Chapter 3 - DOMINIC CAME TO HER DOOR WITHOUT SECURITY
Dominic Russo did not knock until Clara looked through the peephole.
That detail mattered later.
He stood in the hallway wearing a dark overcoat.
Alone.
No Marco.
No black SUV visible from her window.
No men positioned beside the elevator.
Just Dominic.
Clara did not open.
“What are you doing here?”
Her voice traveled through the door.
Dominic looked directly at the peephole.
“I came to apologize.”
“You have a phone.”
“I used it before.”
“You scared me on that too.”
Fair.
He lowered his gaze.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Clara stood barefoot behind three locks.
Fiona watched from the kitchen holding a wooden spoon like a weapon.
Clara almost smiled.
“Stay there.”
“I’m staying.”
She called Rebecca.
Dominic waited.
Rebecca said:
“Your choice.”
Not:
Absolutely not.
Not:
He’s dangerous.
Clara hated choices when both answers frightened her.
Finally she opened the door but left chain attached.
Dominic looked at her.
No surprise at precaution.
Good.
“You’re alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because bringing security would make this worse.”
Correct.
Fiona appeared behind Clara.
“Who is this?”
Dominic said:
“Dominic Russo.”
“I know.”
Her sister’s tone suggested he had personally inconvenienced Iowa.
“You kidnapped her.”
Dominic did not flinch.
“I ordered people to bring her to my office against her wishes.”
Fiona tightened grip on spoon.
“That is kidnapping with extra words.”
Clara almost laughed.
Dominic said:
“Your attorney can characterize it however she believes appropriate.”
Good answer.
Fiona did not look impressed.
Clara asked:
“What do you want?”
Dominic looked at her.
“To tell you something before you hear it from investigators.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The account in your name.”
“Bennett Financial Services.”
“Yes.”
“You know who created it?”
“Not conclusively.”
Always that word now.
He continued.
“But the bank’s onboarding IP address traces to a commercial network used by Gallagher and Hayes.”
Clara’s heartbeat changed.
“Office network?”
“Likely.”
“Likely?”
“The address block is assigned to their building. We still need device-level confirmation.”
Clara nodded automatically.
Dominic’s mouth moved almost like he wanted to smile.
Even terrified, she corrected evidence language.
“What else?”
“The recovery phone.”
“Yes?”
“Registered under a prepaid corporate plan paid by an entity controlled by Jonathan Pryce.”
Gallagher and Hayes’ chief operating officer.
Fiona cursed.
Clara did too.
Dominic continued.
“The initial deposit into Bennett Financial Services came from Larkspur.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand.”
“Then?”
“The account received selected transfers designed to resemble your personal benefit.”
“How?”
“Payments to your student loan servicer.”
Clara went cold.
“What?”
“Three payments.”
“No.”
“Did you notice unexpected reductions?”
She closed her eyes.
Her student loan had been on automatic debit.
She rarely checked principal beyond monthly statements.
“How much?”
“Approximately twelve thousand total.”
Fiona whispered:
“Jesus.”
Dominic said:
“There was also a payment to your sister.”
Fiona stepped forward.
“What?”
Clara stared.
“To Fiona?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Eight months ago.”
Fiona shook her head.
“I didn’t get money.”
“Not directly.”
Dominic looked toward Clara.
“A medical bill.”
Clara’s stomach dropped.
Fiona’s son Caleb had broken his arm eight months earlier.
Insurance dispute.
Hospital bill.
Clara had helped.
Or thought she had.
“I paid that,” Clara whispered.
“You initiated a payment of fifteen hundred.”
“Yes.”
“The remaining balance was later paid from an account tied to Bennett Financial Services.”
Fiona stared at Clara.
“You told me the hospital adjusted it.”
“I thought they did.”
Richard knew.
Of course he knew.
Clara had taken a personal call at work.
Richard walked past while she argued with billing.
Later he had asked if everything was okay.
She told him too much.
He remembered.
He used it.
Not just financial data.
Her life.
Her family.
Every vulnerable detail became architecture.
Clara’s eyes filled.
“He was creating proof.”
Dominic nodded.
“Apparent proof.”
“He made payments that would benefit me.”
“Yes.”
“So when the account was found—”
“It would look like you had used stolen funds for personal obligations.”
Clara leaned against door.
Fiona cursed again.
Then:
“I’m calling the police.”
Dominic said:
“They’re already involved.”
Fiona looked at him.
“How convenient.”
He accepted that too.
Clara asked:
“Why are you telling me instead of Rebecca?”
“She knows.”
“Then why come?”
Dominic was silent.
Good question.
Finally:
“Because I owe you an apology I did not want to hide inside lawyers.”
Clara studied him.
He looked different outside the warehouse.
Still controlled.
Still intimidating.
But hallway fluorescent light was democratic.
It made everyone look human.
“What apology?”
“The way you were brought.”
“You already apologized.”
“Not enough.”
Clara waited.
Dominic took a breath.
“I believed Richard because he gave me documents that confirmed what I feared.”
“Yes.”
“I ordered my people to take you from your office.”
“Yes.”
“I let you sit locked in a room for twenty minutes.”
“Yes.”
“I stood over you.”
Clara’s chest tightened.
“You ordered me to look at you.”
His jaw moved.
“Yes.”
Her body remembered.
Chair arms digging into hips.
His hands braced near her.
No exit.
No breath.
Dominic continued:
“I had no right to make my need for answers more important than your sense of safety.”
