Chapter 5 - The Inside JobThe digital clock on the bedside table read 3:14 AM when the heavy oak door of the guest suite clicked open without a sound.
Grace spun around from the desk, heart pounding, expecting one of Dominic’s intimidating bodyguards. Instead, Dominic himself stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He had discarded his suit jacket; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing thick, scarred forearms.
He looked tired—truly, deeply exhausted—the kind of weariness that sleep couldn't fix.
“She’s asleep?” Dominic asked, his deep voice carrying a quiet softness meant only for this room.
“Out cold,” Grace whispered, nodding toward the adjoining bedroom where Sophie had finally drifted off. “She’s been through hell, Mr. Hale. You need to start believing her.”
Dominic walked slowly toward the window, looking out into the stormy darkness of the Boston harbor. For a long time, he didn't say anything. The wind howled against the reinforced glass, rattling the frames slightly.
“I built this empire on trust, Grace,” Dominic finally said, his voice hard as iron. “In my world, if you can’t trust your inner circle, you’re already dead. Marcus Vance has stood by my side for fifteen years. He took a bullet for me in Miami. He held my hand when my father died.”
“And people change when there’s enough power and money on the table,” Grace countered, stepping away from the desk to face him. “Sophie saw his cufflinks, Mr. Hale. Silver with emerald stones. How many men in your entire organization wear custom cufflinks like that?”
Dominic went completely still. His gray eyes snapped toward her, dark and piercing.
“She told you about the cufflinks?”
“She told me everything,” Grace replied evenly. “She hid in the laundry chute. She saw the men who came into that house. And she saw Marcus leading them.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bones. Dominic’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. The realization wasn't coming as a shock anymore; it was sliding into place like the final, brutal piece of a puzzle he had spent five years trying to solve.
“If you’re lying to me to save your own skin—” Dominic began, his voice dropping into a dangerous register.
“I’m not lying,” Grace interrupted, stepping closer, holding her ground. “And if you want proof, you aren't going to get it by sitting in this fortress drinking whiskey. Marcus thinks you’re weak right now because of Sophie’s breakdown. He thinks you’re distracted.”
Dominic tilted his head, studying her with a new level of intensity. “And what do you propose we do about it, Miss Bennett? Put on a waitress uniform and sneak into his corporate headquarters?”
“No,” Grace said, a cunning little smile touching her lips. “We use his own arrogance against him. Marcus is hosting a private charity auction tomorrow night at his waterfront estate to ‘honor the memory’ of your late wife. Everyone who is anyone in Boston will be there—including all the syndicate capos.”
Dominic narrowed his eyes. “It’s a trap. He’s drawing me out into the open.”
“Of course it’s a trap,” Grace agreed calmly. “Which is why you won’t go in through the front doors looking for a fight. You’ll send someone nobody suspects. Someone who knows how to blend into a crowd of rich, snobby people, serve drinks, and slip past the security checkpoints without raising a single red flag.”
Dominic stared at her, the implication hanging heavily in the air between them.
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“You’re out of your mind,” Dominic said flatly. “I am not sending a civilian into Marcus Vance’s fortress.”
“I’m not a civilian anymore, Mr. Hale,” Grace whispered, her blue eyes locking onto his with fierce determination. “I’m your new consultant. And if you want your daughter back—truly safe, for the rest of her life—you’re going to let me do my job.”
