Chapter 3 - The Heir
The glass doors locked behind Dominic.
No return.
No weapon.
No security team.
No twelve-billion-dollar empire mattered once he saw Amelia properly.
She sat against a marble counter twenty yards away.
Her hands were bound in front of her.
One side of her face was red.
Her hair had escaped its loose knot and hung around her shoulders.
Her blue coat was open.
Beneath it, a cream maternity dress stretched across her stomach.
Dominic had seen photographs.
Photographs had not prepared him.
That was his child.
Not an idea.
Not a calculation.
A life.
His son moved beneath the fabric while Dominic watched.
A visible ripple.
Dominic stopped.
Amelia saw him notice.
Something broke across her expression.
Shame.
Anger.
Fear.
Grief.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
Torres stood behind her.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Dominic raised his eyes.
Gabriel Torres looked older than eight months ago.
A scar crossed one side of his jaw where Dominic’s men had nearly killed him during the war that followed the Astoria attack.
He held a revolver loosely.
Three armed men remained in the lobby.
Dominic counted automatically.
One by the eastern stairwell.
One beside the vault corridor.
One near the security desk.
Torres noticed.
“Still counting exits.”
“Habit.”
“You came alone.”
“You asked me to.”
“I thought love might make you stupid.”
Dominic’s gaze moved to Amelia.
“It has.”
She looked at him sharply.
He had never said that word to her.
Not once.
Torres smiled.
“Well. Today may be more entertaining than expected.”
“Release her.”
“No.”
“The other hostages.”
“Eventually.”
“You wanted me. I’m here.”
Torres approached.
“So uncomplicated.”
He struck Dominic across the face with the revolver.
Amelia screamed.
Dominic staggered but remained standing.
Blood touched his lip.
He looked back at Torres.
“Feel better?”
Torres hit him again.
This time Dominic fell to one knee.
“Stop!” Amelia shouted.
Torres turned toward her.
Interesting.
Dominic saw it instantly.
Her reaction mattered to Torres because the entire spectacle depended on Dominic caring.
Pain was not the weapon.
Amelia was.
Dominic rose slowly.
“Gabriel.”
Torres faced him.
“You touch her again, this ends.”
“You’re in no position to threaten me.”
“I’m not threatening you.”
Dominic wiped blood from his mouth.
“I’m explaining what will happen.”
Torres laughed.
“You still believe you control the room.”
“No.”
Dominic glanced at Amelia.
“For once, I don’t.”
That unsettled Torres more than anger would have.
He waved his gun toward the vault corridor.
“Walk.”
Dominic moved.
Amelia tried to stand.
One of the gunmen grabbed her arm.
She winced.
Dominic stopped instantly.
“Careful.”
The gunman smirked.
Torres looked between them.
“There it is again.”
He stepped beside Amelia and placed a hand beneath her elbow.
“Your great weakness.”
Amelia jerked away from him.
“I’m nobody’s weakness.”
Dominic almost smiled despite everything.
“Don’t argue with armed lunatics.”
She glared at him.
“You don’t get to give me instructions.”
“We can discuss that later.”
“There won’t be a later if you keep acting like yourself.”
Torres laughed aloud.
“This is extraordinary. Eight months apart and she still talks to you like that.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“How do you know how she talked to me?”
Too late.
Torres’s smile faltered.
A tiny mistake.
But Dominic caught it.
“You had someone close enough to hear us.”
Torres shrugged.
“You’re losing focus.”
“No. I’m finally gaining it.”
He thought of the hotel.
The surveillance leak.
Amelia’s disappearance.
Someone had known about their relationship while it was happening.
Someone close enough to hear conversations.
Close enough to know Dominic’s movements.
Torres pointed toward the corridor.
“Keep walking.”
They entered the restricted banking wing.
The private vault stood behind a circular steel door.
A manager knelt nearby with his hands tied.
Dominic recognized him.
Jonathan Pierce.
Chief executive of Mercantile Reserve.
Pierce looked terrified.
“Mr. Castellano.”
“Jonathan.”
Torres removed an access card from his pocket.
“You built quite a fortress.”
Dominic said nothing.
“Biometrics, dual authentication, rotating encryption.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
“I’ve had help.”
Again.
A clue.
Dominic watched him.
Torres pressed the card to a reader.
The first vault door opened.
Inside waited another corridor.
At the end was Dominic’s private room.
The ledger.
Torres pointed to the biometric scanner.
“Your hand.”
“No.”
Torres aimed at Amelia.
Dominic placed his hand on the scanner.
The door opened.
Torres’s smile widened.
Money had always protected Dominic.
Today, money was merely another hostage.
Inside the private vault were bearer bonds, drives, sealed documents, emergency passports, and stacks of cash.
But the item Torres wanted rested inside a black case.
Dominic had inherited it from his father.
A leather-bound ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
Sins.
Torres lifted it.
“Twelve billion dollars.”
“That book isn’t worth twelve billion.”
“It destroys twelve billion.”
“Different thing.”
“To you?”
Torres opened the ledger.
“No.”
Dominic glanced at Amelia.
“To me, not anymore.”
