1. Dominic

CHAPTER 1

Dominic

T here’s a particular Latin phrase that’s stuck with me for years. Pulvis et umbra sumus . Dust and shadow. The Latin phrase doesn’t just describe life’s fleeting nature—it defines mine. Where I should have turned to dust, I became a shadow instead.

I stay still as the doctor checks my vitals. She’s quiet, singularly focused on her task, but I know that can’t last. Once she’s done, she finally looks into my eyes. Hers are a dull green color, like moss.

“Okay, now that we’re done with your vitals, it’s time to get naked,” she says excitedly.

I roll my eyes. “Every time, Queens.”

“Can you blame me? Those abs are my monthly motivation,” Carly says, grinning as she presses a hand to her chest in mock awe.

“That’s sad, considering you have a boyfriend. Quit objectifying me.”

“No.” She grins innocently.

Still, I hop off the examination table dutifully, already working on the buttons of my shirt. She smiles at me before leading me out of the examination room and into the hospital’s hallway. Her blonde ponytail swishes behind her with every step she takes, her heels clacking against the floor.

Each step echoes too loudly in my ears. My eyes scan every passing face, cataloging features, searching for even the faintest flicker of recognition. Shadows move where they shouldn’t.

I’m simply walking down the hallway with a doctor at my side. We’re not doing anything out of the ordinary. And yet, the feeling that I’m being watched is impossible to throw off.

It takes only a couple of minutes to reach the radiography room.

Carly walks in first and I stay beside the door, close enough to listen as she tells the two other people in the room that they need to leave. The technician uselessly puts up a fight, questioning what the big secret is and why they can’t see the patient. Like he does every single month.

“Because he’s asked that his identity remain a secret, Richard. Now beat it before I smack you upside your head,” Carly tells him.

The technician grunts in annoyance but a second later, I hear the sound of another door in the room being opened. Once I ascertain they’re gone, I walk into the room, taking off my clothes in the process.

“Is Richard going to be a problem?” I ask, removing my glasses before taking out my contacts.

It’s kind of a double authentication. To make me unrecognizable. Different color eyes when I’m walking through the hallways. Glasses. It’s a simple disguise, but it does the job well enough.

For someone who was so intent on ‘objectifying’ me, Carly doesn’t even turn around to look at me as I strip completely before reaching for one of the hospital gowns and putting it on.

“Richard isn’t a problem for you to worry about. I can handle it,” Carly replies, her gaze fixed on the machine. “He’s being kicked out of here every couple of months because of a patient he’s not allowed to meet. Of course he’s offended and a little curious.”

Her tone has a self-assured, matter-of-fact quality. That’s Carly Queens. I’ve always said that trusting nature will land her in trouble one day. She doesn’t know everything, although she likes to think she does.

“Now, get in,” she says, pointing at the machine behind the glass. “You know the drill.”

I nod, opening the door and doing as she said. I lay on the cool, flat surface of the MRI machine, the faint hum surrounding me. I position myself, having done this so many times over the past few years. I don’t need anyone to tell me to lay still, and after a few moments, the machine whirs to life and the rhythmic thumping begins.

I close my eyes, focusing on the looming sound. After about ten minutes, the machine finally stops, and I hear Carly’s voice again.

“All done,” she says, helping me to sit up.

“What’s it looking like?”

Carly purses her lips, her eyes flashing with disappointment. “You know, you can’t keep asking me like that every time.”

“Like what?” I ask dryly.

“Like you’re expecting bad news. It’s been years since your surgery, Dom. Your heart is fine.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Are you saying that as my doctor, or is it just wishful thinking?”

She sighs. “Everything looks normal. Your heart is healthy and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Alright,” I say simply, getting to my feet.

Carly follows as I step out and head toward where my clothes are neatly folded. I start to put them on while she returns to the laptops and display machines, probably to delete evidence of my checkup. By the time she turns around again, I’m already dressed.

“Where are you off to now?”

“Somewhere,” I reply monotonously.

“Jackass,” she mutters. “I know you’re meeting up with Joshy tonight.”

“Somewhere,” I reply monotonously.

“Jackass,” she mutters. “I know you’re meeting up with Joshy tonight.”

“Okay, and?”

“I wasn’t invited,” she says on a pout.

“Yeah, you weren’t.”

“Fuck you, Dom. You guys always leave me out of everything,” she says sadly.

“We’re meeting for official business. It’s nothing personal, Queens.”

“You’re so annoying,” she says on a sigh. “Go, before Richard comes back in throwing a fit.”

I nod, turning around to leave. Then I think better of it and turn around.

“Hey, Queens. Thank you.”

