Chapter 3 - Someone Wants the Bride Dead
Dominic locked the villa doors himself.
Then he checked them twice.
Clara stood dripping onto the limestone floor while he moved from window to window, closing curtains and inspecting locks.
A resort doctor had examined both of them.
Minor cuts.
Exhaustion.
Nothing serious.
Luc and Rémi survived too.
Rémi had disappeared from the medical room before anyone questioned him.
That was the first bad sign.
The second came thirty minutes later.
Dominic’s security team discovered the camera covering the dock had stopped recording nineteen minutes before they boarded the boat.
Arthur called from New York.
Dominic took the conversation in the kitchen.
Clara sat nearby pretending to drink tea.
“You’re sure?” Dominic asked.
Pause.
“Both sides?”
Another pause.
“Who approved Rémi?”
Clara looked up.
Dominic glanced at her.
She looked away.
His voice lowered.
“No. Don’t call Frank yet.”
That got her attention.
Dominic hung up.
“Why not?”
He set the phone down.
“Why not what?”
“Call my father.”
“You were listening.”
“You were speaking six feet away.”
“Your father doesn’t need to know yet.”
“I nearly drowned.”
“He’ll know when I understand what happened.”
Clara stood.
“He’s my father.”
“That doesn’t make him useful.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Careful.”
Dominic met her stare.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m furious.”
“You can be both.”
Clara hated that he was right.
She sat.
Dominic opened a first-aid box.
“What are you doing?”
“You have glass in your leg.”
She looked down.
A thin shard was embedded near her calf.
“I thought it was sand.”
“It’s bleeding.”
“It’s barely—”
“Clara.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
Dominic knelt.
The sight of him there was bizarre.
The man who controlled half the East Coast’s illegal freight corridors was kneeling on a tile floor with tweezers.
He cleaned the cut.
Clara watched his hands.
Steady.
Scarred.
Careful.
“You’ve done this before.”
“Many times.”
“To yourself?”
“To people who don’t listen.”
“That narrows nothing.”
He removed the shard.
Clara flinched.
Dominic’s hand closed around her ankle.
“Hold still.”
Her breath caught.
Not because of pain.
His hand was warm.
His grip controlled but unexpectedly gentle.
Dominic looked up.
Their faces were too close.
For one second neither moved.
Clara’s heart did something stupid.
She pulled her leg back.
“I’m fine.”
Dominic’s hand dropped.
“Clearly.”
He stood.
The moment disappeared.
Clara hated that she noticed.
Arthur arrived the following afternoon.
He entered the villa carrying two phones, a folder, and the expression of a man personally offended by travel.
“Corsica,” he said. “Beautiful. Expensive. Apparently terrible for honeymoons.”
Clara looked at him.
“Do you ever say hello?”
“Hello.”
Arthur dropped the folder on the table.
“Now the bad news.”
Dominic opened it.
Photographs.
Security logs.
A staff list.
Arthur pointed to Rémi’s file.
“Fake name. Fake passport. He started working here nine days ago.”
“Before the wedding,” Clara said.
Arthur nodded.
“Exactly.”
Dominic looked at her.
That detail changed everything.
The sabotage had been planned before Clara and Dominic arrived.
Perhaps before they married.
Clara crossed her arms.
“So someone knew where we were going.”
Dominic said nothing.
Arthur said, “Not many people did.”
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“Tommy.”
“Probably.”
“Your people.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
Arthur continued.
“Travel office. Pilot. Resort manager. Maybe twenty people total.”
Clara stared at Rémi’s photograph.
“Was he trying to kill Dominic?”
Arthur glanced toward Dominic.
“We thought so.”
“Thought?”
Arthur hesitated.
Dominic answered.
“The explosives were placed on the starboard hull.”
Clara frowned.
“So?”
“You were sitting starboard.”
Silence.
Clara felt cold.
“Dominic was at the stern,” Arthur said. “If the device worked as designed, the starboard side would have taken the damage first.”
Clara looked at Dominic.
He didn’t soften the answer.
“We think you were the target.”
She laughed.
A small, broken sound.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Neither man answered.
Clara stood.
“Why would anyone kill me?”
“To end the marriage,” Dominic said.
“It’s already done.”
“Your death would end the ceasefire.”
“And start a war.”
“Yes.”
Arthur added quietly, “A very profitable one for certain people.”
Clara walked toward the window.
Outside, tourists drank champagne beside an infinity pool.
Normal lives.
She pressed her fingertips against the glass.
“Who profits?”
Dominic and Arthur exchanged a look.
Clara saw it reflected.
She turned.
“No.”
Dominic’s face stayed blank.
“No what?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk without words.”
Arthur sighed.
“I’m going to check the perimeter.”
He left.
Coward.
Clara looked at Dominic.
“Who profits?”
“People who control alternative routes.”
“Names.”
“We don’t have enough proof.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“You want names because you want somebody to hate.”
“Yes.”
“That won’t help.”
“It’ll help me.”
“You’re thinking like Frank.”
Her expression changed.
Dominic realized too late.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your father reacts before he understands.”
“Unlike you?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Because you’re so measured. That must be why you threatened half the East Coast into attending our wedding.”
Dominic stared at her.
Clara stared back.
Neither moved.
Then his phone rang.
Dominic looked at the screen.
Something in his face shifted.
He answered and walked onto the terrace.
Clara remained inside.
She wasn’t trying to listen.
Not initially.
Then she heard a name.
Gallagher.
Her body went still.
Dominic’s voice was low.
“…not Frank.”
Pause.
“I don’t care what the captains want.”
Pause.
“Handle the Gallagher problem before I get back.”
Clara’s pulse jumped.
Dominic moved farther away.
She could no longer hear.
Handle the Gallagher problem.
The phrase echoed.
Tommy.
Her father.
Maybe someone else.
Dominic returned ten minutes later.
Clara was sitting where he had left her.
He studied her face.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re terrible at nothing.”
She smiled.
“You’re rubbing off on me.”
Dominic walked toward his bedroom.
Clara waited until the door closed.
Then she moved.
His leather folder lay on the counter.
Locked.
His second phone lay beside it.
Unlocked.
For perhaps ten seconds.
Clara picked it up.
Messages filled the screen.
Names she recognized.
Arthur.
Rossi.
Bennett.
Then one thread with no name.
Only a number.
Clara opened it.
The latest message read:
GALLAGHER PAYMENT WAS NEVER THE POINT.
Below it:
SHE WAS ALWAYS THE LEVERAGE.
Clara’s blood went cold.
Another message.
IF SHE FINDS OUT WHAT FRANK SIGNED IN 2019, EVERYTHING COLLAPSES.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Clara turned.
Dominic stood in the doorway.
His face was unreadable.
She still held his phone.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Dominic said quietly:
“You have exactly one chance to put that down.”
Clara tightened her grip.
May you like
“And you have exactly one chance to tell me what my father signed.”
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