Chapter 3 - The Shadow of the WolfClara stumbled back until her spine hit the refrigerator. Dominic Vane. The name echoed in her mind like a death knell. Every Bostonian knew the name, whispered in hushed tones across dining tables and back-alley bars. He was the elusive head of the Vane Syndicate—a multi-million-dollar empire spanning shipping, real estate, and imports, built on a foundation of absolute ruthlessness, untraceable money, and strategic violence.
"You're... you're the Vane boss," she whispered, her chest tightening. "The FBI has been trying to nail you for a decade."
"The FBI is welcome to try," Dominic replied smoothly, buttoning his undershirt and pulling his unbuttoned, ruined jacket back over his broad shoulders. He walked toward the small window overlooking Philip Street, parting the plastic blinds with two fingers. Outside, the rain had slowed to a steady mist, and the first pale streaks of dawn were cutting through the gray Boston sky.
"What are you doing?" Clara asked, her defensive instincts flaring up. "You can't just walk out of here. Your stitches will rip."
"I have to," Dominic said without turning around. "My absence for more than six hours will trigger a full-scale war in the syndicate. My capos will think I'm dead, and they'll start tearing the city apart to claim the throne."
He turned back to look at her. The harsh fluorescent kitchen light caught the sharp angles of his face, softening none of the danger in his eyes. He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a heavy, matte-black business card embossed with only a single letter: a gothic V. In the center was a handwritten string of ten digits.
"This is my private encrypted number," Dominic said, placing the card gently on the counter next to her blood-stained medical tray. "If anyone comes asking questions about a wounded man, you call this number immediately. My men will handle it before you even hang up."
"I don't want your protection," Clara shook her head fiercely, backing away from the card. "I just want you to leave. Pretend you never came here. Pretend we never met."
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Dominic let out a low, humorless chuckle. "People who save the life of Dominic Vane don't get to walk away, Clara. You are tied to me now, whether you like it or not. Consider this debt unpaid."
Before she could utter another word, he moved with fluid, silent grace toward the apartment door, unlocked the deadbolt, and slipped out into the chilly morning hallway, vanishing into the Boston fog like a ghost.
