Chapter 8 - The Verdict
The manor in Bratenahl was locked down tight.
Reinforcements had arrived—six black SUVs were parked in the courtyard, twenty heavily armed guards patrolled the grounds, and the heavy wrought-iron gates were chained shut.
Upstairs in the yellow bedroom, Rosie had finally cried herself to exhaustion. Claire had bathed her, washed the smell of lake water and smoke from her hair, and sung to her until the little girl fell into a deep, troubled sleep, clutching her faded rabbit with both hands.
Claire quietly closed the bedroom door and walked down the long, dim hallway.
She felt completely numb. Every muscle in her body ached from the sheer adrenaline crash. She walked down the grand staircase into Dominic’s private study—a massive room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, dark mahogany paneling, and tall arched windows overlooking the black, churning waters of Lake Erie.
Dominic stood by the window, staring out into the dark.
He had changed out of his blood-splattered clothes into a black sweater and dark trousers. A heavy glass of amber scotch sat on the desk behind him, untouched. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed, looking like a man who had just watched his entire world crumble to dust.
He didn't turn around when she entered, but he knew she was there.
“The men in the park,” Dominic said, his voice dead, devoid of all life. “They were Moretti’s primary hit squad. Sal Moretti didn't want the thirty thousand dollars. He wanted leverage. He knew you were staying here. He thought if he took you, he could force me to surrender the port terminals.”
Claire stopped in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “They tried to kill a child, Dominic. They fired automatic rifles at a five-year-old girl.”
“I know,” Dominic whispered.
He turned slowly to face her. In the dim light of the desk lamp, his face looked aged, carved from cold ash. The guilt in his dark eyes was so vast, so suffocating, that it seemed to fill the entire room.
“I brought this to your door,” Dominic said, his voice cracking with self-hatred. “I told myself I was protecting you. I told myself that bringing you here was noble. But the truth is… I was selfish, Claire. I saw something pure, something good, and I wanted it inside my house. And I almost got you both killed.”
Claire looked at him, her heart aching at the profound misery radiating from his powerful frame.
“You’re going to tell me to leave,” Claire said quietly.
Dominic closed his eyes, a muscle ticking violently in his jaw. When he opened them, the cold, ruthless boss was gone. Only a broken man remained.
“Raymond has a private jet waiting at Burke Lakefront Airport,” Dominic stated, every word clearly costing him a piece of his soul. “He will fly you and Rosie to Vermont. I have a house there, tucked in the mountains, completely off the grid. No syndicate knows it exists. I have transferred enough money into a blind trust to ensure that neither you nor Rosie will ever have to work another day in your lives. You can bake. She can go to school. You will be safe.”
“And you?” Claire asked, taking a step toward him. “What happens to you?”
“I have a meeting with Salvatore Moretti tonight at midnight,” Dominic replied, his voice chillingly flat. “At the salt docks. By dawn, the Moretti family will no longer exist in this city.”
He looked at her, his eyes pleading with her to understand.
“I am a monster, Claire. You saw it today. You saw what I do. You saw who I really am. I cannot wash the blood off my hands. And I love you too much to let it stain you.”
Claire froze.
*I love you too much.*
The words hung in the heavy air between them, ringing like a silver bell in a dark room.
Dominic turned away, walking toward the French doors leading to the terrace, as if preparing to banish himself from her sight.
“Dominic.”
A small, thin voice broke the silence.
Dominic stopped dead.
Standing in the doorway of the study, wearing her oversized pink flannel pajamas, was Rosie. She held her faded rabbit by one paw, rubbing her sleepy eyes with the other.
Claire rushed to her side, dropping to her knees. “Rosie, sweet pea, what are you doing out of bed? You should be sleeping.”
Rosie didn't look at Claire. Her hazel eyes were locked onto Dominic.
Dominic couldn't move. He stood frozen by the terrace doors, looking down at the little girl with pure terror in his eyes—the terrified realization that the child had seen him kill three men today, that she must view him as the ultimate nightmare.
Slowly, her little bare feet padding softly across the thick oriental rug, Rosie walked toward him.
Dominic stepped back slightly, an instinctive desire to retreat, to keep his darkness away from her innocence.
Rosie stopped right in front of his legs. She looked up at his massive, towering frame, her head tilted thoughtfully, just like she had at the restaurant on their first date.
“Dominic?” she piped up.
Dominic swallowed hard, his throat tight, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Yes, Rosie?”
“On the date… I asked if you were one of the bad guys.”
Dominic closed his eyes, bracing himself for the verdict. “I remember.”
“And you said it depends on who’s telling the story.”
“I did.”
Rosie reached out her small hand, her tiny fingers wrapping around two of Dominic’s large, scarred fingers.
“Those men in the park were bad guys,” Rosie said with absolute, unyielding certainty. “They tried to hurt Auntie Claire. But you drove your car fast, and you stopped them. You protected us.”
She tugged on his hand until Dominic slowly, painfully sank down onto one knee, bringing his eyes level with hers.
Rosie reached up with her free hand and patted the rough scar above his left eyebrow.
“I decided,” Rosie whispered solemnly. “You’re our bad guy. That means you’re on our team.”
A single, silent tear broke free from Dominic’s eye, tracking slowly down his scarred cheek. He let out a ragged, shuddering breath, his large hand gently closing around Rosie’s tiny fingers.
“Our team,” Dominic repeated, his voice thick with raw, overwhelming emotion. “Yes, little one. Always.”
Behind them, Claire wiped the tears from her own cheeks. She walked forward and placed her hand on Dominic’s broad shoulder.
When Dominic looked up at her, Claire didn't look at him with fear or disgust. She looked at him with a fierce, unbreakable love that eclipsed all the darkness of his world.
“We’re not going to Vermont, Dominic,” Claire said softly, her brown eyes blazing with quiet defiance. “You don't get to save us and then throw us away to protect your conscience. We are a family now. Whatever comes tonight, you handle it. And then you come home to us.”
Dominic stood up slowly, looking from the woman to the child. The crushing weight of guilt that had bowed his shoulders seemed to shatter, replaced by an iron, terrifying resolve. He had a kingdom to protect, but for the first time in his life, he had something infinitely more precious: a home to return to.
Dominic bent down, kissed Rosie on top of her head, and then pulled Claire into a fierce, breathless kiss that tasted of salt, fire, and absolute devotion.
“Wait for me,” Dominic whispered against her lips.
May you like
“Always,” Claire answered.
***
