Chapter 4
PART 4
Ava woke angry.
Dominic preferred anger. Anger meant breath. Anger meant blood moving. Anger meant his daughter was still on this side of the grave.
She lay in the ICU bed with a taped chest, bruised eyes, and a hospital gown too big for her thin shoulders. Her dark hair spread across the pillow in tangled waves. Her mother’s silver ring was missing from her finger, and every time Dominic noticed, something tightened inside him.
“You’re staring,” Ava rasped.
“I’m watching you breathe.”
“That’s creepy.”
“It’s necessary.”
“No,” she whispered, turning toward the window. “It’s what you do. Watch. Follow. Control.”
Dominic sat beside her, elbows on his knees. The room smelled of antiseptic and plastic tubing. Machines beeped steadily. Outside, Lake Michigan was a sheet of gray steel.
“Where did you get it?”
Ava closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Ava.”
“I said I don’t know.”
“You almost died.”
“Maybe that was the point.”
The sentence landed like a bullet.
Dominic did not move. If he moved, he might shatter. If he spoke too quickly, he might become the kind of father who shouted because he could not weep.
“Do not say that.”
Ava’s eyes filled with tears, but her mouth twisted with bitterness. “Why? Does it make you uncomfortable? Does it mess up your schedule? Dominic Hale, king of Chicago, has to sit in a hospital room and pretend he’s a dad?”
“I am your father.”
“You’re a warden.”
“I keep you safe.”
“You keep me locked up!” Ava tried to sit up and cried out, clutching her ribs. The monitor quickened. Dominic reached for her, but she jerked away. “Don’t.”
He froze.
Ava’s breath hitched. “I wanted Mom.”
Dominic stared at the floor.
There were griefs men could survive only by building walls around them. His wife, Elise, had died four years earlier on a bright Saturday morning. She had kissed Ava on the forehead before leaving for a charity breakfast downtown. Ten minutes later, a bomb fixed beneath Dominic’s car detonated when Elise turned the key.
Dominic killed everyone responsible.
It took him forty-two days.
It did not bring back Elise. It did not comfort Ava. It did not make the house warm again.
It only proved what Ava already feared: her father’s love destroyed whatever it touched.
“I wanted her too,” Dominic said.
Ava looked at him, startled.
He had never said that aloud.
Not once.
The door opened before either of them could speak again. Leo stepped inside.
“Boss,” he said carefully. “There’s news.”
Dominic stood. “Watch her.”
Ava laughed weakly. “There it is. Back to business.”
Dominic stopped at the door, turned back, and for one reckless second considered telling her everything—that he did not know how to be soft without feeling defenseless, that every rule he made was a desperate attempt to keep the last person he loved from becoming another photograph in a silver frame.
But he only said, “I’ll be back.”
Ava looked away.
In the hallway, Leo handed him a phone. “We found the party. Lincoln Park. Rich kids playing gangster. Someone handed out powder in a bathroom. We’re tracing the dealer.”
Dominic’s voice went cold. “Find him.”
“And when we do?”
Dominic looked through the glass window at Ava, pale and furious in the bed.
“Bring him to me.”
That afternoon, instead of returning to his office, Dominic drove to the Blue Lantern.
He told himself he wanted answers. Maybe Ava had said something to Nora before collapsing. Maybe Nora had seen a face, a car, a clue.
But when he parked across the street, he did not go in immediately.
He watched through the rain-streaked window as Nora moved between tables. She wore a clean uniform, but exhaustion followed her like a shadow. She carried plates, refilled coffee, wiped counters, smiled when required, and dropped the smile the moment customers looked away.
A man in a work jacket grabbed her wrist as she passed.
Dominic’s hand tightened on the steering wheel.
Nora twisted free and said something that made the man lift both hands. She walked away, chin high, but once she reached the counter, she rubbed her wrist.
Dominic got out.
The bell chimed.
Nora looked up from the coffee machine and froze.
“No,” she said.
Dominic slid into a booth. “Coffee.”
“There’s a Starbucks six blocks north.”
“I prefer yours.”
“Our coffee tastes like regret.”
“I’m used to regret.”
She stared at him long enough for a nearby trucker to look uncomfortable. Then she grabbed a mug, filled it, and set it down hard enough to spill over the rim.
“Anything else, Mr. Hale?”
“Dominic.”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
For three days, he returned at the same quiet hour. He sat in the same booth with the cracked red vinyl seat, drank terrible coffee, and asked nothing. Nora eventually stopped telling him to leave. She left the pot on his table and pretended not to notice when he tipped enough to cover half a shift’s wages.
He pretended not to notice when she slipped most of it into the shared tip jar.
On Friday, the trouble walked in wearing a shiny gray suit and cheap cologne.
Nora saw him and went still.
Dominic noticed before she spoke.
“Cal,” she said.
The man smiled. “Miss me?”
“No.”
He leaned over the counter. “Rent’s due.”
“I told Miller Property I’d have it Monday.”
“Monday was three days ago, sweetheart.”
“I’m waiting on my second paycheck.”
Cal’s smile turned ugly. “Then maybe you should stop entertaining rich boyfriends and start paying what you owe.”
His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.
May you like
Nora’s face tightened with pain.
Dominic stood.
