Chapter 4 - The Man She Married
Dominic closed the bedroom door behind him.
Not hard.
That was worse.
Clara held the phone between them like evidence.
“What happened in 2019?”
Dominic walked toward her.
“Put it down.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“You stole my phone.”
“I borrowed it.”
“You read private messages.”
“You married a Gallagher. Privacy was always optimistic.”
“Put it down.”
“Tell me.”
Dominic stopped three feet away.
Clara could feel the anger radiating off him, yet his voice stayed quiet.
“Do you understand what happens if that device is compromised?”
“Do you understand what happens when someone tries to drown me?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop treating me like I’m inconvenient.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Inconvenient?”
“That’s what I am to you. Something that needs protecting because the treaty looks bad if I die.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Barely.
Clara pushed.
“Someone tried to kill me before we even reached Corsica. You knew there was a threat. You saw the man at the airport. You said nothing.”
“I didn’t know the target.”
“You knew enough.”
“I knew somebody was watching us.”
“And decided your wife didn’t deserve to know?”
“I decided panic would accomplish nothing.”
“You don’t get to decide what I’m allowed to know about my own life.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“And you don’t get to open a phone containing names that could get people killed.”
Clara tossed it onto the sofa.
“There. Happy?”
“No.”
“Wonderful. We agree on something.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
Dominic caught her wrist.
Not painfully.
Firmly.
Clara looked down at his hand.
Then at him.
“Let go.”
He did.
Immediately.
That surprised her.
Dominic looked away first.
“Your father signed a financing agreement in 2019.”
“With whom?”
“A holding company based in Delaware.”
“Name.”
“Calder Maritime.”
Clara frowned.
She knew it.
Everybody in freight knew Calder.
Warehouses.
Terminals.
Private shipping insurance.
Legal money with dirty edges.
“What does Calder have to do with us?”
Dominic walked to the table.
“Sit.”
She gave him a look.
“Please.”
That stopped her.
Dominic Costello had said please.
Clara sat.
He opened the locked folder.
Inside were copies of bank transfers and contracts.
Dominic slid one across the table.
Frank Gallagher’s signature appeared at the bottom.
Clara recognized it.
“What is this?”
“A guarantee.”
“For?”
“Port development loans.”
Clara read.
The language was dense.
Collateral.
Shipping rights.
Access agreements.
Then she saw something.
“If default occurs…”
She read further.
“Calder acquires temporary operational control of three Gallagher terminals.”
Dominic nodded.
“Temporary meaning forever.”
“Probably.”
Clara looked up.
“My father would never sign this.”
“He did.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to learn.”
Clara turned pages.
One document mentioned Costello Maritime.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You were involved.”
“No.”
“Your company is named.”
“Without authorization.”
She stared.
Dominic met her eyes.
“My father was sick in 2019. I was taking over. Several people had access to corporate authorization codes.”
“So somebody used your company as leverage.”
“Yes.”
“And my father believed Costello money backed the deal.”
“Yes.”
Clara sat back.
“This debt…”
“Is partially fabricated.”
Her stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“Real exposure is closer to eight hundred thousand.”
“And you demanded three million?”
“I inherited the claim.”
“You still enforced it.”
“Yes.”
The answer came without excuse.
Clara stood.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You married me anyway.”
“Yes.”
Something broke open in her chest.
“You arrogant son of a—”
“Clara.”
“You knew my father might have been manipulated, and instead of investigating before using me as payment, you married me.”
“My captains were preparing for war.”
“Then control your captains.”
“I did.”
“By taking me.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“By keeping Tommy Gallagher alive.”
Silence.
Clara’s breath stopped.
“What?”
Dominic leaned both hands against the table.
“Three days before the wedding, one of my captains authorized a hit on your brother.”
Clara stared.
“Who?”
“I stopped it.”
“Who?”
“Rossi.”
Angelo Rossi.
A Costello captain.
Old-school.
She had seen him at the wedding.
He had kissed her cheek.
Clara felt sick.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Frank would’ve retaliated.”
“My father should know.”
“Your father would’ve killed Rossi and started exactly the war somebody wants.”
Clara looked down at the documents.
Every piece of her world seemed to have been constructed from half-truths.
She whispered, “The message said I was leverage.”
Dominic said nothing.
Clara looked up.
“Whose message?”
“An informant.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
The answer disarmed her.
Dominic stood straight.
“Believe this instead. Before the wedding, someone offered me a solution.”
Clara waited.
Dominic’s face had become stone.
“They said the marriage could be avoided.”
“How?”
“You disappear.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Clara didn’t blink.
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means.”
Her throat tightened.
“And?”
“I declined.”
“Why?”
Dominic looked at her.
A long silence.
“Because I don’t murder women to solve accounting problems.”
“That’s your standard?”
“It was at the time.”
At the time.
Clara caught it.
“What changed?”
Dominic’s gaze dropped briefly to the healing cut on her leg.
Then returned to her face.
