Chapter 2 - The Voice on the Phone
The phone vibrated violently against my palm, a steady, terrifying rhythm.
Uncle Charles.
My thumb hovered over the green icon. The man calling me had bought me ice cream when I scraped my knee at seven years old. He had walked me down the aisle—a brief, disastrous marriage I rarely thought about—because my father was hospitalized with his first heart attack. He was family.
Dominic Torino watched me, his gray eyes missing nothing. The faint smudge of my red lipstick still colored his lower lip, a bizarre, intimate reminder of the violent rescue just minutes ago.
“Answer it,” Dominic instructed softly. “Sound perfectly normal. You are powdering your nose in the ladies' room.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and pressed the button. I brought the phone to my ear.
“Uncle Charles?” I managed, forcing my voice to sound light, fighting the tremor in my hands.
“Nora, sweetheart, where are you?”
His voice was warm. Familiar. Comforting. It sounded exactly like the man I thought I knew, which made the nausea rising in my stomach infinitely worse.
“I’m just... I’m in the restroom, Uncle Charles. My heel was bothering me. Is the auction over?”
“Almost,” Charles chuckled smoothly. “Senator Davis just overpaid for a hideous modern sculpture. I wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked a bit flushed earlier.”
He wanted to make sure the men had taken me.
“I’m fine,” I lied, closing my eyes. “Just needed a minute away from the crowd.”
“Of course. Take your time, dear. But don’t linger too long. We have the board meeting on Monday to finalize the Chicago property acquisitions. I want you well-rested.”
My blood ran cold. The Chicago acquisitions. It was a massive deal my father had vehemently opposed before his death, arguing it would overextend our capital. Charles had pushed it relentlessly since I took over, claiming it was necessary for growth.
“I’ll be right out,” I promised, my voice cracking slightly.
“I’ll be waiting by the coat check. We’ll take my car home tonight.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
I ended the call and let the phone drop to my side. The fluorescent lights of the service corridor suddenly felt blinding.
“He wanted to drive me home,” I whispered, looking up at Dominic. “He wanted to make sure I got into his car. Not mine.”
Dominic nodded once, a sharp, clinical movement. “If you got into his car, you wouldn’t have gone home, Nora. You would have been driven to a notary. A private one on his payroll. You would have signed the transfer documents, and then you would have had a tragic, fatal accident on the FDR Drive.”
The absolute certainty in his voice left no room for denial. My uncle wanted me dead.
“Why?” I asked, the word tearing from my throat. “I own the company. If he wanted money, he already has a massive salary. He’s the COO.”
“Salary isn't power,” Dominic said, stepping closer. He pulled a sleek, encrypted smartphone from his pocket. “Your father left you sixty percent of the voting shares. Charles has twenty. For the last eight months, you’ve blocked three major deals Charles tried to push through the board.”
“Because they were bad deals!” I argued. “They were high-risk acquisitions with terrible margins.”
“They were terrible for Windsor Hotels,” Dominic corrected, his gaze heavy. “But they were incredibly lucrative for the shadow investors backing those properties. Investors who promised Charles a massive kickback once the deals closed.”
I stared at him, my mind spinning. “How do you know all this? Why do you care about my company’s board meetings?”
Dominic didn’t answer immediately. He looked down at the emerald bracelet on my wrist. The one my father gave me.
“Because,” Dominic finally said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register, “the shadow investors Charles is working with are the Falcone family.”
The Falcones. The rival syndicate. The name was whispered in New York with the same fearful reverence as Torino.
“Charles is selling Windsor Hotels to the mob?” I gasped, stumbling back a step.
“He is trying to,” Dominic clarified. “My family has a vested interest in ensuring the Falcones do not gain a legitimate, billion-dollar hospitality empire to launder their money through. If they get your hotels, they own the city’s real estate market. I cannot allow that.”
The reality of the situation crashed over me. I wasn’t a damsel in distress being rescued by a knight in shining armor. I was a strategic asset being secured by a rival warlord.
“You didn’t save me because you care about me,” I realized, a cold, bitter edge creeping into my voice. “You saved me because you need my sixty percent.”
Dominic offered a small, terrifyingly handsome smile.
“I saved you because letting the Falcones win is bad for business, Nora. But I also saved you because I prefer my business partners breathing.”
“I am not your business partner.”
“You are now.” He stepped into my space, his physical presence overwhelming. The scent of expensive cologne and gunpowder clung to his tuxedo. “If you walk back into that ballroom, Charles will realize his men failed. He won’t try a quiet kidnapping next time. He’ll just blow up your car.”
Panic flared in my chest. He was right. I couldn’t go to the police; Charles owned half the judges in Manhattan, and the Falcones owned the other half. I was entirely exposed.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“I want to keep you alive until the board meeting on Monday,” Dominic stated. “You are going to walk into that boardroom, and you are going to systematically dismantle Charles Windsor. You are going to fire him, freeze his assets, and permanently block the Chicago acquisitions.”
“He’ll kill me before I even make it to the building.”
Dominic reached out, his thumb gently, unexpectedly, tracing the line of my jaw. The touch sent a startling jolt of electricity straight to my core.
“He won’t,” Dominic promised, his eyes darkening. “Because for the next forty-eight hours, you belong to me.”
Before I could protest, the heavy metal door at the end of the corridor opened. Two of Dominic’s men—massive, intimidating figures—stepped through.
“The car is ready, Boss,” the taller one said, his eyes scanning the empty hallway.
“We’re leaving,” Dominic said, wrapping his hand firmly around my arm. Not dragging me, but guiding me with an undeniable force.
“Wait,” I protested, digging my heels in. “My purse is at the table. My coat—”
“My men will retrieve them. We are leaving through the loading dock. Now.”
I had no choice. I let him lead me down the sterile corridor, away from the glittering ballroom, away from my treacherous uncle, and directly into the heart of the Torino empire.
We stepped out into the freezing New York night. A sleek, black armored SUV waited with its engine idling. The rear door was open.
Dominic gestured for me to get in.
As I slid into the plush leather seat, my phone buzzed again.
Uncle Charles: Nora? Where are you? The coat check is closing.
I stared at the screen, tears of profound betrayal blurring the text.
Dominic slid in beside me, bringing the scent of the cold night air with him. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing us inside.
“Turn it off,” Dominic commanded softly.
I powered down the phone. The screen went black.
“Where are we going?” I asked, staring at the dark tinted window as the SUV pulled away from the museum.
May you like
Dominic looked at me, the streetlights flashing across his sharp features, highlighting the thin scar on his brow.
“We are going home, Mrs. Torino.”
