted, waved both arms, and drove a finger toward Abigail’s chest.
Building security attempted to surround and de-escalate him.
Lawson displayed his police badge, shouted about jurisdiction, and threatened to arrest anyone who touched him.
“He followed her.”
Tommy’s voice was quiet.
“He believes she is sleeping with a wealthy client to earn money for his Costa debts.”
His eyes remained on Dominic.
“He is demanding that she go upstairs and obtain an advance.”
Tommy looked toward the screen.
“The men downstairs are waiting for your order.”
His mouth tightened.
“They can take him into the alley and break him apart, but he is a police officer.”
Tommy paused.
“It will create attention.”
Dominic watched Lawson close his hand around Abigail’s injured wrist.
Pain twisted her face.
Her knees weakened while she attempted to pull free.
Something inside Dominic broke.
The psychological chains binding him to the penthouse for 5 years turned to dust.
Fear of the outside world, the phantom smell of burning metal, and the memory of detonated C4 disappeared beneath an absolute protective fury.
“Tell the guards to withdraw.”
Dominic’s voice became frighteningly calm.
He stood.
He did not lean on the cane.
He held it like a weapon.
“Boss.”
Tommy entered his path with disbelief inside his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
He looked toward the elevator.
“You have not left this floor in 5 years.”
Tommy raised both hands.
“Allow me to handle him.”
“Move.”
Authority rolled from Dominic with enough force to silence the room.
Tommy swallowed and stepped aside.
Dominic entered the elevator and selected the lobby.
The mirrored doors closed.
He looked at his reflection.
He no longer saw the broken ghost of the previous half decade.
He saw Dominic Russo.
The boss.
The devil of the Gold Coast.
The descent seemed endless.
Forty.
Thirty.
Twenty.
His heart struck against his ribs.
His breathing became shallow.
Agoraphobia clawed at the edge of his thoughts.
Dominic focused on the fingerprints around Abigail’s wrist.
The elevator chimed.
The doors opened.
Every voice inside the marble foyer stopped.
Security guards moved to attention.
Their eyes widened in disbelief when Dominic stepped out of the private elevator.
Lawson stopped in the middle of his rant.
The rhythmic thud and click of Dominic’s leg and cane crossed the cavernous lobby.
He moved with agonizing slowness and perfect posture.
His eyes remained on Lawson.
Abigail turned.
Tears crossed her pale face.
“Mr. Russo.”
The horror in her voice was not fear of him.
She knew his condition and understood what the act was costing.
Dominic stopped approximately 5 feet away.
He looked at Lawson and then at the hand around Abigail’s wrist.
“Release her.”
The quietness was more dangerous than shouting.
Lawson sneered.
His badge gave him the false confidence of an untouchable man.
“Who are you?”
He looked Dominic over.
“The man she massages?”
His grip remained on Abigail.
“Stay out of it. This is domestic business.”
Lawson raised his chin.
“Police business.”
“You have exactly 3 seconds to remove your hand from my physical therapist, Detective Lawson.”
Dominic used the rank and name deliberately.
Uncertainty entered Lawson’s eyes.
“How do you know my name?”
“I know your name.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“I know your badge number.”
His voice became colder.
“I know you owe the Costa family $300,000.”
Lawson’s face changed.
“If you do not release Abigail now, the Costas will collect your kneecaps before midnight.”
Dominic continued.
“Internal Affairs will also receive the flash drive on my desk documenting every bribe you accepted since 2022.”
Color disappeared from Lawson’s skin.
His hand fell away from Abigail as though she had burned him.
He stepped backward and finally examined the guards around them.
They were not ordinary building employees.
They were Russo men, with their hands resting near hidden weapons.
“Russo.”
The name escaped Lawson.
“You are Dominic Russo.”
“You are dead if you come within 100 yards of this building or this woman again.”
Dominic held his stare.
“Leave before I decide to have you disemboweled on the front steps.”
Lawson did not speak.
He turned and nearly ran through the revolving doors into the rain.
The lobby remained silent.
Adrenaline concealed the severe pain inside Dominic’s leg.
Then the openness of the room began pressing against him.
Beyond the glass were vehicles, noise, people, and open sky.
Panic returned.
The floor seemed to shift.
Soft hands touched his arm before he lost balance.
“Breathe, Dominic.”
Abigail moved into his line of sight and blocked the overwhelming view.
It was the 1st time she used his given name.
“Look at me.”
Her storm-gray eyes held his.
“Only me.”
Dominic saw gratitude, shock, and profound understanding.
