-Seven Years Ago-

Dom's hands were doing all kinds of gymnastics on his way to his father's study. Squeeze and open. Stretch and close. A crack of the fingers.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

He hated confrontation, most of all with his father. One does not willingly walk into a confined space with a bull and wave a red flag if one wished to live a long, healthy life. So when Dominic Cole entered the study of Cole Senior, he was braced for a self-inflicted pummeling.

His father was a stoic man, a master of communicating his disappointments in micromovements. A raised eyebrow, a quirk of a lip, the deep creases between his eyebrows pressed together into a solid eleven mark. Dom and his brother learned how to read their father early on, for his silence could be more dangerous than anger.

Crack.

Who knew, there was one more crack left in that pinkie.

Cole Senior looked up from his desk, fountain pen suspended over the heavy cotton pages of a leather-bound journal. The fuzz of graying black hair that wrapped around his temples like a grandfatherly laurel tempered his severe disposition. Shrewd grey eyes lifted over narrow rectangular glasses perched on his Roman nose to look at Dom, and the bushy tuft of black resting over the frame rose in inquiry. What is it? that eyebrow said.

"I'd like to speak with you," said Dom, wiping his palms on his thighs. He remembered a second too late he wore the kind trousers that absorbed well and a light blue shade that stained even better. Cole Senior's eyes took one dip to Dom's trousers and back up again. He might as well have worn a polygraph attached to his body. "It's not right," he blurted.

"It's a business decision, Dominic," said his father with finality, never one to feign ignorance because it would be the polite thing to do. I would be insulting both your intelligence and mine if I did, he'd say. His father leaned back into the chair that groaned like an overworked ox yoked to plow past its prime.

"Jimmy is my godfather," said Dominic. Surely that had to count for something.

"Dominic," his father sighed. Those five excruciating seconds he took to fold his glasses, one side neatly on top of the other, and lay them on the table were an entire soliloquy on how he felt about this discussion. You're too young and uninformed to understand why things must happen the way they do, but this is how it must be. Surprisingly, he dignified Dom with a rare verbal response following the telepathic missive. "And he will still be your godfather. This is business."

Dominic's right hand jittered at his side as if all that cracking earlier didn't sit well with it. "But this is family," he said. "It can't be just business when family is involved."

His father relieved the chair of its burden and rounded the desk, clasping Dom's shoulder. "You're right, which is why I tried everything to avoid this. I love Giuseppe as the brother I never had. You know that. When we first started the company, when it was just the two of us, we were young and naïve and, frankly, could get away with a lot of bad decisions." A corner of his thin, weathered lips lifted as he gazed out towards the crystalline blue surrounding them earth and sky. "We no longer have the luxury of playing at business and chasing every whim, however irresponsible," he said with renewed gravity, the quirk of his lip becoming a comma. "We are a global conglomerate, and we have shareholders that we have a responsibility to—our family is but one of them."

Dominic stared out into the distance, trying to see whatever his father was looking at. He couldn't.

"I bought Giuseppe as much time as I could with the board, tried to get him to stop floundering about. But I cannot stand by and watch him make irresponsible decisions that are putting the future of the company at risk," his father said, meeting Dom's gaze with a quiet intensity. "Your future at risk. I want the company to be flourishing when it's time you and your brother to take the helm. Don't you?"

Dominic's mouth could have been stuffed with cotton. His throat was dry and his voice cracked as he gave the only answer that was acceptable. "Of course. I understand." He could see a flash of pride in his father's eyes. A current of guilt shot through Dom. "When will you tell him?"

"The board announces the decision to remove him as CEO on Monday."

"And who will take over?" As soon as he'd said it, Dom wondered why he'd even bothered asking.

"I will be interim CEO until we hire someone."

Dom could only nod.

His father patted his cheek briefly. "I have great plans for you, my boy."

The relief that this conversation was over competed for control of Dom's mind and body with the cowardice that bubbled just under the surface. Only a coward would be relieved that they didn't need to fight because the decision had been made and things had been set in motion already. If he were a real man he'd have stood his ground, but he always bowed to his father. He wiped his palms on his pants, the contact reminding his legs to wake up and take him away.

"The girl won't be a problem," said his father without so much as a pause of the pen. It was meant to be a question, but it came out like a statement, as all his questions did. A lifetime of never being told no.

Dominic wondered if he looked like a melting candle dripping sweat from both hands. "Uh, no," he said. He didn't trust himself around his father to say more. He was caught between fight or flight, and he chose to roll over and play dead. It was safest, considering the nightmare his brother and his brother's fiancé–correction: former fiancé–went through.

"Good. I look forward to having you with me in London next week when we announce the leadership change. It's important to show unity, and for you to spend time there if you are to run the international division in two years." This was the first time Dominic was learning of this plan. Okay then. "I don't need you distracted by some... summer fling."

"Of course not. It's just harmless fun," Dom said quickly, and hopefully convincing to willing ears. The last time his father had thought a girl was getting in the way of the future of a son, he made sure Natasha disappeared from his brother's life, swiftly. She was but a negligible blip in the grand history of Cole & Sons. Dom kept his expression blank. He focused on the flutter of the curtain, the noise of waves crashing against the shore. Somewhere down the hall, a staccato of receding footsteps punched the silence.

"You have always been smarter than your brother," his father mused. "Fortunately, he's come to his senses. But you've always been the smarter one," he muttered as his pen scratched the page in a flurry. "Always smarter..."

Dom marched out of there before his father could glance up and see him for the lying pane of glass he was. He had protected Clara from his father in one way, but there was no protecting her from what was going to happen on Monday. The clock on their time together was ticking louder and faster, almost like a bomb. They had days now.