“Nothing.”
Liar.
She almost said it.
Instead she looked at the documents.
“Who offered?”
“The intermediary was a lawyer named Samuel Beck.”
Clara froze.
Dominic saw it.
“You know him.”
“He worked for my father.”
“When?”
“For years.”
“How many?”
“Since I was a kid.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“Arthur.”
The underboss entered so quickly Clara wondered if he’d been listening outside.
Dominic handed him a paper.
“Find Beck.”
Arthur read the name.
“He disappeared last month.”
Dominic’s eyes went flat.
Arthur continued.
“Office closed. Apartment empty.”
Clara sat down slowly.
Samuel Beck had attended Christmas dinners.
He had bought Tommy baseball tickets.
When Clara graduated college, Beck sent champagne.
Family.
Almost.
Dominic looked at her.
“This is what I meant.”
“What?”
“You’re involved now.”
“I was involved the moment my father put me in that dress.”
Dominic did not argue.
That evening they made a decision.
Or, more accurately, Clara proposed one and Dominic spent fifteen minutes objecting before realizing she was right.
“If somebody wants us divided,” she said, “give them what they want.”
Dominic leaned back.
“You want to fake a fight.”
“We don’t have to fake much.”
Arthur coughed into his fist.
Dominic ignored him.
Clara continued.
“We let the staff hear us arguing. Tomorrow I leave the villa alone.”
“No.”
“I don’t actually leave alone.”
“No.”
“Your men follow.”
“No.”
“Can you expand your vocabulary?”
“No.”
Arthur looked toward the ceiling.
Clara planted both hands on the table.
“If the target is me, they need to believe I’m vulnerable.”
“You are not bait.”
“I’m already bait.”
That stopped him.
Clara stepped closer.
“You can either put me in a locked room while everybody else decides my future, or you can let me help.”
Dominic looked at her for a very long time.
Then he said, “You follow every instruction.”
“I’ll consider reasonable ones.”
“Every.”
“Dominic.”
“Every.”
Clara sighed.
“Fine.”
Arthur murmured, “Historic day.”
Dominic looked at him.
Arthur immediately found the window fascinating.
The plan began the next morning.
Clara and Dominic staged their argument on the terrace.
It required almost no acting.
“You lied to me!”
“I withheld information.”
“That’s lying with better tailoring.”
A maid outside visibly slowed.
Good.
Dominic stepped closer.
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”
“I understand perfectly. Men who think women should smile while they destroy each other.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“No.”
The maid disappeared around the corner.
Dominic leaned closer.
His voice became barely audible.
“She heard.”
Clara whispered back, “Then stop looking like you want to strangle me.”
“I frequently look like this.”
“That explains your social life.”
He almost smiled.
Again.
Clara hated the strange warmth it caused.
Louder, she said, “I’m leaving.”
Dominic grabbed her arm.
Not hard.
Perfect for anyone watching.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Clara pulled free.
“Watch me.”
She stormed inside.
Ten minutes later she walked down the cliff path alone.
Or appeared to.
Arthur had men positioned at three points.
Dominic watched from the villa.
Clara could feel his eyes even when she couldn’t see him.
She reached the lower garden.
Nothing.
Another twenty yards.
Still nothing.
Then her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
ASK YOUR FATHER WHY HE SOLD YOU TWICE.
Clara stopped.
Another message arrived.
AND ASK TOMMY WHO PAID HIS DEBTS.
Her blood went cold.
Tommy.
She turned.
A man stood at the end of the path.
Not the airport man.
Older.
Gray suit.
He looked directly at her.
Then he raised a hand.
Not threatening.
Almost polite.
Arthur’s men moved.
The stranger ran.
Dominic appeared from the upper path seconds later.
“What happened?”
Clara showed him the messages.
Dominic read them.
His face changed at Tommy’s name.
“Call your brother.”
Clara dialed.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
Dominic looked at Arthur.
“Find him.”
Arthur was already moving.
Clara stared at her phone.
Tommy who paid his debts.
“What debts?”
Dominic’s silence answered before he did.
“You know.”
“I know Tommy owed money.”
“To whom?”
Dominic looked at her.
“Calder.”
Clara felt the earth tilt.
“My brother?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Dominic.”
“Two hundred thousand.”
Clara stopped breathing.
Tommy didn’t gamble enough to lose that kind of money.
Unless…
Her father had covered it.
Or thought he had.
A thought formed.
Ugly.
Impossible.
“What if Tommy wasn’t being protected by the marriage?”
Dominic understood immediately.
“What if,” Clara whispered, “he was the reason my father needed it?”
Arthur’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face hardened.
Then he looked at Clara.
“Tommy’s gone.”
The sea moved below them.
Bright.
Beautiful.
Indifferent.
Clara looked at Dominic.
For once, neither had a sarcastic answer.
Because the traitor wasn’t somewhere outside the Gallagher family.
May you like
The trail had just led straight through its front door.
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