Chapter 5 - The Blood on the Ledger
The morning sun cast long, golden shards across the marble floors of the Ashford estate, but inside the east wing study, the atmosphere was as cold as winter steel.
Dominic sat behind his mahogany desk, fully dressed in a tailored black three-piece suit that concealed the bandages beneath. His face was a mask of impassive granite, but the dark circles under his eyes told the story of another broken night.
Standing before the desk was Carter, holding a thick manila folder stamped with a red confidentiality seal.
“The Syndicate leadership isn't buying the story that you're incapacitated,” Carter reported, his voice flat and efficient. “Viktor Vance has been making moves along the harbor warehouses. He knows you took three bullets, and he thinks the throne is vacant.”
Dominic didn't blink. “Viktor is an ambitious rat who forgot who built the tunnels he crawls through. What about the leak at St. Mercy?”
“Found him,” Carter replied, tossing the manila folder onto the desk. It slid across the polished wood and bumped against Dominic’s inkwell. “Dr. Henderson. He took twenty thousand dollars from Viktor’s associates to hand over your intake forms and locate the nurse who treated you.”
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the study. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Dr. Henderson,” Dominic repeated softly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried a lethal weight that made Carter’s jaw tighten. “The man who patched my initial wound.”
“Shall I handle it, Boss?” Carter asked, his hand drifting slightly toward his jacket holster.
“No,” Dominic said, standing up slowly. His eyes flashed with cold, calculated fury. “Discretion is dead. If Viktor thinks he can hunt inside my territory and target people connected to my house, he needs a reminder of what happens when you wake a sleeping god.”
At that exact moment, the heavy oak study doors clicked open.
Isla walked in, carrying a silver tray with a cup of black coffee and a fresh dosage of prescribed painkillers. She had dressed in a simple beige sweater and dark slacks, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the tension vibrating in the room.
She looked from Carter’s stony expression to Dominic’s glacial stare.
“Am I interrupting?” Isla asked, her voice cautious.
Dominic’s expression softened instantly—a subtle shift that did not escape Carter’s observant eyes. The bodyguard gave a polite, almost imperceptible nod to Isla before turning on his heel and walking out of the study, closing the heavy doors behind him.
“You’re never an interruption, Isla,” Dominic said, walking around the desk to meet her halfway. He took the silver tray from her hands and set it down on a nearby side table. “Though I told Mrs. Gable to have the staff bring your meals.”
“I’m a nurse, Mr. Ashford, not a prisoner. I can carry a tray,” she retorted, crossing her arms as she looked up at him. Then, her eyes drifted back to the manila folder lying open on his desk. She caught a glimpse of a photograph inside—a familiar medical badge bearing the face of Dr. Henderson, stamped with a red cross.
“What is that?” she asked quietly.
Dominic followed her gaze. He didn’t try to hide the file. “That is the man who sold your name to the Iron Vipers.”
Isla’s breath caught in her throat. The memory of the men rushing into St. Mercy, the terrifying realization that they had been hunting her down, rushed back with visceral clarity. “Dr. Henderson? But... he was polite. He helped me with the paperwork.”
“Greed has a way of making polite men monsters,” Dominic said flatly, stepping closer to her. “He traded your safety for twenty thousand dollars. In my world, that is a betrayal punishable by permanent silence.”
Isla stared at him, horrified not just by the mafia boss’s ruthless justice, but by the cold reality of the world she had stepped into. “You’re going to kill him.”
“I am going to ensure he never poses a threat to you or anyone else ever again,” Dominic corrected, his dark eyes locking onto hers with unyielding intensity. “You think this is harsh, Isla? In the streets of Chicago, if you show mercy to a traitor, you invite a dagger into your own heart.”
“There has to be another way,” she whispered, taking a step back, her hands trembling slightly. “You don't have to become an executioner for every single person who crosses you.”
“I didn't choose this life, Isla. It was handed to me in blood and ash,” Dominic replied, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling growl as he closed the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. “The moment you stepped into my room at St. Mercy, your life became entangled with mine. Viktor Vance knows you exist. The Vipers are looking for you. If I don't crush them completely, they will come through these gates and they will take you from me.”
The word hung in the air between them, heavy, raw, and undeniable: me.
May you like
Isla looked up into his dark, magnetic eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was standing in the lion’s den, surrounded by killers and shadows, yet for the first time in her life, looking at the man who terrified the entire city, she didn't feel afraid.
She felt the ground shift beneath her feet, realizing with sudden, terrifying clarity that there was no going back.
