Chapter 3 - The Landlord's Eviction Notice
The silence that followed was suffocating.
I stared at the man sitting across from me, my pulse pounding against my eardrums like a war drum.
"You... you bought my building?" I choked out, unable to process the sheer absurdity of the statement.
"Fourteen units, crumbling masonry, three unresolved building code violations, and an illegal boiler in the basement," Dominic said, rattling off the property specifications with chilling ease. "Mr. Henderson was more than happy to sign the deed over when my attorney presented him with a cash cashier's check at three o'clock today."
"Why would you do that?" My voice rose slightly, bordering on panic. "Are you throwing me out on the street? Is that how you repay a debt?"
"I do not throw women and children into the rain, Emma," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a tone that was almost insulted. "Henderson intended to evict every rent-controlled tenant in the complex by the end of next month to convert the property into luxury loft apartments. You were thirty-six hours away from finding a sheriff’s notice pinned to your door."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
I had known Henderson was pressuring us.
He had stopped repairing the front door buzzer two months ago, and the radiators had knocked with empty air through the coldest weeks of November.
Every single night, I lay awake staring at the water stains on my ceiling, wondering where I would take Mia if the rent went up even fifty dollars.
There were no affordable apartments left in this district.
Not on a waitress's wage.
Not without three months of security deposit up front and a credit score that hadn't been ruined by my late mother’s hospital bills.
"So what now?" I asked, trembling. "You own my home. Does that mean I pay my rent to a mafia boss?"
"You pay nothing," Dominic said plainly. "The title to apartment 4B will be transferred into your legal name by noon tomorrow. No mortgage. No property tax liabilities for the next five years. It is yours. Fully and completely."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
An apartment in Manhattan.
Paid in full.
It was the difference between survival and starvation, between safety for my little girl and the terrifying uncertainty of a women's shelter.
It was a miracle wrapped in a velvet box.
And yet, every instinct I had developed growing up on these streets screamed that nothing in this world was ever free.
"I can't accept that," I said, shaking my head violently. "I can't take an apartment from you. People like you don't give away property out of the goodness of their hearts. There are strings attached to everything you touch."
One of the bodyguards standing near the kitchen entrance shifted his weight, his coat parting just enough to reveal the black leather holster at his ribcage.
Dominic didn't look back at him, but his eyes locked onto mine with terrifying intensity.
"The only string attached, Emma, is that you allow me to balance my books," he said. "In my world, an unpaid debt is a lethal vulnerability. If my enemies discover that a waitress pulled me from a burning wreck and I left her to starve in an unheated walk-up, it makes me look weak. It makes me look negligent."
He picked up his glass of ice water, taking a single, slow sip.
"Furthermore," he added, his gaze dropping to the cream card still sitting between us, "you have enemies of your own arriving faster than you realize."
The cold dread returned, pooling heavy in the bottom of my stomach.
"What enemies? I don't have enemies. I serve coffee and wipe tables."
"The men who put that bomb under my Mercedes did not work for a rival family," Dominic said, setting the glass down with a sharp click against the table. "They were hired by an internal faction within the municipal port authority—corrupt officials working alongside narcotics distributors from the docks. They know my car was stopped on Tenth Avenue. They know someone pulled me clear before the secondary explosion."
My hands went numb.
"They... they saw me?"
"They saw a woman in a blue diner uniform," Dominic said quietly. "For three weeks, my men have been watching this block, intercepting anyone asking questions about the accident. Two nights ago, my security team caught a scout photographing the front entrance of this diner."
The neon light outside gave another violent flicker, casting long, jagged shadows across the booth.
I thought of Mia sleeping in Mrs. Gable's living room two blocks away.
I thought of her little pink sneakers lined up by the radiator, her coloring books spread across the frayed coffee table.
"Are you telling me my daughter is in danger?" I asked, my voice dropping to a fierce, trembling whisper.
"I am telling you that as long as you remain here, working midnight shifts with no security, you are exposed," Dominic replied, leaning forward until his face was only inches from mine. "I do not leave loose ends, Emma. And I do not allow innocent collateral to pay for my wars."
"I have to go get my daughter," I said, pushing myself up from the booth, completely ignoring the four armed men standing between me and the exit. "I have to get Mia right now."
Dominic reached out with lightning speed.
His hand closed gently, yet with unyielding strength, around my wrist.
May you like
His fingers were warm, his grip steady as an iron vice, preventing me from taking another step toward the door.
"Sit down," he commanded softly, his eyes boring into mine. "My men are already stationed outside Mrs. Gable’s building. Nobody touches that child while I am breathing."
