Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
The afternoon sun struggled through the heavy canopy of oaks surrounding the Valtieri estate, casting long, fractured shadows across the Persian rug in the massive bedroom. Evelyn sat up slowly, leaning against the carved headboard. Her ribs still throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, but the fog in her brain had cleared thanks to the medication Dr. Mercer had prescribed.
She needed to move. She needed to reach the secondary flash drive hidden inside the hollowed-out dictionary at her mother's house. But the moment her feet touched the hardwood floor, the bedroom door clicked open.
A woman in her late forties with sharp dark hair and a crisp gray apron stepped inside, carrying a heavy silver tray.
“Mr. Valtieri said you’d try to stand up within ten minutes of waking,” the woman said, her tone brisk yet not unkind. “He also said you were stubborn enough to break your stitches if I didn't stop you.”
Evelyn pulled her feet back up, glaring defensively at the tray. “I’m a nurse. I know my limits.”
“And I’m Mrs. Gable. I’ve run this house for fifteen years, which means my limits are the only ones that matter in this hallway right now.” She set the tray across Evelyn’s lap. Warm chicken broth, soft bread, and a glass of water. “Eat. You’ll need your strength if you plan on surviving whatever mess you’ve dragged yourself into.”
As Mrs. Gable turned to leave, Evelyn couldn't help herself. “Wait. Why does he care? Why didn't he just drop me at a normal emergency room?”
Mrs. Gable paused at the door, her expression softening into something distant and melancholic. She glanced down at Evelyn’s wrist, where the silver compass bracelet still rested.
“Mr. Valtieri doesn't do anything without a reason,” Mrs. Gable said quietly. “But some things... some memories from twenty years ago don't fade just because a man builds an empire around himself.”
With that, she slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
An hour later, Dominic returned. This time, he brought a laptop and a thick manila folder, dropping them onto the foot of the bed. He pulled a chair closer, sitting down with an air of absolute authority.
“Your apartment was searched at four a.m.,” Dominic said without preamble.
Evelyn froze, the spoon halfway to her bowl. “What?”
“The front door was kicked in. Your computer was smashed, your papers were shredded, and three men spent an hour tearing your kitchen apart looking for backups.” Dominic watched her reaction closely. “They didn't find anything. Which means either you’re smarter than you look, or you hid your primary insurance policy somewhere else.”
“My apartment is my business,” Evelyn retorted, her chin lifting.
“It was your business yesterday,” Dominic corrected calmly. “Today, you’re breathing my air in a house guarded by twelve armed men, which makes your business mine. Who is Grant Holloway?”
Evelyn stared at him, weighing the risks. She was trapped in the fortress of Greyhaven’s most notorious criminal. Yet, the ordinary police couldn't help her; Holloway had bought every badge in town. If she wanted to survive, she needed a predator who wasn't afraid of a wolf in a tailored suit.
“Grant Holloway is the chairman of St. Catherine’s Hospital Foundation and the primary donor for the upcoming state senatorial race,” Evelyn said, her voice steady. “Fourteen months ago, he initiated a corporate restructuring of the hospital's oncology and intensive care units.”
“Cost-cutting,” Dominic noted.
“More than that,” Evelyn corrected, leaning forward despite the pain in her ribs. “They systematically falsified mortality rates in the underfunded south-wing wards to secure federal research grants for experimental drug trials. When elderly or vulnerable patients died from systemic neglect or unapproved dosages, Holloway’s administration classified the deaths as natural complications.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you found the records.”
“I worked the night shift in the ICU. I saw the discrepancies in medication logs versus autopsy reports. I started tracking the paper trail. It wasn't just administrative error—it was a multi-million-dollar fraud scheme backed by falsified data and silenced whistleblowers.” Evelyn swallowed hard. “Two weeks ago, a senior pharmacist who tried to blow the whistle was found dead in his garage. Ruled a suicide. Except I had coffee with him an hour before his shift; he was planning to meet with federal investigators.”
The room fell dead silent. Dominic stared at her, his expression unreadable, calculating every variable.
“And the bracelet?” Dominic asked suddenly, his voice dropping an octave. “Where did you really get it?”
Evelyn looked down at her wrist, touching the small compass charm. “My grandmother, Sarah Whitmore. She raised me after my parents died. She... she used to live in Philadelphia. She told me once that a man named Antonio Valtieri gave it to her when she was young, before he changed his name and built a new life in Pennsylvania.”
Dominic stood up abruptly, walking over to the large window. His broad back was turned to her, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
“Antonio Valtieri was my uncle,” Dominic said, his voice hard as iron. “And Sarah... Sarah was the only person who ever tried to pull him out of the life before it swallowed him whole.” He turned back to face her, his dark eyes burning with an intense, complicated fire. “She gave you that bracelet?”
“On my sixteenth birthday,” Evelyn whispered. “She told me that if I ever found myself entirely surrounded by wolves, I should find someone who wore the compass.”
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Dominic looked at her for a long, heavy moment. Then, a slow, dangerous smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“Well, Miss Whitmore,” Dominic said softly, walking back to the bed. “Welcome to the pack.”
