Chapter 5 - Hospital and Vows of Vengeance
The private medical suite on the top floor of the Romano estate in Manhattan looked more like a five-star hotel than a clinic. Soft lighting, marble countertops, and state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment filled the room.
Dr. Mercer, a gray-haired surgeon who had been the family's personal physician for thirty years, examined my X-rays under the bright viewing light.
"Three clean fractures on the sixth, seventh, and eighth ribs on her left side," Dr. Mercer reported, turning to Dominic and me. "Severe subcutaneous bruising across the chest wall. Thankfully, no lung puncture, but the force of the impact was substantial. Whoever did this put his full weight into the strike."
Dominic stood near the window, his back to us, cigar smoke wafting slowly into the air purification unit. The silent tension coming off him was enough to make the room feel twenty degrees colder.
"How long until she can stand comfortably?" Dominic asked without turning around.
"With tight wrapping, pain management, and bed rest, three weeks," Dr. Mercer said, adjusting my bandages gently. "But she will feel sharp pain for at least six."
"I don't have three weeks," I said, sitting up slowly, fighting through the hot sensation in my ribs. "I have a meeting with the board of Hayes & Romano Design on Thursday."
Dominic turned around, frowning. "You are not going near that company yet, Mallory. Let my lawyers liquidate it."
"No," I insisted, looking my father straight in the eyes. "Studio Romano was my life's work before I put Barrett's name on the door. He didn't build that firm; I did. My blood, my sweat, my designs. I secured every single luxury client we have—from the hotel chains in Dubai to the penthouses on Fifth Avenue. Barrett just sat in the corner office playing CEO while using our corporate account as his personal piggy bank."
Dominic stared at me for a long moment, then stepped closer to the bed. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying he didn't just cheat on me with Taryn Vance," I said, my voice tightening with realization. "Over the past six months, I noticed discrepancies in our firm's offshore accounts. Whenever I asked our CFO, Barrett would laugh it off as tax restructuring. But now... now I realize what he was doing. He was draining my firm to bail out his father's failing commercial real estate firm, Hayes Development."
Dominic turned to Rocco, who was standing quietly near the door. "Get Marcus on the line. I want a full forensic audit of Hayes & Romano Design and Hayes Development by noon tomorrow. Every dollar, every wire transfer, every offshore account."
"Already on it, Don Dominic," Rocco replied smoothly. "Our financial team began digging two hours ago. And we found something interesting."
I leaned forward despite the pain. "What?"
Rocco pulled out a tablet and handed it to me. "Barrett Hayes and Taryn Vance registered a shell company in the Cayman Islands three months ago under the name 'Vance & Hayes Luxury Interiors.' They have been secretly redirecting your major clients' retainer fees—nearly fourteen million dollars—into that account."
A cold laugh escaped my throat. "He wasn't just replacing me in bed; he was replacing me in my own company. Taryn was going to take over my client portfolio once he found a way to discard me."
"They planned to frame you for tax evasion, Miss Mallory," Rocco added grimly. "We found draft documents on Barrett's personal server indicating he was preparing to file for divorce while filing corporate fraud charges against you, using forged signatures to make it look like you were embezzling."
The air left my lungs, not from the broken ribs, but from the sheer darkness of his calculation. He didn't just kick me into a basement tonight; he had been preparing to bury me alive for months.
Dominic walked over and gently touched my head. His expression was no longer just angry; it was deadly focused.
"You wanted him ruined, Mallory," Dominic said softly. "Now you see what kind of monster you were dealing with. He didn't just want your money; he wanted to destroy your life so completely that you could never stand up again."
I squeezed my father's hand, feeling the hardness of his ring against my palm.
"Then let's teach him a lesson, Dad," I whispered, my voice dripping with cold ice. "Let's show Barrett Hayes what happens when you try to bury a Romano."
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"Rocco," Dominic barked softly. "Call our media contacts. Tell them to get their cameras ready for the Greenwich gala this Saturday. It's time to put on a show.
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