Chapter 7 - A Fragile Truce
The transport was a nightmare of adrenaline and cold rain.
Dr. Mitchell had protested violently until Dominic offered him half a million dollars and an armed escort to come along in the mobile intensive care ambulance. By nine-thirty that morning, they had cleared the city limits, a convoy of three black armored vehicles escorting the modified ambulance north into the jagged, pine-covered hills of Blackwood Ridge.
The estate was an old fortress of grey stone and iron gates, hidden deep within a forest of towering hemlocks. It had been built by Dominic’s grandfather during the prohibition era, complete with reinforced steel shutters, a private medical suite in the basement, and underground tunnels leading into the dense wilderness.
By noon, Fiona was settled into a secure bedroom on the second floor, hooked up to portable oxygen and monitors overseen by Dr. Mitchell and two trusted private nurses Dominic had flown in from Chicago.
Leo had spent the entire journey pressed against Dominic’s side in the armored SUV, clutching his one-eared rabbit and refusing to let go of Dominic’s hand. The child had sensed the violence vibrating beneath the surface of the men around him, but Dominic had shielded him completely, speaking to him in low, steady tones about the forest, the deer in the trees, and the castle they were going to visit.
Now, Dominic stood in the doorway of the bedroom, holding a steaming mug of broth. Leo was curled up at the foot of Fiona’s bed, coloring in a notebook Dante had picked up at a gas station along the highway.
Fiona looked up from her pillows as Dominic approached. The color had begun to return to her cheeks, though the exhaustion etched into her features was profound.
"The doctor says your oxygen levels are climbing," Dominic said, setting the mug on the bedside table. "Your lung is re-expanding properly."
Fiona didn't look at the broth. She looked at her son, whose small tongue was poked out in concentration as he drew a bright green dragon with purple wings.
"He likes you," she said, her voice quiet, devoid of the earlier fury. "He’s never taken to a stranger like that."
Dominic sat down in the wooden armchair beside the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Children know who their blood is, Fiona."
"Blood isn't an excuse, Dominic," she replied, turning her green eyes on him. "Blood is what brought five armored cars to my hospital room. Blood is why Paulie Varga sold you out to the Morettis."
Dominic lowered his head. "Paulie was my brother. Or so I thought. When my father died, Paulie was the one who handed me the gun and told me to take the throne. I never thought he would look at you... at a woman and a baby... and see a bargaining chip."
"He didn't see a bargaining chip," Fiona said softly. "He saw a liability. Five years ago, after you threw me out, Paulie came to the train station before I boarded the coach to Detroit. He told me that if I ever tried to contact you, he would tell Lorenzo Moretti where I was. He said a boss with a heart is a boss who gets replaced."
Dominic’s jaw twitched. A deep, burning fury ignited in his gut, hotter than anything he had ever felt. "He threatened you before you even left the city?"
"He said you were too soft on me," Fiona continued, her eyes glistening. "He said that leaving me alive was a mistake you were too weak to correct, so he would make sure I disappeared permanently. That's why I couldn't use the money, Dominic. Every time I thought about calling you, about telling you I was pregnant, I saw Paulie’s face. I knew that if I reached out, he would kill my baby before you could even pick up the phone."
Dominic buried his face in his hands. The weight of his past arrogance fell upon him with crushing force. He had built an empire of terror, convinced that fear was the only currency that mattered. He had surrounded himself with killers, believed their loyalty was absolute, and cast out the only pure thing he had ever known to keep his crown secure.
And the crown had turned out to be made of rust.
"I’m sorry," Dominic whispered into his palms. The words were small, pathetic against the mountain of agony she had endured. "I’m so sorry, Fiona."
A small hand touched his knee.
Dominic lifted his head. Leo was standing beside his chair, looking up at him with those familiar grey eyes. The boy held out his notebook.
"Look," Leo said proudly. "It’s the castle. And that's you."
Dominic looked at the page. In the center was a crude, scribbled stone house. Next to it was a tall figure colored entirely in black crayon, holding the hand of a smaller figure in yellow.
"Why am I black?" Dominic asked, his voice catching in his throat.
"Because you're the night," Leo explained simply, as if stating an obvious truth about the universe. "Mama said the night is scary, but it keeps the stars safe."
A tear slipped from Fiona’s eye, tracing a path down her cheek. She reached out and touched Leo’s shoulder, pulling him gently back toward her.
Dominic looked from his son to the woman he had never stopped loving. For the first time in five years, the ice around his heart shattered completely.
"I'm going to end this tonight," Dominic said, standing up. His voice was no longer broken; it was sharp, lethal, and resolute.
Fiona looked up at him, fear flashing across her face. "Dominic, no. There are too many of them. If Paulie has the Morettis, they outnumber you ten to one."
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"They have the numbers," Dominic said, reaching into his coat and checking the magazine of his custom .45 before snapping it back into place with a definitive click. "But they don't have this house. And they don't know what I'm willing to burn to keep it."
***