“Let us go upstairs.”
Abigail guided him toward the elevator.
When the doors closed against the outside world, Dominic understood something with complete certainty.
His isolation had ended.
The war had begun.
For the 1st time in 5 years, he had something worth fighting for.
The elevator doors closed, sealing away the lobby, noise, and immeasurable world beyond the building.
Inside the steel enclosure, only Dominic’s ragged breathing remained.
The rage that carried him downstairs evaporated and left a cold emptiness behind.
Dominic leaned against the mirrored wall.
His fingers became white around the silver head of the cane.
The right leg had been pushed beyond its limits.
Pain blinded him and threatened to collapse the knee.
The psychological wave was worse.
He had left the penthouse.
He had stood inside an open lobby.
He had made himself visible.
His chest moved violently.
The phantom smell of burning rubber and C4 entered his lungs.
The polished elevator walls appeared to bend inward.
Dominic closed his eyes against the image of Leo’s body inside the driver’s seat.
“Dominic.”
Abigail’s voice entered through the noise inside his mind.
“Open your eyes.”
She moved closer.
“You are safe.”
The elevator continued climbing.
“We are going upstairs.”
Dominic forced his eyes open.
The professional barrier had disappeared from Abigail’s face.
She looked at him without fear, pity, or judgment.
She saw a drowning man and offered a lifeline.
Without seeking permission, Abigail placed both warm hands flat against his chest.
His heart raced beneath them.
“Breathe with me.”
Her voice became a steady rhythm.
“In for 4.”
She held his gaze.
“Hold for 4.”
Her palms remained against him.
“Out for 4.”
The words became firmer.
“Do it, Dominic.”
He obeyed.
His breathing slowly matched the pressure of her hands.
By the time the elevator reached the penthouse, the panic had loosened into something dull and manageable.
The doors opened.
Tommy and 2 heavily armed guards waited in the foyer, having raced upward through the service elevator.
Their expressions mixed concern with disbelief.
“Boss.”
Tommy approached.
“I am fine.”
Dominic waved him away.
He forced himself upright despite the pain.
Then he looked down at Abigail.
“My office.”
He crossed the floor without waiting for an answer.
The cane struck the hardwood heavily.
Abigail followed with her medical bag held against her chest.
Inside the dark, wood-paneled office, Dominic collapsed into the chair behind his desk.
He poured bourbon with a shaking hand and drank it immediately.
The burn gave him something physical to hold.
Abigail remained near the entrance.
She looked misplaced among the bullet-resistant windows, security monitors, and visible machinery of organized crime.
“Sit.”
Dominic’s rough authority had begun returning.
Abigail lowered herself onto the edge of a Chesterfield sofa.
Her knees remained pressed together.
Her thumb moved unconsciously along the cuff covering Lawson’s bruises.
“You cannot return to the apartment.”
Dominic’s statement was not a suggestion.
Abigail looked up.
“What?”
Her surprise sharpened.
“My belongings are there.”
She stood partially.
“My life is there.”
“The life you knew ended when Lawson grabbed you inside my lobby.”
Dominic’s tone remained cold.
“He knows who I am.”
His fingers closed around the empty glass.
“He knows I protected you.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“A corrupt officer owing $300,000 to the Costa family will not leave quietly.”
He continued.
“He is desperate.”
His expression hardened.
“Desperate men are unpredictable.”
Dominic held Abigail’s eyes.
“If you return to Logan Square, he will be waiting.”
His voice became lower.
“Next time, he will not stop at your wrist.”
Abigail became pale.
“I can contact the police.”
She searched for a rational answer.
“I can obtain a restraining order.”
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“He is the police.”
He leaned back.
“His friends inside Vice will lose the application before the ink dries.”
His eyes became flat.
“In my world, a restraining order is paper informing a killer where the victim lives.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Abigail’s voice broke.
The fear she had contained began escaping.
“I have no one else in Chicago.”
“You remain here.”
Dominic said it smoothly.
“In the penthouse?”
“There are 5 guest suites.”
His tone remained practical.
“You will have privacy.”
Dominic continued.
“My security will prevent anyone from approaching within 5 blocks.”
He looked toward the telephone.
“Tommy will have your necessary belongings brought here tonight.”
His decisions accumulated.
“Your lease will be terminated.”
Dominic’s voice became final.
“Your name will disappear from public property records.”
“You are describing my disappearance.”
A different fear entered Abigail’s face.
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“I am only your physical therapist.”
May you like
Her voice weakened.
“I am no one.”
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