Chapter 3 - The Coward’s Return**
Ten minutes later, the heavy oak doors banged open, and Bradley Prescott stormed into the private recovery suite.
He looked breathless, his expensive designer suit slightly rumpled, his hair gel messed up. He had obviously driven straight from the airport or his high-society wedding weekend after realizing that abandoning a pregnant woman without insurance or money had triggered a chain reaction he hadn't anticipated.
“Rachel, what the hell is going on?!” Bradley barked, striding aggressively toward the bed before he noticed the imposing figure standing quietly by the window.
Bradley froze, his eyes widening in sheer terror as he recognized Dominic Russo standing in the shadows of a Boston hospital room.
“M-Mr. Russo?” Bradley stammered, color instantly draining from his tanned face until he looked like a ghost. “I... I didn't know you were... I’m sorry, I was just looking for my wife—”
“Your wife?” Dominic interrupted, his voice cutting across the room like a razor blade. He stepped forward into the dim light, his eyes boring holes into Bradley’s chest. “The woman you dumped by the roadside like trash while she was bleeding out with your unborn children? That wife?”
Bradley swallowed hard, his throat bobbing nervously. “It’s a misunderstanding, sir! We had a disagreement, she’s emotional, she’s dramatic—and honestly, those kids might not even—ow!”
Before Bradley could finish his vile sentence, Dominic crossed the room with blinding speed, grabbing Bradley by the expensive lapels of his suit jacket and slamming him violently against the heavy oak door with a loud thud that rattled the picture frames on the wall.
“If you ever speak another word about Rachel or those children in that tone again,” Dominic whispered, his face inches from Bradley’s, “I will feed you to the fish off the South Boston pier before the sun comes up. Do you understand me?”
“Y-Yes! Yes, sir! Please!” Bradley gasped, his knees buckling slightly under the sheer terror of a man who realized he had just crossed a monster far more dangerous than any divorce lawyer.
Dominic shoved him backward, sending Bradley stumbling onto the floor. Dominic calmly dusted off his cuffs, turned around, and walked back to stand beside my bed, looking down at me with an expression of profound, protective gentleness that contrasted sharply with the violence he had just displayed.
Then, Dominic turned his gaze back to the cowering man on the floor.
“You filed for divorce, Bradley,” Dominic stated coldly, pulling a thick manila folder out from under his arm and tossing it onto the floor beside Bradley’s hand. “So I had my legal team expedite it. Your signature is already forged—excuse me, legally witnessed—and filed with the state supreme court as of twenty minutes ago.”
Bradley scrambled on the carpet, opening the folder with trembling fingers. “You can’t do this! My assets! My company! My name is tied to—”
“Your company was built on venture capital provided through a shell corporation owned by my estate,” Dominic interrupted smoothly. “As of five minutes ago, I have called in every single debt, foreclosed on every commercial property you own, and stripped you of your corporate partnership at Prescott & Vance. You are legally bankrupt, homeless, and stripped of every penny you stole from Rachel.”
Bradley stared at the papers, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Bankrupt? No... no, Britney’s family, they’ll save me, they’ll—”
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“Britney’s father called my office thirty seconds before you walked through that door,” Dominic said with a chilling smirk. “He annulled her marriage to you the moment he saw your credit rating hit zero on the Bloomberg terminal. You’re entirely alone, Bradley. Exactly how you left Rachel.”
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