Chapter 3 (Noah’s POV)

A shadow darted past the window, the knock still echoing in Noah’s skull. Rain battered the small flat, its cracked walls trembling as he shoved a chair under the doorknob.

His muscles tensed, his hazel eyes wide with panic. A winged tattoo curled across his ribs, a remnant of foster care’s brutal nights, hidden beneath a leather jacket tossed aside.

The room smelled of wet wool and fear, toy trucks scattered on a faded rug, Eli’s crib a silent sentinel. Dominic sprawled on the couch, his broad chest rising slowly, his salt-and-pepper hair tangled and intertwined.

His gray eyes, sharp despite the pain, held Noah’s gaze, a mix of power and vulnerability that stirred something deep. Noah's pulse raced as he hid this man, a mafia king, he was putting everything on the line that could hurt Eli, his two-year-old son who was sleeping through the storm.

“Stay down, alright?” Noah whispered, voice tight.

“Cozy spot you picked,” Dominic murmured, wincing.

“Save the jokes. We’re in deep shit.”

“Deeper than you can think of, kid.”

He pulled a blanket over Dominic, and his fingertips brushed his arm, sending a pleasant tingle through him. The contact stayed with him, bringing back memories of the hidden club kisses he had buried in sarcasm.

At Velvet Mirage, he would stroke a dancer's neck with his lips. His breath caught in his throat as the memory clashed with the figure in front of him. The flat groaned, and the walls spoke about the fight. The city's underbelly was closing in.

“Someone’s out there,” Noah said, peering through a slit in the curtain.

“Likely Caleb’s crew,” Dominic replied, voice low.

“Terrific. I’m a target now.”

“Could be your big break, kid.”

Rain drummed harder, a relentless beat. Noah paced, boots scuffing the floor, his mind spinning. Dominic’s hand flexed, scars glinting, a map of power.

Noah’s pulse jumped, the room shrinking, their breaths mingling in the damp air.

The phone buzzed, shattering the quiet. Riley’s name flashed. He answered, voice sharp. “Yeah?”

“Noah, you okay? Heard weird noises,” she said, voice shaky.

“Rough night. What’s up?”

“Word’s out—someone’s hunting a big shot. Get out!”

“Great, just what I need. Any names?”

“Dominic Voss. They’re tearing River North apart.”

Noah froze, glancing at Dominic. The man narrowed his eyes and nodded without saying anything. Riley's warning hit home.

He could see her red hair and freckled face in his head. She had seen the streets and knew what was at risk from her barstool.

“Riley I think I might have just found him”

“Hide him, Noah. They’ll kill you too,” she urged.

“Easier said. Got a kid here.”

“Smart move. Call if it blows up.”

“Will do. Stay safe.”

He hung up, heart pounding. Dominic shifted, groaning, his coat slipping to reveal more scars. Noah’s gaze lingered, a flush creeping up his neck, the intimacy of the moment thickening.

He stepped closer, adjusting the blanket, fingers grazing Dominic’s shoulder, a soft heat spreading.

“You’re a magnet for trouble,” Noah said, sitting nearby.

“Part of the charm, darling,” Dominic quipped, smirking.

“Charm won’t save us.”

“Got you so far, hasn’t it?”

The banter eased the tension. Noah leaned back, the chair creaking, his thoughts drifting to Eli’s safety, Harper’s call still ringing. Dominic watched, gray eyes softening, a bond growing in the silence. The rain paused, leaving a dripping hush.

“Riley’s right. We’re sitting ducks,” Noah muttered.

“Been worse spots,” Dominic said, patting the couch.

“Like where? A shootout?”

“Try a warehouse brawl. Lived through it.”

Noah chuckled, the sound rough. He rubbed his jaw, stubble scratching, the weight of his choices heavy. Dominic’s hand rested near his, scars catching the light, a silent strength. Noah’s breath quickened, the room a cocoon of heat and uncertainty.

“You’re calm for a dead man,” Noah said, nodding at the wounds.

“Practice makes perfect,” Dominic replied, grinning.

“Hope it rubs off.”

“Stick with me, kid.”

The conversation flowed, a dance of trust. Noah stood, stretching, muscles aching, and checked the door. The chair held, but the knock lingered in his bones. He moved to Eli’s crib, the wood whining, a toy tumbling soft. Dominic’s gaze followed, a quiet intensity building.

“Kid’s your world, huh?” Dominic asked, voice gentle.

“Yeah, my fight,” Noah replied, adjusting a blanket.

“Tough road. You’ve got guts.”

“Guts don’t pay daycare.”

The words hung, a shared understanding deepening. Noah paced again, the floorboards groaning, his mind racing with Riley’s warning. Dominic’s presence filled the space, a blend of danger and allure. The storm came back, and thunder shook the walls.

“Storm’s back,” Noah said, glancing out.

“Fits the mood,” Dominic nodded, shifting.

“Hope it hides us.”

“Doubt it’ll be that kind.”

Noah smirked, the tension easing for a moment. He sat again, the chair scraping, his thoughts tangling with this man’s mystery. The rain pounded, a relentless rhythm. Dominic’s hand moved, scars glinting, a promise of resilience.

“Those scars got stories?” Noah asked, tilting his head.

“More than you’d sleep through,” Dominic said, a faint grin.

“Spill one, then.”

“Earn it first, darling.”

The banter continued, a lifeline in the dark. Noah leaned forward, the space between them shrinking, his pulse racing. The flat trembled, walls holding secrets of survival. Eli stirred, a soft whimper, and Noah’s heart clenched. His anchor, his battle.

A knock sounded again, sharper. Noah tensed, hand on the chair. “Who’s that?”

“Could be trouble,” Dominic whispered, sitting up.

“Or rescue?”

“Unlikely, kid.”

The exchange crackled, a sense of danger pulling tight. Noah moved to the window, rain blurring the view. Dominic’s breath steadied, a quiet strength beside him. The room grew smaller, their presence a mix of fear and draw.

The phone buzzed again. Noah grabbed it, voice low. “Riley?”

“No, it’s Jaxon. Heard you’ve got company,” a deep voice rumbled.

“Who’s asking?”

“Jaxon Cole. Works for Voss. Is that him?”

Noah glanced at Dominic, who nodded. Jaxon’s voice carried weight—tall, broad, with a shaved head and tattooed neck, an enforcer valued for loyalty in the underworld.

“Yeah, he’s here,” Noah said, gripping the phone.

“Smart move. I’ll come. They’re close.”

“Great, more guests.”

“Hold tight, kid.”

The line went dead. Noah’s hands shook, foster care’s shadows, this man’s pull. Dominic watched, gray eyes steady. The rain hammered, a drum of urgency. He moved to the door, the chair wobbling, and listened.

“Jaxon’s coming,” Noah said, turning.

“Good man. Knows the game,” Dominic replied, relaxing.

“Hope he’s fast.”

“Always was.”

Noah checked Eli again, the crib creaking, a toy rolling free. Dominic’s gaze lingered, a quiet fire growing. The flat shook, walls straining under the storm.

Outside, a car shrieked as its tires dug into the wet street.