Chapter 12 - Bloodline on the Wire
Dominic crushed the plastic phone beneath the heavy tread of his boot until the circuit board snapped into green shards, then kicked the pieces into the storm drain beneath the sidewalk.
He didn't speed on the drive back to the cottage. Speed drew eyes; urgency attracted suspicion. He kept the pickup at exactly thirty-five miles per hour, winding through the stands of spruce, but his eyes never stopped moving. Every culvert, every logging trail that branched off into the dark woods was scrutinized.
When he reached the headland, the cottage stood peaceful against the slate-gray backdrop of the Atlantic. White smoke curled gently from the brick chimney. Leo was sitting on the wooden steps of the porch, meticulously arranging a collection of smooth sea glass by color—deep green, amber, and frosted white.
Dominic pulled into the gravel drive, cut the engine, and stepped out. The crunch of his boots made Leo look up, his face breaking into a wide, gap-toothed smile.
"Dad! Look, I found the green ones! Mama said the green ones come from old pirate bottles!"
Dominic looked down at the boy. The eyes—his own steel-gray eyes, framed by Fiona’s soft lashes—sparked with absolute innocence. This child didn't know what a 9mm Parabellum sounded like in an enclosed room. He didn't know the copper smell of a man bleeding out on Italian marble.
Dominic knelt down beside him, his massive hands gently gathering the scattered stones. "Pirate bottles, huh? That's quite a haul, Leo."
"Are we gonna build the fort today?" Leo asked, tucking a piece of glass into Dominic’s rough palm. "You said we could use the cedar planks."
Dominic swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked at the fragile glass in his hand. "Not today, buddy. Today we’re going to play a different game."
"What game?"
"A packing game," Dominic said softly, his voice steadying itself into iron. "We’re going to see how fast you and Mama can put your favorite things into the red duffel bag."
Leo frowned, detecting the shift in the air. Children were barometers for terror; they didn't understand the storm, but they felt the pressure drop. "Are we going on a boat?"
"Maybe," Dominic said. "Go inside. Tell your mother I need her in the living room."
Leo stood up slowly, looking back once before walking through the screen door.
Dominic stood up, turned around, and looked out over the cliff’s edge. The bay below was churning with whitecaps. Tucked behind the breakwater, half a mile out, a low-slung, dark gray lobster boat was idling. It had no fishing gear deployed. No lobster traps stacked on the stern. Its engine gave off a dull, high-powered thrum that didn't belong to a diesel trawler.
They weren't coming down the road. They were coming from the water.
He walked inside. Fiona was standing near the hearth, the apron gone. She had already pulled Leo’s small coat from the peg and was holding it in her hands. She didn't look confused; she looked pale, her lips pressed into a hard, trembling line.
"Who was it, Dominic?" she asked, her voice quiet so Leo, sitting at the kitchen table with his coloring book, wouldn't hear.
Dominic stepped close, placing his hands on her upper arms. He felt her trembling.
"Lucian Moretti," Dominic said. He didn't soften it. He didn't dress it in comfort. Fiona had survived the crossfire of his past once; she deserved the raw, unvarnished truth. "He bought the paper trail. He has men in the cove."
Fiona closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek, fast and bitter. "You told me it was over. You looked me in the eye in that hospital room when Leo was sick, and you said the monster was dead."
"The monster was dead," Dominic whispered, his voice cracking with a rare, terrible vulnerability. "I swear to you, Fiona, I left every piece of him in that city. But they don't let you resign. They don't let you retire."
"What do we do?" she asked, looking up at him, her maternal instinct burning through the fear. "Do we run?"
Dominic looked through the window toward the ocean. The gray boat was already moving closer, cutting through the chop toward the narrow pebble beach below their path.
May you like
"There's nowhere to run," Dominic said, reaching into the bottom of the grandfather clock in the hallway, pulling open the false floorboard. "The only way out is through."
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