Chapter 4 - THE DEAD BROTHER
Elias Ashford had been buried on a rainy November morning.
Dominic remembered because he had carried the coffin.
“There was a body?” Isla asked.
They sat around the dining table as Chicago woke beneath them.
“Yes.”
“You saw him?”
“After a warehouse explosion.”
Isla understood immediately.
“You couldn’t identify him visually.”
“Dental records.”
“Which can be falsified.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
Carter pushed the photograph forward.
“If Elias survived, he’s had fourteen years to prepare.”
Dominic stared at the face.
“He hated our father.”
“Did he hate you?”
Dominic did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Isla watched him retreat emotionally.
She recognized the pattern now.
Pain entered.
Dominic built walls.
“You need sleep,” she said.
“This is not the time.”
“This is exactly the time.”
“My dead brother may be trying to kill me.”
“And sleep deprivation will definitely improve your judgment.”
Carter suddenly became interested in his coffee.
Dominic glared at Isla.
She glared back.
Finally, he stood.
“Six weeks.”
“What?”
“The offer remains.”
Isla sighed.
She thought about her destroyed apartment.
Marco.
The message.
Nurse Patterson.
“I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
“My brother stays with me.”
“Yes.”
“I’m an employee, not property.”
“Yes.”
“I make medical decisions about your recovery.”
“Within reason.”
“No. That phrase is how difficult men escape agreements.”
Carter covered a smile.
Dominic sighed.
“Fine.”
“And when six weeks ends, I leave.”
Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
“If that’s what you want.”
She held out her hand.
Dominic took it.
The agreement should have felt professional.
It didn’t.
His fingers closed around hers, warm and careful.
Neither released immediately.
Carter cleared his throat.
“Should I leave you two alone with the employment contract?”
Isla pulled away.
Dominic looked murderous.
Carter smiled.
The next two weeks created a strange domestic rhythm.
Isla monitored Dominic’s recovery.
Marco attended school with a security driver he considered “extremely cool.”
Dominic conducted business meetings from home.
And every night, around midnight, Isla sat beside his bed until he slept.
Sometimes they talked.
Sometimes they didn’t.
Dominic learned Isla hated olives, loved terrible detective shows, and secretly wanted to finish graduate school.
Isla learned Dominic could cook exactly one meal—spaghetti—and made it absurdly well.
He collected first editions.
He hated hospitals.
He donated anonymously to three children’s charities.
And despite the frightening mythology around him, he never raised his voice at staff.
On the fifteenth night, Isla entered his bedroom carrying medication.
Dominic was shirtless, inspecting a healing wound in the mirror.
She stopped.
He caught her reflection.
“Professional nurse,” he said.
“I am being professional.”
“You’ve been standing there six seconds.”
“I’m assessing your wound.”
“My wound is on the other side.”
Isla’s cheeks warmed.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
That was the problem.
She didn’t.
She changed the dressing while refusing to meet his eyes.
“Isla.”
“What?”
“Dinner tomorrow.”
“We eat dinner every night.”
“Not here.”
Her hands stopped.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“You’re my patient.”
“Technically I’m ambulatory.”
“You have stitches.”
“Romantic stitches.”
She laughed.
Dominic watched her as though the sound mattered.
“One dinner,” he said.
“After six weeks.”
“Coward.”
“Patient.”
Their eyes met.
Something changed.
Dominic lifted his hand toward her face.
He stopped before touching her.
Permission.
Isla understood.
She leaned forward.
The kiss was gentle.
Brief.
Nothing like the dangerous man she had expected him to be.
When they separated, Dominic rested his forehead against hers.
“After six weeks?” he whispered.
“Ask me again.”
A gunshot shattered the window.
Dominic moved instantly.
He threw Isla to the floor and covered her with his body.
Glass exploded across the room.
Security alarms screamed.
Carter burst through the door.
“Roof across the street!”
Dominic reached for a weapon.
Isla grabbed him.
“You’ll tear everything open.”
“Stay down.”
“Dominic—”
Another shot struck the wall.
Then silence.
Twenty minutes later, Carter returned.
“Shooter escaped.”
He handed Dominic something found on the opposite roof.
A silver serpent ring.
Inside it were engraved three letters.
D.A.A.
Dominic stared.
Isla saw his face change.
“What?”
He closed his fist around the ring.
“It belonged to my father.”
Carter shook his head.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
Dominic looked toward the shattered window.
“My brother didn’t come back to take my empire.”
His voice became quiet.
“He came back to finish our father’s war.”
May you like
Isla felt cold.
Then Marco screamed from down the hall.