She rolls her eyes. “There’s no gratitude between friends, Dom. If you really want to thank me, show up to my Christmas party.”

“That’s not happening.”

She narrows her eyes. “Ungrateful.”

“You just said there’s no gratitude between friends,” I point out. “See you later.”

“I’ll get you to that party one way or the other, Dominic,” she calls as I walk out of the room.

My phone buzzes in my hand as soon as I step out of the hospital. It’s a text from the Don.

Nicholas Ramirez: There’s a table meeting later today.

Me: So?

Nicholas: I know you’re not going to show up. I’m just obligated to inform you.

Me: Much obliged, Ramirez. What’s this meeting about?

Nicholas: The Russians.

Of course. They’ve been a thorn in our side the past couple of months. We’ve been toeing the edge of war, each side a potential bomb that’s set to explode. Although with the state of things now, I’d say it’s likely our side will blow first.

Me: How’s Volkov?

I send the text before I can think too much about it. It’s not in me to care, and while Adrian Volkov is a particularly annoying piece of shit, he’s also been through hell the past few months.

Nicholas: He’s AWOL. Careful, I might actually think you have a heart.

My lips thin.

Me: Of course I have a heart. Do you want me to find him or not?

Nicholas: Leave him be. As long as he’s not causing trouble, it might be good for him to have some time to himself.

Me: Alright. What do you plan to do with the Russians?

Nicholas: What do you think I should do?

I ponder it for a couple of seconds. On one hand, a partnership between us is highly beneficial and the Russians would be a bad enemy to have. On the other hand, their leader fucked up by denying Adrian his revenge. There’s a code in the mafia, and he broke that code. He broke a deal. I also don’t believe both the Cosa Nostra and the Bratva can coexist for long without a fight breaking out eventually. But perhaps that’s just the cynic in me.

Me: You should put it to a vote.

It’s a dicey situation. One man can’t decide what is to be done on his own.

Nicholas: I plan to. Which is why I’m asking you what you’re leaning toward.

Me: The meeting is tonight, right? I’ll tell you my answer then.

Nicholas: Okay.

The conversation ends and I slide my phone into my back pocket. I walk to the parking lot, finding my car and getting in. I debate heading home before meeting up with Joshua in two hours, but decide against it.

We’re meeting in public, at a small restaurant in the middle of town. It’s probably a good idea for me to arrive early. Survey the place before he arrives, just in case there’s danger lurking.

It’s how I’ve lived my life for as long as I can remember. Looking over my shoulder constantly, with the belief that the same shadows I find solace in will eventually consume me.

The door chimes as I step inside the small restaurant. What hits me first is the scent of pine, cinnamon, and vanilla sugar, swirling together in an overload of Christmas cheer. Red and gold lights hang everywhere, and there’s a Christmas tree in the corner, flashing obnoxiously with loud multi-colored LED bulbs. I pull my coat a little tighter, my gaze drifting to the back corner. More people gravitate to the windows, or the big fireplace in front, leaving me to stalk toward the back alone.

I slide into a seat, keeping my back to the wall and my gaze on the door. Joshua isn’t here yet, so I settle in, fingers tapping on the table in a steady rhythm. I’m used to blending in, finding the edges of places where no one will notice me. It’s pretty easy to do so here, with the restaurant’s crowd too busy oohing and aahing over the Santa figurines and fake snowflakes.

What the hell kind of restaurant did Josh pick?

Ten minutes later, he appears. I spot him at the door, watch as he does a casual, half-irritated scan of the room. His eyes find mine and he nods, making his way through the maze of festive chaos. When he sits across from me, he’s already frowning at the holiday music playing in the background.

“Festive, isn’t it?” I say, deadpan.

“Yeah, if you’re five,” he mutters, scowling.

“You picked this place,” I remind him.

His scowl deepens. “I didn’t know it turns into the Christmas Wild West this early. It’s still November. Thanksgiving is still, like, a week away.”

I’m about to respond when, from the middle of the room, a group of kids—six, maybe seven years old—gather in front of the Christmas tree, wearing red and green hats. They start singing “Jingle Bells” in that loud, high-pitched, overly enthusiastic way kids do, waving their arms and bouncing with the music.

Joshua groans softly, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat. I keep my face blank.

It’s just noise , I tell myself, staring at the tabletop as the kids hit the chorus even louder. But also, can they please fucking stop?

“Can they please shut up?” Joshua grits out.

I arch an eyebrow, leaning back in my chair. “You’re a little bundle of joy, aren’t you?” I drawl. “They’re little kids trying to earn money. Don’t be a dick.”

At least I had the grace not to say it out loud.

