Chapter 6 - A Game of Russian Roulette
The barrel of Dominic’s gun didn’t waver an inch. The red laser sight painted a small, bloody circle right over Adrian Cross’s heart. In the dim, smoke-hazy light of the Gilded Rook, every single enforcer in the room—twelve Russo men on one side, eight Cross guards on the other—raised their weapons. A dozen safety clicks echoed like a swarm of angry mechanical insects. One twitch, one accidental breath, and the underground lounge would turn into a morgue.
Adrian didn’t flinch. He slowly slid his hands down onto the table, leaning back against the leather booth with an infuriating, confident smirk.
“Careful, Dominic,” Adrian drawled, his voice dripping with mock concern. “You shoot me across this table, and your little ledger becomes public property before your body even hits the floor. Is that really how you want the Commission to find out you’ve been sleeping with the enemy?”
Dominic’s jaw clenched so hard I thought the bone would fracture. His eyes flicked to the black ledger sitting open between us, then back to my face. The raw anguish bleeding through his cold exterior was palpable.
“Claire,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a desperate, fractured plea that he had never once used in the eight months of our marriage. “Step away from the table. Put the book down. Come home.”
“Home?” I let out a cold, humorless laugh, stepping out from behind the booth so I was standing directly between Dominic and Adrian, right in the crosshairs. “You don’t have a home, Dominic. You have a fortress built on lies, debt, and locked doors. You made it very clear what I am to you: a transaction.”
“I lied,” Dominic roared, the control finally snapping completely. He took two aggressive steps forward, ignoring Adrian’s gun. “Goddamn it, Claire, I lied because the moment I let myself care about you, the Commission would have put a bullet through your head to get to me! Every cold shoulder, every locked door, every night I stayed in the study—it was to keep you alive!”
The confession hung in the subterranean air, heavy and suffocating. Adrian raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised, while the Russo enforcers behind Dominic exchanged uneasy glances.
For a second, the fight drained out of me. The icy armor I had worn all night cracked. But then I remembered the risotto getting cold on the dining table. I remembered the eight months of crying into my pillow while he treated me like a ghost.
“That’s a very convenient excuse, Dominic,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes, though I refused to let them fall. “But a cage is still a cage, no matter how golden the bars are. And I am done living inside yours.”
With a sudden, decisive movement, I grabbed the black ledger off the table, tucked it under my arm, and started walking straight toward Dominic.
His men instinctively tensed, their rifles shifting.
“Don’t move,” Dominic snarled at his own guards, lowering his gun slightly as I approached him.
When I reached him, I stopped just inches away. I could smell the gunpowder, the scotch, and the familiar cedarwood scent that had haunted my lonely nights for months. He reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers hovering near my face as if he wanted to touch me, to verify I was real.
I didn’t let him. I raised my hand and slapped him across the cheek so hard the sound echoed off the stone walls.
May you like
The entire room went dead silent. A red mark bloomed instantly across Dominic’s stubbled jaw. He didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He just stared down at me, taking the blow like a man who knew he deserved every single ounce of my rage.
“That’s for the last eight months,” I said, my voice steady and cold. Then, I turned my back on him, walked past his stunned guards, and headed up the concrete stairs alone into the Chicago night.