She stared at him.
Torres saw it too.
“Careful. She might believe you.”
“I don’t,” Amelia said immediately.
Dominic almost laughed.
Torres looked delighted.
“I like her.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you won’t survive long enough for it to matter.”
Amelia closed her eyes.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“Could you stop threatening people while we’re hostages?”
“He started it.”
Her eyes flew open.
“Are you twelve?”
Torres began laughing again.
For several seconds, absurdity replaced terror.
Then Amelia suddenly gasped.
Her hands moved toward her stomach.
Dominic’s expression changed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Amelia.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pale.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Another gasp.
She bent forward.
Dominic moved.
The gunman blocked him.
“Back.”
Dominic ignored the weapon.
“Amelia.”
She breathed carefully.
“Braxton Hicks.”
Dominic stared.
“What is that?”
Despite fear, she almost smiled.
“Of course you don’t know.”
“Explain.”
“Practice contractions.”
“Practice for what?”
Every hostage within earshot looked at him.
Amelia blinked.
“For childbirth, Dominic.”
He looked genuinely horrified.
Torres’s gunman snorted.
Dominic turned.
“Something funny?”
The man stopped immediately.
Amelia closed her eyes.
“This cannot be my life.”
Another contraction tightened.
This one lasted longer.
Amelia’s face changed.
Dominic noticed.
“That wasn’t the same.”
“It’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m the pregnant one.”
“How far apart?”
“What?”
“The contractions.”
She stared at him.
Dominic’s voice sharpened.
“How far apart?”
“I don’t know.”
Torres grew impatient.
“We’re not turning this into a medical consultation.”
Dominic looked at him.
“She needs a doctor.”
“She needs to cooperate.”
“She’s eight months pregnant.”
“Thirty-five weeks,” Amelia corrected.
Dominic turned back.
Thirty-five.
He calculated automatically.
Early.
Too early.
“Why are you in a bank at thirty-five weeks?”
Her eyes flashed.
“I have a life.”
“Clearly a badly supervised one.”
“You lost the right to supervise anything when you paid me to disappear.”
The words hit the room.
Torres smiled.
Dominic went still.
Amelia’s expression changed as if she regretted saying it in front of everyone.
Dominic deserved it.
“All right,” he said quietly.
She blinked.
No defense.
No command.
No anger.
Just acceptance.
“All right?”
“You’re right.”
That frightened her more than an argument.
Torres closed the ledger.
“Touching. We’re leaving.”
“Through where?” Dominic asked.
Torres smiled.
“You really think the helicopter request was real?”
“No.”
“Good.”
A gunman moved to a hidden service panel.
Dominic recognized the corridor behind it.
Old utility tunnels.
Torres knew the building too well.
Inside information again.
Then Dominic heard something.
A faint electronic chirp.
Once.
Twice.
His eyes moved toward the ledger case.
Torres saw.
“Don’t.”
Dominic understood.
The ledger was bait.
Or the case was.
“Bomb?”
Torres smiled.
“Several.”
Amelia whispered, “I told you.”
Dominic’s gaze hardened.
“What’s the trigger?”
Torres stepped closer.
“You.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if federal agents breach, the lobby goes first. If your people cut power, the vault goes. If I release this switch…”
He held up a small transmitter.
“…everything does.”
Dominic’s expression remained calm.
Inside, he was calculating every possibility.
Then Amelia gasped again.
This time a small wet sound followed.
She froze.
Looked down.
Liquid spread across the marble beneath her shoes.
Every person stared.
Amelia whispered, “Oh, no.”
Dominic’s face lost all color.
“What happened?”
She looked up at him.
“My water just broke.”
Dominic had faced assassins without blinking.
He looked at the floor.
Then at her.
Then back at the floor.
“No.”
Amelia’s eyes widened.
“No?”
“No.”
“What exactly are you saying no to?”
“You’re thirty-five weeks.”
“Yes, Dominic. The baby clearly didn’t check your calendar.”
Another contraction struck.
Amelia folded forward with a cry.
Dominic crossed the room before anyone could stop him.
He caught her.
One gunman raised his weapon.
Torres lifted a hand.
“Wait.”
Dominic held Amelia against his chest.
She gripped his shirt.
Her breathing became ragged.
“Look at me,” he said.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“This hurts.”
Something inside Dominic shattered.
He pressed his forehead against hers.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right.”
For once, Dominic had no solution.
No order that could fix it.
No amount of money that could stop his son from arriving inside a vault surrounded by armed men and explosives.
Amelia whispered, “I need a hospital.”
Dominic raised his head.
He looked at Torres.
Not like a mafia boss.
Not like a billionaire.
Like a father.
“Take the money,” Dominic said.
Torres frowned.
“All of it.”
Silence filled the vault.
“Every account I can transfer. Every route. Every company. Every dollar.”
Amelia stared at him.
Dominic continued.
“Twelve billion. You wanted my price?”
He pulled Amelia closer.
“You found it.”
Torres studied him.
Dominic’s voice dropped.
May you like
“Let her walk out.”
And for the first time, Gabriel Torres stopped smiling.
