Chapter 3 - The Jetway at Midnight
The private terminal lights of Miami International Airport glinted off the rain-slicked tarmac as the Boeing 737 taxied to a halt at Gate D4.
The captain turned off the seatbelt sign, but nobody in the first-class cabin stood up. The atmosphere was heavy, saturated with an unspoken tension that had rippled through the aircraft ever since the stewardesses lowered the cabin lights for landing.
Clare held Maya tight in her lap. Her hands hadn't stopped shaking for two hours.
Outside the thick cabin window, flashing amber and red lights swept across the wet concrete. Two airport police cruisers were parked directly beneath the jetway stairs.
"Mama," Maya whimpered, burying her small face into Clare's neck. "Too bright."
"Shh, baby. It's okay. Mommy's got you," Clare whispered, though every instinct inside her was screaming to run.
Domenico stood up smoothly, buttoning his tailored jacket over his broad chest. He reached down and picked up Leo, who was awake now, blinking curiously at the soft ambient lights of the cabin.
"Stay close to me," Domenico told Clare, stepping into the narrow aisle.
"Mr. Salvatore," Clare said, grabbing his sleeve before he could move ahead. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of gratitude and profound terror. "If they have a warrant—"
"They don't have a warrant," Domenico interrupted calmly. "A police report filed by a bitter spouse three hours ago is not a judicial warrant. Richard Jensen tried to use the system to ambush you at the gate. He didn't account for who would be waiting on the other side."
The aircraft door hissed open, a rush of warm, humid Florida air spilling into the air-conditioned cabin.
Standing in the jetway, bathed in the harsh yellow light of the terminal, were three individuals. On the left stood two uniformed Miami-Dade police officers, their hands resting casually near their utility belts. On the right stood a tall, silver-haired man in a immaculate three-piece charcoal suit, holding a leather briefcase.
"Domenico," the silver-haired man said, stepping forward immediately.
"Julian," Domenico acknowledged with a single nod. "Is it sorted?"
The lawyer, Julian Vance, pulled a thick stack of legal documents from his briefcase with practiced ease. He turned to face the two police officers, his tone sharp, professional, and entirely devoid of fear.
"Officers," Julian said smoothly. "My name is Julian Vance, senior counsel for Salvatore Global. I am presenting you with certified copies of an emergency ex-parte protection order issued by the State of New York, granting Ms. Clare Jensen sole legal physical custody of her daughter, Maya Jensen. Furthermore, there is an active restraining order against Mr. Richard Jensen, who is currently in violation of state statutes by submitting false police reports."
The senior officer frowned, looking from the papers to Clare, who was standing behind Domenico's towering frame, holding her daughter like a shield.
"Sir," the officer said, "we received a broadcast from NYPD regarding a missing child—"
"And you have now been served with judicial proof that the child is in the lawful custody of her mother," Julian interjected smoothly, leaning in slightly. "If you make an arrest tonight based on a unverified civil complaint, my office will file a civil rights lawsuit against your department before the sun comes up. Ms. Jensen is a private guest of Mr. Domenico Salvatore. She will be departing in our private transport."
The two officers exchanged a quick, wary glance. They knew Julian Vance's name; every judge in South Florida knew Julian Vance's name.
"Is the mother willing to provide a statement at the precinct tomorrow?" the officer asked, stepping back half a pace.
"Ms. Jensen will provide a full deposition at my office tomorrow morning at ten," Julian replied firmly. "Good evening, gentlemen."
Clare felt her heart drop out of her throat. She stared at the officers as they slowly nodded, tapped their caps, and turned back down the jetway toward the main terminal.
They were letting her go.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, her forehead coming to rest against Maya's soft hair.
"Come," Domenico said quietly, placing a broad, warm hand gently on the small of Clare's back, guiding her past the jetway doors toward a private elevator. "My car is waiting downstairs."
As the heavy steel doors of the private elevator slid shut, sealing out the noise of the public airport, Clare looked up at Domenico.
"Thank you," she choked out, tears finally breaking past her defense. "You... you saved us."
May you like
Domenico looked down at her, his dark eyes solemn and unreadable in the soft elevator light.
"The night is far from over, Ms. Jensen," he said quietly. "Richard Jensen didn't just call the police. My security team intercepted three calls from a private investigation firm hired by your ex-husband. He's already in Miami."
