Chapter 6 - Debts of the Heart
By two in the morning, the penthouse had become a sanctuary surrounded by steel and blood.
The private elevator doors chimed, and two of Dominic’s guards wheeled a hospital gurney into the living room.
On the bed lay Margaret Carter. She was frail, her silver-blond hair tied back in a loose braid, an oxygen cannula resting in her nose. Her face was pale from months of confinement, but the moment her eyes found Emily, a fierce, protective light ignited in her tired gaze.
"Emily!" Margaret cried out, her weak voice cracking with emotion.
"Mom!"
Emily stumbled across the hardwood floor, falling to her knees beside the gurney. She buried her face in her mother’s thin shoulder, weeping with a depth of relief that made the hardened mob enforcers standing by the doorway avert their eyes.
"Oh, baby, look at you," Margaret sobbed, running her trembling, arthritic hands through Emily’s hair, then gently down to her rounded stomach. "Are you hurt? What is happening? Men with guns came into my room... they said Mr. Romano sent them..."
Margaret’s eyes drifted upward, settling on Dominic.
Dominic stood near the marble fireplace, watching the reunion in silence. He looked imposing, his dark presence radiating authority, yet he tilted his head in a respectful nod toward the older woman.
"Mrs. Carter," Dominic said politely. "I apologize for the rough transit. But you were no longer safe in Albany."
Margaret squinted at him, recognizing the face that had appeared on the front page of the New York business section dozens of times. "You're Antonio Romano’s son."
"I am."
"My daughter... she was working at your house. Did she do something wrong?"
"No, Mrs. Carter," Dominic answered, stepping forward until he stood at the foot of her bed. "Your daughter saved my father’s life. And in doing so, she put herself in the crosshairs of men who have forgotten what honor means."
He turned to the private physician who had traveled with the transport from Albany. "Set up the guest suite on the east corridor. Full medical monitoring. Ensure she has every medication, every therapy she requires. Spare no expense."
Margaret reached out, her fingers brushing the sleeve of Dominic’s shirt. "Mr. Romano... I don't understand. We have nothing to offer you. We are poor people. We can never pay you back for this."
Dominic looked down at the fragile woman who had raised the girl who refused to let his father die.
"Mrs. Carter," Dominic said, his voice softer than anyone in his syndicate had ever heard it. "The debt is entirely mine. And I pay my debts."
An hour later, Margaret had been settled into the luxurious guest suite, sleeping deeply under the care of a private nurse.
Emily stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of the living room, looking out at the glittering lights of Manhattan. Below them, yellow taxis crawled like tiny beetles through the snow-dusted avenues, oblivious to the war being fought in the penthouses and docks above them.
Dominic walked up behind her, holding two cups of hot tea. He handed one to her.
"She looks better than I expected," Dominic said quietly.
"She’s strong," Emily whispered, blowing on the surface of the tea. "Stronger than me."
"I disagree."
Emily turned her head to look at him. In the reflection of the glass, Dominic looked like a shadow carved out of granite, but his eyes were filled with an unsettling warmth.
"Why are you doing this for us?" she asked. "You could have just given me a check and sent us away on a bus to another state."
"A bus to another state wouldn't keep you alive," Dominic replied. "Julian Vance has contacts from Chicago to Miami. If he knew you were out there, he would hunt you down to eliminate the testimony."
"Is that the only reason?" Emily asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Because I'm a witness?"
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He stared out over the skyline, watching a bank of dark clouds rolling in from the Atlantic.
"My entire life," Dominic began, his voice low and contemplative, "I have been surrounded by people who smile at me because they want my money, or cower before me because they fear my name. Victoria came from high society. Her father was supposed to be a gentleman of pedigree. Yet she looked at a dying, helpless old man and saw nothing but an inconvenience on the balance sheet."
He turned to face her fully.
"You had nothing. You were carrying a child alone. You were terrified of losing your job. Yet you walked into that locked room, day after day, and gave my father his dignity back."
Dominic stepped closer, until the heat radiating from him was palpable in the cool room.
"That kind of courage doesn't come with a price tag, Emily. It’s rare. And in my world... when you find something that pure, you bleed to protect it."
Emily looked up into his eyes, her heart beating a frantic, uneven rhythm that had nothing to do with fear. For the first time in seven months, she didn't feel alone. She didn't feel like an abandoned girl drowning in medical bills and broken promises.
Suddenly, Marco’s radio crackled loudly from the foyer.
*"Boss. We just intercepted an encrypted transmission from Julian Vance’s private terminal."*
Dominic stepped back, the warmth instantly vanishing behind a mask of cold fury. "Put it through."
Marco appeared in the doorway, holding a ruggedized tablet. *"He’s calling a special assembly of the syndicate board for eight o'clock tomorrow morning at the St. Regis ballroom. He claims to have an affidavit signed by Antonio Romano declaring him sole executor of the estate, along with medical records proving Antonio has severe cognitive dementia."*
Dominic smiled—a terrifying, humorless baring of teeth.
"An affidavit signed by my father?" Dominic murmured. "How convenient."
"He thinks Antonio is dead or incapacitated at St. Jude’s," Marco added. "And he thinks you're isolated here in the penthouse."
"Good," Dominic said, his eyes flashing like polished steel. "Let him think the crown is already on his head."
He turned to Emily.
May you like
"Get some rest, Emily. Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to crash a board meeting."
***