“But I’m so good at being a dick.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you even hear yourself when you speak?”

“Yeah, and I sound amazing,” he retorts.

Joshua Benson is a lost cause. I learned that for a fact when I was thirteen. There are two things he’s never going to do: stop being annoying, and leave me alone. He’s said so himself, and I’ve given up trying to change his mind.

Technically, he is my best friend, he and Carly. I’ve known them both for more than half my life. And if I’m being honest, I probably wouldn’t be here without them.

The waiter arrives to collect our order. She shows us the menu, which of course is Christmas themed, and I go for a turkey and cranberry sandwich, something simple. Josh orders a burger with some mulled wine I don’t really care for. I request a cup of coffee with my meal. She leaves to deliver our order to the kitchen.

As soon as I’m gone, my eyes meet Josh’s light blue ones.

“What?” he asks unassumingly, pulling at the tie around his neck.

He takes it off outright, shoving it in the briefcase he placed on the chair beside him. He runs a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it. It’s unfortunate the kind of work he does requires him to be put together at all times. Josh is a coil of tight control waiting to snap. Restless energy circles him, kind of the opposite of me. It’s a wonder we’re even friends.

“This is the part where you tell me what you’ve found,” I reply. “Don’t keep me waiting, Benson. Did you find anything?”

He makes a face and reaches into his briefcase once again, pulling out a file. He seems to hesitate before placing it on the table between us.

“Yes, I did. But I don’t like what I found,” he says, his expression strained.

Interesting.

I reach for the file, but he puts one hand on it, keeping it in place. I raise an eyebrow in his direction, my expression unamused.

“First tell me what you want with her,” he states. “You’re not going to kill her, are you?”

I shrug. “It depends.”

“See, this is my problem with you, asshole. You can see I’m already struggling here. The least you could do is lie and ease my guilt so I can hand this over in good conscience.”

“There’s nothing about this that spells good conscience, Joshua,” I state. “Plus, I’m always honest.”

“A quality of yours that pisses me off to no end,” he mutters.

“Are you going to hand it over or not?”

He doesn’t reply, keeping his hand in place. Something in my chest squeezes lightly.

“You know her.”

It’s not a question. Josh nods slowly.

“You were right. She also happens to work on my team,” he says, giving me the answer I’d been hoping for. The pressure in my chest increases. “Listen, man, she’s a good person, okay. She doesn’t deserve to be mixed into whatever shit you’ve got going on?—”

I stop listening to him, taking advantage of the distraction to snatch the file from under his hand. He makes a face of resignation as I open it and start going through the papers. It’s exactly what I expected.

I’ve been looking for someone for a while now. I don’t even remember how long anymore. The timeline has blurred in my need to find her—a woman I’ve never met, a woman who has nothing to do with me. And yet, the need to find her continued to grow until it bordered on obsession. Until I knew, I’d do anything to figure out who she was.

I have access to any and all information I could possibly want in the States. But when it comes to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, things are a little dicey. I can’t exactly just hack into their server, but I’ve had my suspicions for a while that the reason I can’t find her was because they’d hidden her.

Luckily for me, I have a friend who happens to work for the organization. I debated asking Josh for help for a long time. Like he said, it goes against his conscience, and despite his appearance, he’s actually one of the most straight-laced people I know. Maybe that’s why he became something akin to a cop.

My fingers fall to a stop when I reach a piece of paper with her face on it. I pause, studying it, memorizing her features. Objectively, she’s a beautiful woman. Long black hair, green eyes. It’s a face that has eluded me for a long time. If I tried to run a facial recognition through every single server I have access to right now, it would come up with nothing.

Like me, she’s a ghost in her own right. Which is why I was so intent on finding her.

“Dominic,” Joshua calls, drawing my attention. I look up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What are you going to do with her?”

I look back at the papers in my hand. My gaze lingers on her photograph, then drifts to the name at the top of her file—Madelyn Flores. Not her real name, an alias she’s been living under for the past fifteen years. I shrug, looking back at my friend.

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly.

I could return the file and walk away, close this chapter for good. But turning the page isn’t in my nature—not when so many questions remain unanswered.

I tried hard to find her, and now that I have, it should be over. A better man would leave her alone. But that’s something I’ve never claimed to be.

“There’s no information on her life before the FBI got involved,” I point out in question.

A muscle ticks in Joshua’s jaw., “That’s classified information not even I have access to.”

“Hmm,” I say in acknowledgment.

Interesting. Our food arrives, and Joshua’s immediately distracted. He digs in, leaving me to my thoughts on my next course of action.

I still have a lot of questions. Which means I can’t leave herMadelyn Flores alone.