Chapter 2 - THE BRUISES BENEATH THE SILK
Z
Dr. Porter emerged twenty minutes later.
Dominic rose immediately.
“How bad?”
“Several bruised ribs, one possibly fractured. She has been using compression tape to stabilize the area, but it isn't a substitute for proper evaluation. I recommend imaging at the hospital.”
“Then we'll go.”
The doctor held up a hand. “Your wife gets to decide that.”
Dominic stopped.
It was a small correction, delivered without fear or apology. He respected her for it.
“Of course,” he said.
Dr. Porter lowered her voice. “She's in considerable pain. I also noticed older bruising along her upper arm. She may not be ready to discuss everything with you tonight.”
Dominic felt something cold settle beneath his ribs.
“Did she tell you who hurt her?”
“No. And I won't share anything she told me privately without her permission.”
He nodded.
The doctor returned to the room.
A moment later, Clara appeared in the doorway. Her right hand pressed against her side, and her expression was as composed as ever.
“I'm going to the hospital,” she said. “The doctor wants to check for a fracture.”
“Good.”
“I don't need you to come.”
The answer struck harder than an accusation.
Dominic forced himself not to reach for her.
“Would you like me to arrange a car?”
“I can arrange my own car.”
“All right.”
She studied him, apparently waiting for him to object.
When he didn't, her shoulders lowered a fraction.
“I'll call if I need anything.”
“Clara—”
She flinched at the urgency in his voice.
He stopped immediately.
“I won't ask you to explain tonight,” he said. “I won't follow you. If you want someone with you, you can choose that person.”
For the first time since the dance ended, her eyes shone.
“Why are you doing this now?”
He had no answer that could excuse the six days behind them.
“I should have done it before.”
She looked away.
Then she left with Dr. Porter.
Dominic remained in the corridor until the elevator doors closed.
When he returned to the ballroom, the gala had resumed in a muted, awkward fashion. The musicians played softly. Guests pretended not to watch him.
At the head table, Vincent Rourke, Dominic's longtime adviser, rose with a sympathetic expression.
“Family emergency?”
“My wife is injured.”
“I'm sorry to hear that. A fall, I assume?”
Dominic stared at him.
“I haven't told you what happened.”
Vincent's smile remained, but his eyes sharpened.
“Matteo mentioned the pier. I thought that was where she was hurt.”
Dominic had not told Matteo that Clara had mentioned Pier Forty-Four. The conversation had happened behind a closed door, with only Dr. Porter nearby.
Matteo stood across the room, speaking to a security guard.
Dominic said nothing.
Vincent adjusted his cuff links.
“Whatever happened, you should keep it private. The press would enjoy turning a family concern into a scandal.”
“My wife's health isn't a public relations problem.”
“Of course not. I only mean—”
“I know what you mean.”
Vincent fell silent.
Dominic turned away before the conversation could become a scene.
Outside, rain had begun to fall over Miami. He stood beneath the hotel awning, watching the taillights of Clara's car disappear into traffic.
He wanted to call her.
He wanted to demand an explanation.
He wanted to hear that she was safe.
Instead, he sent one message.
I'm here if you need anything. You don't have to answer.
He put the phone away.
Then he called Matteo.
“Meet me in the private office.”
Ten minutes later, Matteo shut the door behind him.
Dominic stood beside the window.
“Who knew I was going to Pier Forty-Four?”
Matteo hesitated.
“Vincent. Me. The driver who took you to the airport.”
“Anyone else?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And who knew Clara would be there?”
“I don't know.”
“Find out without approaching her or anyone who might frighten her. No threats. No intimidation. I want facts.”
Matteo nodded.
Dominic turned.
“One more thing. From now on, nobody reports my wife's movements to me. Not the housekeeper, not the driver, not security. If she asks for help, they help her. Otherwise, they leave her alone.”
Matteo looked surprised.
“Understood.”
When the door closed, Dominic sat at the desk and opened the old security report from Pier Forty-Four.
Six days earlier, a warehouse camera had gone offline for eleven minutes.
The maintenance request carried Vincent's authorization.
Dominic read it twice.
Then he picked up the phone and called his attorney.
“Freeze the waterfront acquisition,” he said. “And preserve every record connected to Pier Forty-Four.”
“Is there a problem?”
May you like
Dominic looked at the empty ballroom through the glass partition.
“Yes,” he said. “But this time, I'm going to find out what it is before somebody else gets hurt.”
