Chapter 97: Ghosts of the Past-1

JADE

Snow fell like whispered promises outside the bedroom window. I watched the flakes dance in the glow of the streetlights, piling up on the pristine lawn of the Calvetti estate. Four inches had accumulated since midnight—unusual for Aelbank City. The weatherman had called it a "once in a decade" storm.

I nestled deeper into Dominic's arms, listening to his steady breathing. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM. Sleep eluded me, though not for the usual reasons. No nightmares tonight. No voices. Just an unsettling feeling I couldn't shake.

Three years had passed since José García had taken me. Three years since Blaire died. The memories had faded to dull aches rather than sharp pains, but tonight they felt closer somehow. Maybe it was the snow. We rarely got snow here.

"You're thinking too loudly," Dominic murmured against my hair, his voice thick with sleep.

I smiled in the darkness. "Sorry, Daddy."

His arm tightened around my waist, and I felt him press a kiss to my shoulder. The nickname that had once been innocent, then teasing, had evolved into something intimate between us—a reminder of our unusual history.

"Nightmare?" he asked.

"No. Just thinking."

"About?"

I hesitated. "It's been three years tomorrow."

He didn't need to ask what I meant. January 17th—the anniversary of my kidnapping, of Blaire's death. Dominic's body tensed slightly, and I knew he was fully awake now.

"We don't have to go to the cemetery if you don't want to," he said, though we both knew I would.

"I want to." I turned in his arms to face him. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, his pale skin looked almost translucent, his silver-white hair gleaming. "James texted. He's flying in."

"How is he?"

"Better, I think. He says Kiyana's good for him."

Dominic nodded. James had never fully recovered from losing Blaire, but finding love with Raeni's sister had given him something to live for again.

"Vincent confirmed the meeting with the Russians is postponed due to the weather," Dominic said, changing the subject. "Aleksandr can't get his cars out of the garage."

I snorted. "Tell him to use a fucking plow."

Dominic's lips twitched. "I believe those were my exact words."

I traced my fingers over the dragon tattoo on his chest, feeling the raised scars underneath. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"Do you ever regret it?" I kept my voice neutral, not wanting him to hear the vulnerability. "Marrying me. Making me part of the business."

His blue eyes narrowed. Even in the darkness, I could feel the intensity of his gaze. "Where is this coming from?"

I shrugged. "Just... thinking about choices. Paths taken."

"No." His answer was immediate, firm. "Not for a single moment." He cupped my face, his touch gentler than most would believe the feared mafia boss capable of. "You're everything, Jade. Everything."

The conviction in his voice settled something inside me. I leaned forward and kissed him, slow and deep, feeling the familiar heat build between us. His hand slid down my side, over the swell of my hip, finding the place where his initials were tattooed on my skin.

"We should sleep," he murmured against my lips, even as his body contradicted his words.

"We should," I agreed, hooking my leg over his hip.

Sleep could wait.

Morning came with blinding whiteness. Sunlight reflected off the snow, turning the grounds of the estate into a glittering wonderland. I stood at the window of our bedroom, wrapped in Dominic's black silk robe, watching Quintin and Vincent trudge through the snow toward the garage. They moved in sync, two black figures against the white landscape, leaving parallel trails behind them.

"The security feed looks clean," Dominic said from the bathroom doorway, a towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets clung to his chest and shoulders, catching the light. "No suspicious activity overnight. The snow's keeping everyone indoors."

"Everyone except us," I reminded him. "The cemetery at noon."

He nodded, moving to the closet. "I've arranged for the paths to be cleared."

Of course he had. Dominic left nothing to chance, especially when it came to me.

My phone chimed with a text from Jee-min.

Training canceled due to weather. Use the indoor range instead.

I typed back a quick acknowledgment. Since taking over a portion of the O'Doherty business three years ago, my training sessions had become less frequent but more intensive. My leg injury from the kidnapping had healed well enough, though it still ached when the weather changed—like today. The bullet had shattered my femur, requiring two surgeries and months of physical therapy. The doctors had warned me I might walk with a limp for the rest of my life, but I'd proven them wrong through sheer stubbornness.

