Chapter 41 Dominic
DOMINIC
Icheck my watch as the elevator climbs to the penthouse. Eight fifteen. Another twelve-hour day spent on damage control. Pike’s attacks on my business interests are exactly what I’d do in his position. I respect the strategy even as I work to counter it.
The doors slide open, and I’m already loosening my tie, my mind still caught in the web of contracts and potential investors to replace Maddox Holdings.
I freeze.
My living room is transformed. Silver and black balloons cluster against the ceiling. A banner—an actual fucking banner—stretches across the wall reading “Happy Birthday, Dom.” Small spotlights highlight wrapped packages on the coffee table.
“Surprise!” Three voices call out in unison.
Cora steps forward with a glass of what looks like my favorite bourbon. Ryder stands beside a three-tier cake decorated in matte black fondant with silver accents. Liam leans against the wall, smirking.
“What is this?” My voice comes out harsher than intended.
Cora’s smile falters slightly. “It’s your birthday. Did you think we wouldn’t celebrate?”
“I don’t celebrate my birthday.” I take the offered drink, needing the burn of alcohol. “How did you even know?”
“I may have looked at your driver’s license while you were sleeping,” Ryder admits, not appearing remotely apologetic.
“And I may have confirmed it with your assistant,” Liam adds.
“Traitors, all of you.” But my lips twitch, betraying me.
“You’re always taking care of everyone else’s needs,” Cora says, stepping closer. Her fingers brush my jaw. “Let us take care of you for once.”
Something tightens in my chest. I haven’t celebrated a birthday since I was seventeen. Haven’t wanted to. Haven’t seen the point.
“Come on, Dominic,” Liam pushes off the wall. “Even control freaks deserve cake.”
“We know you hate surprises,” Ryder says more gently. “But we wanted to show you... you matter to us.”
I look at these three faces—all watching me with different expressions of the same emotion. An emotion I’m not ready to name.
“Fine,” I say finally, finishing my drink in one swallow. “But if there’s singing, I’m evicting all of you.”
Cora laughs, the sound warming me. “No singing, we promise.”
Ryder approaches with a plate holding a homemade cake. “Chocolate bourbon with espresso buttercream. Made it myself.”
“Gifts first or cake?” Liam asks, already pouring himself a drink.
“Gifts,” Cora decides before I can answer. “Mine first.”
Cora hands me a small box wrapped in matte black paper with a silver ribbon. Her eyes sparkle with anticipation as I carefully unwrap it, preserving the paper out of habit.
Inside rests a platinum tie clip with “D.V.” engraved in an elegant script. When I turn it over, three small initials are etched on the back: C.P., L.H., R.C.
“So, I’m with you during those important meetings,” she explains, her voice soft. “All of us are.”
I clear my throat, oddly moved by such a simple thing. “It’s perfect.”
Ryder bounces forward next, handing me a package that feels like a book. I tear the paper to reveal a leather-bound first edition of “The Art of War.”
“You mentioned once your grandfather had this book, but your father sold it after he died,” Ryder says. “Took me weeks to track down this edition.”
I run my fingers over the embossed cover, remembering afternoons spent on my grandfather’s knee as he read passages aloud. “How did you remember that? I barely remember telling you.”
Ryder shrugs. “I listen when you talk.”
Liam steps forward last, handing me a small wooden box. Inside is an antique silver pocket watch with intricate engravings.
“Open it,” he instructs.
The watch face is impeccable, clearly restored. But when I open the back panel, I find a photograph carefully fitted inside—the four of us at the event last week, laughing at something.
“For someone who values control so much,” Liam says, “you should always know what time it is. And who’s waiting for you to come home.”
I look up at these three people who’ve somehow burrowed past my defenses. These gifts aren’t just things—they’re acknowledgments of who I am, pieces of myself I’d mentioned in passing, fragments I’d shared without realizing it.
“Thank you,” I say simply, unable to articulate the weight in my chest.
We move to the dining table where Ryder’s cake sits waiting. He slices into it, revealing layers of dark chocolate and buttercream.
“Jesus, this looks professional,” Liam says, accepting his plate.
Ryder shrugs, but I catch the pride in his eyes.
I take my first bite and close my eyes involuntarily. The combination of bourbon, chocolate, and espresso is perfect—rich without being cloying.
“Good?” Cora asks, watching my face.
“Exceptional,” I admit.
The conversation flows as we eat. Cora talks about the Harbor Point investment, Liam discusses a new case he’s excited about, and Ryder tells a ridiculous story about a card cheat he caught at Purgatory last year.
Something expands in my chest watching them—Cora’s animated gestures, Liam’s sharp wit, Ryder’s unguarded laughter. The thought surfaces before I can stop it: I love them. All of them. Differently but equally.
The realization tightens my throat. My father’s voice echoes in my head: Everyone leaves eventually, Dominic. Don’t be weak.
I set my fork down, feeling three pairs of eyes turn to me.
“You okay?” Ryder asks.
“I’ve never had this,” I say quietly. “People who...” The words stick, refusing to emerge.
“People who what?” Cora prompts gently.
I force myself to meet each of their gazes in turn. “People I love. People who might stay.”
The silence that follows feels endless.
“You love us?” Cora asks, her voice small.
“Yes.” The admission comes easier the second time. “All of you. I love you.”
Ryder’s eyes go wide. Liam’s expression softens in a way I’ve rarely seen.
“Well,” Liam says, recovering first, “that’s convenient, because I don’t know about the other two, but I love you too.”
“Even when you’re being an ass,” Ryder adds with a grin.
Cora rises from her chair and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Especially then,” she whispers against my ear. “I love you, Daddy.”
Cora shifts from hugging me to sliding onto my lap, her weight warm and familiar. Her hands frame my face as she leans in to press her lips against mine. The kiss is gentle at first, then deepens with an intensity that makes my chest ache. When she pulls back, her eyes shine with unshed tears.
“I never thought I’d say those words again after my mother died,” she admits. “I’d given up on love entirely.”
Ryder approaches, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something more vulnerable. He rests his hand on my shoulder, fingers brushing against the nape of my neck.
“I love you too, Dom,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “Have for a while now, actually.”
He turns to Cora and Liam, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “And I love both of you, too, obviously. As if that even needs saying at this point.”
Liam’s laugh is soft as he moves closer, completing our circle. “For someone who talks so much, Ryder, you’ve never actually said the words before.”
“None of us have,” Cora points out.
“Well, I love you,” Liam says simply, looking at each of us in turn. “All of you. Even when you drive me absolutely fucking insane.”
The weight of these declarations settles around us, neither suffocating nor frightening as I’d always imagined it would be. Instead, it feels like coming home to a place I didn’t know existed.
“I’m not good at this,” I admit. “The emotional part. But I want to be. For all of you.”
Cora kisses me again. “You’re better than you think.”