Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Executive Suite
Back at the Moretti estate, the silence left in my wake felt heavier than any threat Dominic had ever faced.
The private study felt smaller now that the queen had abdicated her throne.
Dominic poured himself a heavy glass of bourbon, swirling the amber liquid while his dark eyes remained fixed on the closed door.
Sienna sauntered over, wrapping her slender arms around his waist from behind in a display of manufactured intimacy.
“You look troubled, Dominic,” she murmured, pressing her cheek against his tailored suit jacket.
“Vivian was just a fixture of the old days,” she dismissed airily, running a manicured fingernail along his lapel.
“Every king needs a fresh queen when the old one gets tired.”
Dominic did not lean into her touch; instead, he gently but firmly unclasped her hands from his waist.
“Go upstairs to the master suite, Sienna,” he instructed, his voice flat and devoid of warmth.
“My men will handle moving your things into the west wing.”
Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second at his cold dismissal, but she nodded and retreated, eager to claim her prize.
Dominic walked over to the mahogany table where my platinum ring still rested on the polished wood.
He picked it up, feeling the cold metal imprint against his palm.
Seven years ago, he had placed that exact ring on my finger after a brutal gang war that nearly cost him his life.
I had stayed by his side through bullet wounds, federal investigations, and sleepless nights of terror.
No other woman in Chicago possessed the steel backbone required to survive a seat at the head of Moretti Holdings.
And yet, he had allowed a momentary distraction to shatter the foundation of his entire domestic life.
He pulled out his encrypted satellite phone and dialed his head of security, Marcus Vance.
“Marcus,” Dominic barked the moment the line connected.
“Track Vivian’s vehicle immediately.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line as Marcus checked the tracking telemetry.
“Mr. Moretti, her car’s GPS beacon was last registered heading north toward the Wisconsin lake house,” Marcus reported professionally.
Dominic exhaled a slow puff of smoke toward the ceiling, feeling a subtle knot in his stomach loosen slightly.
“Good,” Dominic replied.
“Double the security detail around the perimeter of the lake house. Make sure nobody disturbs her.”
“Will do, Boss,” Marcus agreed before hanging up.
What Dominic’s security team failed to realize—and what the GPS beacon conveniently omitted—was that Clara had switched vehicles at a secluded rest stop thirty miles outside the city limits.
While Dominic’s men watched an empty Mercedes arrive at the isolated Wisconsin retreat, I was boarding a private regional flight out of a municipal airstrip in Indiana.
My destination was not a lonely lake house waiting for Dominic’s occasional weekend visits.
My destination was Zurich, Switzerland, where an offshore account containing millions in untraceable severance funds quietly awaited my arrival.
Years ago, when Dominic had first initiated me into the darker side of his financial empire, I had quietly carved out my own independent safety net.
He always believed I was entirely dependent on his protection and his wealth.
He never suspected that the woman who poured his morning coffee and managed his social calendar was also an analytical mastermind who kept meticulous records of every hidden ledger.
As the twin-engine aircraft lifted off the tarmac, I watched the glittering grid of American lights fade into the vast expanse of the Atlantic night.
For seven years, I had played the role of the devoted mob wife to perfection.
I had smiled for the cameras at charity galas while laundering money through phantom corporations.
I had hosted dinners for corrupt politicians while knowing the exact body count hidden beneath their polite handshakes.
I had endured every wandering eye, every condescending whisper, and every broken promise because I believed our bond was forged in unbreakable steel.
The arrival of Sienna Blake was not the primary catalyst for my departure.
She was simply the final, insulting straw that broke a bridge already charred by years of quiet neglect.
Dominic believed he owned every breath I took.
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He believed my loyalty was a permanent fixture of his furniture, immovable and unconditional.
He was about to discover what happens when a queen realizes she was the one holding the entire kingdom together.
