Chapter 3 - THE GHOST IN THE MANSION
Her name was Elara. She was six years old, the orphaned niece of a distant cousin of the head housekeeper, Mrs. Eleanor. Tony had extracted her with the quiet efficiency of a ghost. By the time the sun breached the horizon, painting the Miami sky in bruised shades of purple and orange, Elara was sitting on a plush velvet sofa in a secure penthouse miles away from the Russo estate, swinging her legs and drinking a glass of warm milk.
Dominic walked into the room, leaving his suit jacket at the door. He sat in the armchair opposite her, resting his elbows on his knees to bring himself closer to her eye level. She didn't cower. She just watched him over the rim of her glass with those impossibly old, solemn eyes.
"You saved my life today, Elara," Dominic said quietly. He wasn't a man accustomed to expressing gratitude, least of all to children, but the absolute truth of the statement demanded it.
Elara lowered the glass. "Mrs. Eleanor says you're a bad man. A scary man. But bad men don't usually look sad."
Dominic let out a breath that was half a laugh. "Mrs. Eleanor is right about me being dangerous. But in my world, the scary men are the only ones who can protect you from the monsters. Why did you tell me?"
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"Because Miss Serena smiled when she put the black box there," Elara whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. "It was a mean smile. Like the stray cats when they catch a bird. I didn't want you to be the bird."
A fierce, protective instinct ignited in Dominic's chest—an emotion he hadn't felt since his father passed. He realized then that he wasn't just fighting to keep his empire; he was fighting to burn down the rot that had infiltrated his home. He looked at Tony, who stood silently by the door. "Assign two guards to this floor. Only our most trusted. She doesn't leave this penthouse, and nobody but you and I know she's here." He turned back to Elara. "You’re safe now, little bird. I promise."
