Chapter 1 - The Woman on the Gurney
Dominic Valente had spent most of his adult life believing that fear belonged to other men.
Fear belonged to men who owed money they could not repay, men who crossed the wrong border, and men who discovered too late that the person sitting across from them had more power than they did.
Dominic did not fear.
Dominic controlled.
At thirty-nine, he was the undisputed head of one of Chicago’s most powerful syndicates. His name opened doors that were supposed to remain locked. Politicians returned his calls. Businessmen watched their words around him. Rivals understood that a mistake involving Dominic Valente could become the last mistake they ever made.
But shortly before midnight on a rainy Thursday, inside the VIP wing of Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Dominic discovered something he could not command.
Helplessness.
And it began with another woman’s hand in his.
Serena Hayes lay against expensive white pillows in a private treatment room, her blonde hair spread over them as though she were posing for a magazine shoot rather than receiving fluids for dehydration.
At twenty-four, Serena was striking and knew exactly how striking she was.
She was a model, an occasional social-media celebrity, and a permanent collector of attention.
“Dom.”
Her fingers tightened around his.
“My head still hurts.”
“The doctor said the fluids will help.”
“I hate hospitals.”
“You’ll be home soon.”
Serena watched him carefully.
“You’re staying with me tonight, right?”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Of course.”
“All night?”
“If necessary.”
She smiled.
Dominic brushed a blonde curl from her forehead.
“I’m right here.”
Then he made a promise he would remember for the rest of his life.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the corridor outside erupted.
“Trauma incoming!”
“Clear the hallway!”
Double doors crashed open.
Doctors and nurses moved quickly toward the approaching gurney.
Dominic barely reacted.
Violence was not unusual in his world.
Neither were hospitals.
Then something flashed through the glass wall of Serena’s room.
Emerald green.
Dominic’s expression changed.
That morning, Clara had been wearing an emerald-green silk dress.
He remembered seeing her descend the staircase of their Lake Forest estate.
His wife had looked beautiful.
He had barely noticed.
He had been answering a message from Serena.
Clara had stopped near the bottom of the staircase.
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“Probably not.”
“Business?”
Dominic had hesitated.
“Yes.”
Clara had known he was lying.
He understood that now.
But she had simply nodded.
“All right.”
Then she had walked away.
Now that same shade of emerald was moving rapidly past the hospital room.
Dominic stood.
Serena’s fingers slipped from his.
“Dom?”
He stepped into the corridor.
The gurney came closer.
He saw dark hair.
An oxygen mask.
A pale hand hanging near the edge.
Then the diamond ring caught the fluorescent light.
Dominic knew that ring.
He had placed it on Clara Lombardi’s finger five years earlier.
“No.”
His voice barely existed.
The gurney passed him.
He saw her face.
Bruised.
Pale.
Unconscious.
But unmistakable.
“Clara.”
Dominic moved immediately.
“That’s my wife.”
A nurse stepped between him and the gurney.
“Sir, stay back.”
“That’s my wife!”
Dominic caught the rail.
“Clara!”
She did not move.
“What happened?”
A paramedic continued pushing.
“Major vehicle collision.”
“What happened to her?”
“Possible internal hemorrhaging. Severe blunt-force trauma.”
Dominic tightened his grip.
“Sir, release the rail.”
“I’m coming.”
“You cannot.”
“I said—”
“If you delay us, you delay treatment.”
Dominic released it instantly.
The team disappeared through the trauma doors.
Dominic stood motionless.
His hands were shaking.
Dominic Valente’s hands never shook.
Behind him came Serena’s voice.
“Dom?”
He did not answer.
“Who was that?”
Dominic stared at the closed doors.
“My wife.”
The words changed everything.
For the previous three hours, he had sat beside Serena because she had suffered a panic attack and dehydration after a party.
He had summoned senior physicians.
He had held her hand.
He had promised not to leave her.
