Chapter Four

Rain drummed harder as Dominic signaled her forward, two fingers slicing the dark. Aria clutched the flash drive until the metal edges bit her palm. Behind them the single set of footsteps crept closer, deliberate, like someone savoring the hunt.

Dominic moved with a silent precision that made the massive space feel like his personal map. He didn’t glance back, yet he seemed to know exactly where she was. Lightning caught him in fragments broad shoulders, a face carved in sharp angles, water slicking black hair against his temple. Even in this chaos, the sight hit her low in the stomach.

Focus, she scolded herself. Not the time.

She kept low, knees brushing splinters, breath hot against the damp air. Every creak of the old floorboards shot a spike through her chest.

The footsteps stopped.

A sudden hush pressed against her ears. Even the distant tide seemed to pause.

Dominic tilted his head. His eyes found hers in the dark, steady and unreadable, then flicked toward a narrow service corridor. He mouthed, Go.

They slipped through a slit between crates. The hallway beyond smelled of rust and diesel. Water trickled down a cracked concrete wall, catching the dim glow of a lone bulb.

A metallic clang echoed. Someone kicking a crate. Then another sound: the dry, unmistakable click of a safety being released.

Dominic shoved her flat against the wall just as a muzzle flash flared behind them. His body covered hers, solid and warm despite the cold. For an instant she felt the heat of him through soaked clothes, the steady rhythm of his breath against her cheek, and it sent a shiver that had nothing to do with fear.

The bullet whined off steel inches from her shoulder.

Adrenaline burned her veins. She wanted to scream, to run, but the calmer voice in her mind cut through the panic: You came for the truth. You finish this.

Dominic’s hand slid briefly over hers, firm, grounding. “Stay behind me,” he whispered, his breath a rough whisper against her ear.

He stepped into the corridor’s bend and fired twice. The gunshots cracked like lightning. A body thudded to the floor with a strangled cry, but another pair of footsteps pounded closer.

Dominic caught Aria’s wrist and pulled her into motion. They sprinted through the maze of rusted machinery until a steel door loomed ahead. He shouldered it open, shoving her into the storm.

The docks were a blur of rain and sodium light. Cold wind slapped her soaked hair against her face. Dominic dragged her beneath a stack of shipping containers and crouched, scanning the shadows.

“Two of them,” he said, voice low but calm. “One down.”

Aria tried to steady her breathing. “Who are they?”

“People who don’t like loose threads.”

Another gunshot snapped across the night, ricocheting off a container. Sparks danced where metal met metal.

Dominic’s jaw tightened. “Stay here.”

Before she could protest he was gone, melting into darkness like he’d never been there. She pressed against the cold steel, every sense straining. Rain ran in icy rivers down her back. She hated how aware she was of the space he’d left, how quickly she wanted him to return.

Seconds stretched. Then, a grunt, a crash, silence.

Dominic reappeared, dark coat plastered to his shoulders, a streak of blood on his knuckles. Even battered, he carried an effortless power that made her pulse jump. “It’s clear.”

“What did you…”

“They’ll live,” he said flatly. “But they won’t follow tonight.”

He led her to a black sedan idling in the shadows. The door opened without a sound; the driver, a broad-shouldered man with eyes like polished stone, gave no sign of surprise.

Dominic slid into the back seat and motioned for her to follow. “Get in before the police arrive.”

Aria hesitated for only a second. Rain, danger, and a dozen unanswered questions pushed her inside.

The city blurred past, neon streaking across the windows. Heat seeped from the car’s vents, carrying the faint scent of leather and gun oil and something warmer she couldn’t name.

Aria hugged her arms, trying to slow her thoughts. “You set that up,” she said finally.

Dominic studied her, one elbow resting on the door. Up close, the angles of his face were even sharper, eyes a stormy gray that seemed to read everything. “If I wanted you dead, you’d never have made it to the pier.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” he agreed, “it isn’t.”

The driver turned down a narrow street lined with shuttered warehouses. A hidden garage door rolled upward to reveal a cavernous loft lit by warm industrial lamps. Inside smelled of coffee and machine oil, not the blood she half-expected.

Dominic removed his coat and handed it to the driver. “Get this cleaned.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, disappearing without a glance.

Aria remained near the door, wary and annoyingly aware of how the wet shirt clung to his chest, the way water beaded on his skin. “Where are we?”

“Safe,” Dominic said simply. “For now.”

He crossed to a steel counter and poured two glasses of amber liquor. “You have questions. Ask.”

She stayed standing. “Who sent those men?”

“Rivals. People who’d rather you never publish what’s on that drive.”

“You keep calling it evidence. Evidence of what, exactly?”

Dominic’s eyes caught the light, black and unblinking. “Everything the city pretends not to see, names, accounts, routes. Enough to burn down half the political machine if it ever went public.”

Aria gripped the flash drive in her pocket. “Why give it to me?”

“Because you’re the only one stubborn enough to run it. And because you haven’t sold your soul to anyone else yet.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “That sounds a lot like using me.”

“It’s trusting you,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “There’s a difference.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with the smell of rain and heat from the vents. She became sharply conscious of the inches between them, of how easily those inches could disappear.

Aria finally sank into a chair, exhaustion seeping through her adrenaline. “If I take this story, I become a target.”

“You already are.”

He set his glass aside and moved closer, the subtle heat of him cutting through the chill. “The moment you aimed that camera at me, the game changed.”

Her heartbeat answered before she could. Part fear, part something she didn’t want to name.

Dawn seeped gray through the high windows when Aria finally drifted into uneasy sleep on the loft’s couch. She woke hours later to the aroma of coffee and the quiet rustle of papers.

Dominic stood at a long steel table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, studying a spread of maps and documents. Morning light etched sharp lines across his face, making him look more like a strategist than a criminal.

“You should eat,” he said without looking up.

Aria sat, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Is this your hideout?”

“One of them.”

“Do you always rescue nosy reporters?”

That earned the faintest curve of his mouth. “Only the ones reckless enough to interest me.”

Her cheeks warmed despite the chill. She busied herself with the coffee he’d set out, rich and dark.

The flash drive lay beside the maps. She reached for it, but his hand covered it first. Light, not restraining, yet undeniably firm.

“When you walk out of here,” Dominic said, “you’ll have a choice. Publish and watch the city burn. Or hold it and stay alive.”

“I didn’t come this far to bury the truth.”

“Then you’ll need help.”

“Yours?” she asked.

His gaze held hers, unflinching. “If you want to live.”

Something electric sparked in the quiet between them. The world outside the loft felt suddenly distant, unreal.

Aria forced herself to look away. “I work alone.”

“Not anymore.”