That sentence landed differently.
Not:
I’m sorry you were scared.
Not:
There was misunderstanding.
He named the imbalance.
Clara’s eyes filled.
Fiona lowered spoon.
Dominic said:
“I’m sorry.”
Clara did not say she forgave him.
She did not.
Instead:
“Why did you stop?”
Dominic looked at her.
“When?”
“When I looked at you.”
He was quiet.
Then:
“Because you were afraid in a way I didn’t expect.”
“That isn’t evidence.”
“No.”
Good.
“Then?”
“It made me question evidence I thought I already had.”
Clara nodded slowly.
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
“What if I had been less afraid?”
The question hurt him.
She saw it.
Good.
“What if I’d been angry?”
Dominic looked away.
“What if I’d been calm?”
Silence.
“What if I looked like someone you expected to be a thief?”
He inhaled.
“I might have made a worse decision.”
There.
No heroic myth.
No magic recognition.
Clara appreciated that.
“So my fear helped me.”
“It forced me to question certainty.”
“That’s not same.”
“No.”
Dominic continued.
“And it should never have required your fear.”
Clara stared.
That answer was better.
She unlocked chain.
Opened door fully.
Fiona looked horrified.
“Clara.”
“It’s okay.”
Dominic did not step inside.
He waited.
Clara noticed.
“You can come in.”
Only then.
He entered.
Biscuit appeared.
Stopped.
Tail puffed.
Dominic stared.
The cat stared back.
Fiona said:
“He hates you.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“Apparently.”
Biscuit hissed.
Clara laughed.
For the first time in two days, the sound did not feel forced.
Dominic sat in the widest chair in the living room because Clara pointed to it.
He noticed that too.
“Coffee?”
she asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t drink coffee after noon.”
Fiona blinked.
“You run alleged organized crime but draw the line at caffeine?”
Dominic stared.
Clara nearly choked laughing.
“I run logistics.”
“Sure.”
Fiona left to “check casserole,” which meant give them privacy while remaining within attacking distance.
Dominic said:
“Your sister is…”
“Protective.”
“I was going to say formidable.”
“She’ll like that.”
Silence.
Then Clara asked:
“Is Richard dangerous?”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“Physically?”
“Yes.”
“We have no evidence he has used violence.”
“Would he come here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have security outside?”
“No.”
“You said alone.”
“I am.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Dominic hesitated.
Clara narrowed eyes.
“There’s a vehicle across street.”
“Dominic.”
“They are not here to watch you.”
“Then who?”
“Anyone who approaches.”
She stood.
“That is watching me.”
“Yes.”
“You did it without asking.”
His face changed.
There.
Old instinct.
Protect first.
Ask later.
Clara said:
“Make them leave.”
“They are for your safety.”
“Make them leave.”
“Richard—”
“Dominic.”
He stopped.
Her voice shook.
But she held his gaze.
“I have spent two days learning what happens when powerful men decide what is best for me without asking.”
Silence.
Then he took out phone.
“Marco.”
Pause.
“Pull the car.”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
He ended call.
Clara sat.
Something inside her loosened.
He had disagreed.
He still listened.
“That was stupid,” Dominic said.
She raised eyebrow.
“What?”
“Removing security.”
Clara almost smiled.
“Probably.”
“If something happens—”
“I will call police.”
“And me.”
She stared.
“That sounded like an order.”
He looked annoyed with himself.
“Call me if you choose.”
Better.
Fiona returned carrying casserole.
“I like her version of you more.”
Dominic looked at Clara.
“So do I.”
The room went quiet.
Clara felt warmth rise into her face.
Absolutely not.
Too soon.
Too complicated.
She stood.
“Meeting over.”
Dominic immediately stood too.
No argument.
At door, he paused.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Richard’s email archive contained a draft.”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“A performance review.”
Her face went cold.
“My review?”
“Yes.”
“Was it bad?”
“Extremely.”
Clara laughed.
Of course.
“He planned to fire me.”
“After the Russo matter surfaced.”
“What did it say?”
Dominic hesitated.
“Do you want to know?”
She thought.
“Yes.”
He read from phone.
Ms. Bennett has demonstrated escalating financial instability, poor judgment, resentment toward senior staff, and inappropriate fixation on high-value client accounts.
Clara closed her eyes.
A character assassination prepared in advance.
Her debt.
Her quietness.
Her competence.
Rewritten.
Dominic continued.
“One paragraph says coworkers expressed concern about unexplained lifestyle changes.”
Fiona looked around apartment.
“What lifestyle?”
Biscuit jumped onto a chair missing half its fabric.
Clara started laughing.
Hard.
She could not stop.
Dominic stared.
“What?”
She pointed around.
“Look at my criminal empire.”
Fiona laughed too.
Dominic finally smiled.
The absurdity broke something.
Richard had prepared a story about luxury.
Clara still owned a couch from college.
The evidence would expose it.
Dominic left.
No security stayed.
Clara locked door behind him.
Then Fiona said:
“He likes you.”
Clara froze.
“No.”
“He does.”
“He kidnapped me.”
“Not ideal meet-cute.”
“Fiona.”
“I’m not endorsing.”
“Good.”
“But he looked at you like—”
“No.”
Clara walked away.
Romance was impossible.
Trust barely existed.
Yet that night, when she checked through the peephole before bed, the hallway was empty.
May you like
Dominic had listened.
For Clara, that mattered far more than the way he looked at her.
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