The scars remained, though—physical reminders to match the emotional ones.

"I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast," Dominic said, now dressed in black slacks and a charcoal button-down. He crossed to me, tilting my chin up for a kiss. "Don't forget your medication."

"I won't."

After he left, I showered and dressed carefully: black jeans, purple cashmere sweater, and the boots Blaire had given me for my twenty-first birthday—the last gift she'd ever give me. I pulled my hair into a sleek ponytail, the purple dye recently refreshed for the anniversary. Some rituals were worth keeping.

In the bathroom, I opened the medicine cabinet and removed the orange prescription bottle. The dosage had been reduced over the years, but the psychiatrist still insisted I needed it to keep the voices at bay. The ones that had nearly driven me to madness during my captivity, the ones that had whispered for blood and vengeance.

I dry-swallowed the pill and slipped the bottle into my pocket. Better safe than sorry, especially today.

The kitchen was quiet when I arrived, just Dominic at the table with his coffee and tablet, and Maria busy at the stove. The housekeeper had been with us for five years now, one of the few staff permitted to live in the main house. She was Colombian, with no ties to any of the families in Aelbank City, which made her perfect in Dominic's eyes. That, and she made the best huevos rancheros this side of the border.

"Buenos días, Señora Calvetti," she greeted me, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter. "I'm making your favorite."

"Gracias, Maria." I took the coffee and joined Dominic at the table. "Any news?"

He set aside the tablet. "Two of O'Doherty's suppliers are stuck in Cleveland due to the weather. It will delay the shipment by at least three days."

"James won't be happy."

"James will deal with it." Dominic took a sip of coffee, eyeing me over the rim. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." At his skeptical look, I amended, "Okay. Not great, but okay."

He nodded, accepting this. One of the things I loved about Dominic was that he never pushed me to be anything other than what I was. He understood darkness, carried his own demons.

Maria brought our breakfast—eggs for me, fruit and toast for Dominic. His eating habits were as regimented as everything else in his life, a product of his OCD that had only marginally improved over the years.

"Vincent says the Russians want to discuss expanding into South Durham," Dominic said between precise bites of toast. "It's Tolstoy territory, technically, but Aleksandr is willing to split it with us if we provide security."

I considered this while savoring my food. "What's in South Durham that he suddenly wants?"

"New development. University housing, nightlife. Prime territory for his establishments."

"And he needs our firepower because...?"

Dominic's lips twitched. "Because the Mexicans have been sniffing around."

I set down my fork, appetite suddenly diminished. "José?"

"No. Cristiano. Calm down." Dominic reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. "Purely business. He's expanding legitimately—nightclubs, restaurants. Nothing that crosses our lines."

I relaxed marginally. Cristiano and I maintained a careful friendship, much to Dominic's initial displeasure. But time had proven Cristiano's loyalty, and his rise to power within the Sonora Cartel had been accompanied by significant reforms. The drug trade continued, of course—it was their lifeblood—but they respected Aelbank City's boundaries. No drugs in our territory. That had been non-negotiable.

"So what's the problem with Aleksandr?" I asked.

"The problem is that both men want the same prime locations, and neither is willing to back down without something in return."

I smiled. "And they need Daddy to play referee?"

Dominic's eyes darkened at my deliberate use of the nickname, but he kept his composure. "Something like that."

"I could talk to Cristiano," I offered. "We're overdue for a catch-up anyway."

"No." The word was sharp, immediate, and I raised an eyebrow. Dominic sighed. "I'd prefer to handle this officially, through proper channels. Your... friendship with Cristiano complicates things."

The slight hesitation before "friendship" spoke volumes. Dominic had accepted my continued connection with Cristiano, but he'd never be entirely comfortable with it. The ghost of my former relationship with the cartel leader's son would always haunt him, despite my reassurances.

"Fine," I said, resuming my breakfast. "But if things get sticky, I'm stepping in."