Meanwhile Clara—the woman who carried his name—had been trapped inside the wreckage of a car.
Alone.
Dominic took out his phone.
“Mateo.”
His underboss answered immediately.
“Boss?”
“Get to Northwestern.”
“What happened?”
Dominic stared through the glass doors.
“Clara.”
Silence.
“She’s in surgery.”
“I’m coming.”
“And Mateo?”
“Yes?”
“Find out who did this.”
Twenty-eight minutes later, Mateo Russo emerged from the elevator with several men.
Mateo had known Dominic since they were teenagers. He was one of the few people who could speak to him without rehearsing every sentence first.
Tonight, Mateo looked pale.
Dominic met him halfway.
“Where was Tommy?”
Tommy Rizzo had driven Clara for nearly three years.
Mateo hesitated.
“Tommy’s dead.”
Dominic froze.
“Pronounced at the scene.”
“What happened?”
“They were hit at an intersection on the South Side.”
“The South Side?”
“Yes.”
“What was Clara doing there?”
“We’re checking.”
“Who hit them?”
“Black armored SUV. No plates.”
“Accident?”
Mateo shook his head.
“No.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“Moretti.”
Lorenzo Moretti controlled much of the territory surrounding the intersection.
The Moretti and Valente organizations had been moving steadily toward open conflict for months.
Mateo lowered his voice.
“We need evidence before you start a war.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Then find me evidence.”
A surgeon appeared through the doors.
“Mr. Valente?”
Dominic crossed the corridor.
“How is she?”
“I’m Dr. Patel. We stabilized several injuries, but your wife has significant internal trauma.”
“Is she going to live?”
“We’re doing everything possible.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Dr. Patel held his gaze.
“She’s alive right now.”
Dominic hated the final two words.
Right now.
“There’s something else,” Patel said. “We need her recent medical history. Any medications? Specialist appointments?”
Dominic opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
He did not know.
The realization embarrassed him more than any insult ever had.
He knew Serena’s favorite champagne.
He knew which Paris hotel she preferred.
He knew the designer she wanted for her next birthday.
But he did not know his own wife’s doctor.
“I’ll find out.”
Dominic called Clara’s assistant, Maria.
“Has Clara been seeing any doctors?”
Silence.
“Maria.”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“I thought Mrs. Valente told you.”
“Told me what?”
“She’s been seeing a fertility specialist.”
Dominic said nothing.
“Why?”
Maria sounded surprised.
“Because she wanted a family.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Suddenly he remembered Clara standing outside his study three weeks earlier with a white envelope.
“Dominic, do you have five minutes?”
He had been texting Serena.
“Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow had never come.
“Was she pregnant?”
“I don’t know,” Maria said. “But she visited the clinic today.”
Dominic lowered the phone.
Mateo approached carrying a tablet.
“We found traffic footage.”
The recording showed Clara’s sedan approaching an intersection.
A black SUV appeared.
It accelerated.
Straight toward her.
Mateo froze the image.
Dominic stared at the windshield.
A small emblem was visible.
A private security contractor.
One Dominic recognized.
“There’s more,” Mateo said.
“Whose vehicle?”
Mateo looked uncomfortable.
“Technically, the company leases vehicles to several clients.”
“Who?”
Mateo turned the tablet.
One name appeared among recent accounts.
SERENA HAYES MANAGEMENT LLC.
Dominic slowly looked toward Serena’s room.
Empty.
The IV line had been disconnected.
Her purse was gone.
So was Serena.
Dominic’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Clara that morning, leaving the fertility clinic.
Underneath were six words.
ASK YOUR WIFE WHO THE FATHER IS.
Dominic stared at the message.
Then another arrived.
And ask why she met Moretti.
For the first time that night, Dominic understood something terrifying.
The crash might not have been the beginning.
It might have been the final move in a game that had been happening around him for months.
May you like
And his wife had known about it before he did.
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