Chapter 5

Dominick sat in the large leather armchair facing the door. He held the Cartier hairpin between his long fingers, turning it slowly. The gold caught the dim light of the lounge. His face was a mask of cold stone.

Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

The oak doors were shoved open violently. Donte Mccarthy, Dominick's massive head of security, walked in. His huge hand was wrapped tightly around the back of another man's neck.

Donte shoved the man forward. Brenton Trevino-Duncan stumbled into the room. His expensive loafers caught on the thick carpet, and he fell hard onto his hands and knees.

Brenton looked up, his face pale and sweating. He had just stepped off a private jet from Miami an hour ago. He had no idea why his cousin's security team had grabbed him off the tarmac and dragged him here.

Dominick stopped turning the hairpin. He looked down at Brenton. His black eyes were empty of any familial warmth.

The air pressure in the room dropped. It felt hard to breathe. Brenton swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Dominick..." Brenton started, his voice shaking. "What is this?"

Dominick slowly raised his left hand. He pointed a long finger at the marble coffee table.

Brenton followed his finger. He saw the single, black high heel with the red sole sitting next to the whiskey decanter. Brenton stared at it, completely confused.

"Who authorized you to use the name Trevino-Duncan to access my private floor?" Dominick asked. His voice was very quiet, which made it infinitely more terrifying.

Brenton's eyes widened in horror. He shook his head frantically, his styled hair falling into his eyes.

"No! No, I swear to God!" Brenton yelled, his voice cracking. "I've been in Miami for three months! I haven't touched anyone in New York! I haven't done anything! I don't know who used my name!"

Dominick stared at his cousin's pathetic, lying face. "So," Dominick continued, his tone dropping to an absolute freeze, "it was just a convenient coincidence that a woman used the name of my branch family to break into my penthouse?"

He remembered Alya pressing her body against his chest. He remembered her whispering that she would pay 'any price' because she thought he was this piece of garbage kneeling on the floor.

A sudden, violent rage exploded in Dominick's chest.

He didn't yell. He didn't stand up. He simply reached out and grabbed the heavy, solid crystal ashtray sitting on the side table next to his chair.

With a vicious flick of his wrist, Dominick hurled the heavy crystal directly at Brenton's head.

The ashtray flew across the space. It grazed the side of Brenton's forehead with a sickening thud before smashing into the wood-paneled wall behind him. The crystal shattered into a hundred sharp pieces, raining down on the carpet.

Brenton screamed. He threw his hands up to his head. Bright red blood immediately welled up from the gash on his forehead, running down his fingers and dripping onto his expensive white shirt.

Donte stood by the door. He didn't blink. He didn't move a muscle. He watched the blood drip onto the carpet with absolute indifference.

Dominick slowly stood up from the armchair. He walked over and stood right above Brenton, who was now curled into a ball, sobbing and holding his bleeding head.

"If I ever hear a rumor connecting my name to your disgusting habits again," Dominick said, his voice a low, vibrating growl, "I will have Donte break both of your legs. Do you understand me?"

Brenton squeezed his eyes shut. Tears mixed with the blood on his face. He nodded his head up and down as fast as he could. "Yes. Yes, I understand. I swear."

Dominick looked away. The sight of Brenton made him sick.

He looked at Donte.

"Throw this trash back on the plane to Miami," Dominick ordered coldly. "Freeze every single credit card attached to his name. Cut his allowance to zero."

Brenton gasped, looking up with wide, terrified eyes.

"And," Dominick continued, his voice devoid of mercy, "remove his security clearance. He is banned from the core family board meetings for the next three years."

Brenton let out a choked wail of despair. Being cut from the board meant he was effectively dead in the family hierarchy. But he didn't dare say a word.

Donte stepped forward. He grabbed the collar of Brenton's ruined shirt and hauled him to his feet. He dragged the bleeding, crying man out of the room.

The heavy doors closed, cutting off Brenton's pathetic sobbing.

The room was silent again. Dominick pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his hands slowly, as if he had touched something diseased.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked out at the glittering lights of the Manhattan skyline. His mind immediately went back to the woman with the dark hair and the terrified eyes.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He dialed a number. It rang once before it was answered.

"Gerard," Dominick said to his chief assistant. His voice was back to its normal, icy calm. "A woman broke into the 17th floor tonight. Find out exactly who she is. I want her entire background on my desk by morning."

Dominick ended the call. He looked at his own reflection in the dark glass of the window. A slow, predatory smile touched the corners of his mouth.