Dominic didn't argue. He knew better than to try to contain me completely; it would only make me push harder against the boundaries. That had been our understanding from the beginning—he could protect me, guide me, love me, but never cage me.

We finished breakfast in comfortable silence, the snow continuing to fall outside. For a moment, it felt almost like a normal morning in a normal home. Almost.

The cemetery looked like something from a gothic novel—snow-covered tombstones stretching in neat rows, bare trees with branches reaching toward a gray sky. The groundskeepers had cleared the main pathways as promised, but we still had to trudge through ankle-deep snow to reach Blaire's grave.

James was already there when we arrived, a solitary figure in a black wool coat, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air. He looked thinner than the last time I'd seen him, but his eyes had lost the hollow look that had haunted them for so long.

"James," I called softly.

He turned, offering a small, sad smile. "Jade. Dominic."

Dominic inclined his head in greeting but kept a respectful distance. This was my moment with James, with the shared grief that bound us together.

I approached the headstone, simple white marble with gold lettering:

Blaire Elizabeth Matthews 1999-2022 Beloved Daughter, Friend, and Fiancée "The stars are brighter where you are"

The quote had been my suggestion. Blaire had loved stargazing, could name every constellation in the night sky. I liked to think she had the best view now.

"I brought these," James said, gesturing to a bouquet of white roses resting against the stone. "Her favorite."

"They're beautiful." I placed my own offering beside his—purple tulips. Not traditional, but Blaire would have appreciated the splash of color.

Silence fell between us, broken only by the distant sound of cars on the main road and the occasional call of a bird. I thought of Blaire's laugh, how it would bubble up from deep inside her and spill out like music. How she'd always had a kind word for everyone, even people she didn't particularly like. How she'd seen the good in me when I couldn't see it myself.

"How's the baby?" I asked finally, remembering the letter James had sent announcing Kiyana's pregnancy.

A genuine smile transformed his face. "Growing. The doctor says everything looks perfect. We find out next week if it's a boy or girl."

"Do you have a preference?"

He shook his head. "Just healthy. That's all that matters." He paused, glancing at the grave. "Though Kiyana has a feeling it's a girl. Says she might like to use Blaire as a middle name."

My throat tightened. "That would be... that would be really nice, James."

"I thought so too." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels—a nervous habit I'd noticed years ago. "How are things here? The business?"

"Good. Steady. Dominic's got everything under control."

"And you? How are you holding up?"

I shrugged. "Some days are harder than others. Today... today's not great."

"I know." His gaze returned to the headstone. "I dream about her sometimes. Not nightmares, just... normal dreams. We're having dinner, or walking on the beach, or just sitting together. And for those few moments, everything's okay again." He swallowed hard. "Then I wake up."

I reached for his hand, squeezed it once. "I know exactly what you mean."

We stood there a while longer, sharing memories of Blaire, updating each other on our lives. James spoke of Ireland, of Kiyana, of their plans for the future. I told him about the business, about Dominic and me, about the strange peace we'd found in our unconventional life.

Eventually, Dominic approached, his phone in hand. "I hate to interrupt, but we have a situation developing at the docks." His expression was carefully neutral, but I knew him well enough to read the tension in his jaw.

"What kind of situation?" I asked.

"One that requires immediate attention." His eyes flicked to James. "Both of ours, if you're willing."

James straightened, all traces of sentimentality vanishing from his demeanor. Whatever else he was now—expectant father, devoted husband—he was still O'Doherty's son, still part of our world.

"Of course," he said.

I turned to the grave one last time, pressing my gloved fingers to the cold marble. I miss you every day, B. Watch over us.

"Let's go," I said, taking Dominic's arm.

As we walked back to the cars, the snow began to fall again, delicate flakes that melted on contact with skin. Nature's reminder that nothing lasted forever—not grief, not pain, not even the deepest winter.

But some things endured. The bond between Dominic and me. The family we'd created, not by blood but by choice. The empire we'd built together.

And the ghosts—those we carried with us, always.