Chapter 2 - The Shadows of the Past
The sterile silence of the hospital corridor pressed down on Dominic like a physical weight. The air smelled of bleach, antiseptic soap, and the faint, metallic tang of fear.
“My driver,” Dominic repeated, his voice dangerously soft, “has been on my payroll for twelve years. He doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and he certainly doesn’t broadcast my location to anyone—least of all my mistress.”
Celeste swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. She raised her chin, attempting to summon the haughty composure that usually shielded her from the harsher realities of Dominic’s world.
“Your driver didn’t call me out of nowhere, Dominic. I checked my phone because I was wondering why you bolted from the table before the dessert was even served. When I saw the missed call, I assumed there was an emergency at one of your warehouses. I followed you here out of concern.”
“Concern,” Dominic echoed, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.
He reached out, his long fingers wrapping gently around her wrist—just enough pressure to prevent her from moving, though she flinched at the iron grip. With his free hand, he reached down and plucked the cream-colored leather handbag from her arm.
“Dominic, stop it! What are you doing? This is a hospital!” she hissed, her cheeks flushing with genuine panic.
He didn’t answer. With practiced efficiency, he unzipped the main compartment. Inside sat a slim gold compact, a tube of lipstick, a diamond-encrusted cardholder, and a burner phone—a prepaid, disposable device that no respectable society woman had any business carrying.
Dominic pulled the burner phone out. The screen lit up in his palm, displaying a string of text messages. The most recent one, sent precisely four minutes before the crash was reported on the police scanner, read: She’s heading down Maple Street in the old sedan. Rain is heavy. Make it look like an accident.
The blood in Dominic’s veins turned to ice.
He raised his eyes slowly, locking them onto Celeste’s. The confident, sophisticated woman who had spent the last year riding the coattails of his influence had vanished. In her place stood a cornered animal.
“You knew,” Dominic said, each word falling like a lead weight. “You knew she was pregnant.”
“I—I didn’t—” Celeste stammered, her hands trembling as she tried to pull away. “Dominic, listen to me. That phone isn’t mine, someone must have slipped it into my bag, or—or it’s a setup—”
“Who?” Dominic demanded, his voice finally breaking through its restraint, echoing down the empty corridor and causing a passing nurse to jump. “Who gave you the orders, Celeste? Was it my uncle? Did Matteo put you up to this?”
Before Celeste could answer, the double doors of the surgical elevator burst open.
A trauma fellow rushed out, his scrubs stained dark with fresh blood. He scanned the hallway, his eyes locking onto Dominic’s towering frame.
“Mr. Vascari?”
Dominic dropped Celeste’s arm so fast she stumbled against the wall, forgetting the burner phone entirely as he closed the distance to the doctor in two strides.
“Talk to me.”
“We delivered the baby,” the doctor said quickly, gasping for breath. “Emergency Caesarean. A girl. She’s premature—thirty-two weeks—and she inhaled fluid during the crash. We’ve got her intubated in the NICU, but she’s fighting. Her vitals are stabilizing.”
Dominic felt a sudden, violent lurch in his chest. A daughter.
“And Mara?” Dominic asked, though his voice caught on her name.
The doctor’s expression hardened, his eyes dropping to the clipboard in his hands.
“Mrs. Vascari’s internal injuries were too severe. We managed to repair the rupture in her spleen and control the bleeding, but her blood pressure crashed during the delivery. We’ve induced a medical coma to reduce brain swelling, but… Mr. Vascari, she lost a dangerous amount of blood before she reached the hospital. Her brain went without oxygen for nearly four minutes.”
The corridor seemed to tilt. Dominic reached out, catching the edge of the nurses’ station to steady himself.
“Is she alive?”
“She’s on full life support in ICU Room 12,” the doctor said quietly. “Honestly? Prepare yourself. She’s hanging on by a thread.”
Dominic stood frozen. Eight months ago, he had let her walk out of his life because he believed her absence would keep her safe from the crossfire of his war with his uncle Matteo. He had foolishly thought that cutting ties was an act of protection.
Instead, she had been carrying his child in secret, living in the shadows, driving an old sedan through the rain while he dined with a woman who had just signed her death warrant.
He turned back toward Celeste.
She was already backing away toward the exit doors, her eyes wide with terror as she realized what she had unleashed.
“Keep her here,” Dominic muttered without looking back.
From the shadows near the elevators, two men in tailored black suits stepped forward—Vince and Sal, Dominic’s most trusted enforcers, who had arrived quietly while he was transfixed by the trauma bay.
“Boss?” Vince asked, stepping into his path.
“Don’t let her leave this building,” Dominic commanded, his voice dead and flat. “Take her phone. Lock her in the administrative waiting room on the fourth floor. If she moves an inch, break her legs.”
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“Dominic, you can’t do this! You’re making a mistake!” Celeste screamed as Vince’s heavy hand clamped onto her shoulder, turning her around and steering her firmly toward the service elevator.
Dominic didn’t watch her go. He turned his heavy stride toward the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.
