Chapter 6 - The Price of Blood
The ride back to Mercer Street was quiet.
My mom sat in the middle car with two blankets wrapped around her shoulders, holding a hot thermos of soup Helen had sent along with the recovery crew. I sat beside her, refusing to let go of her left hand for even one second.
Dominic’s SUV led the procession, its red taillights cutting through the heavy midnight fog.
We didn't go back to our apartment. We drove to a small red-brick townhouse located three blocks behind Dominic’s headquarters. The windows were lit with soft yellow light, and a heater was already humming inside when Big Leo unlocked the front door.
"This is a safe house," Big Leo explained, setting two large bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. "Nobody comes near this block without Vance knowing about it. You stay here until we clear the rest of the East Side."
My mom sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. She looked at the fresh fruit, the clean towels, and the fresh clothes laid out on the sofa.
"Why is he doing this?" she whispered to me after Big Leo stepped outside to guard the porch. "Leo, men like Dominic Vance don't save people out of kindness. What did you promise him?"
"Five dollars," I insisted, pointing to the crumpled bill sitting on the table between us. "That's all I gave him, Mom. I swear."
The front door opened. Dominic stepped inside, shaking the rain off his heavy coat before hanging it on the wooden peg by the door.
He looked at my mother, then at the untouched tea in her hands.
"You should drink," Dominic said, stepping into the kitchen. "Helen put honey in it. It helps with the throat."
"Mr. Vance," my mom said, her voice steadying as she looked him in the eye. "Cruz Valenti is Victor Valenti's only son. You didn't just rescue me tonight. You declared war on the biggest family on the river."
Dominic walked over to the counter, pulled out a glass, and filled it with tap water.
"Victor Valenti has been looking for a reason to break our treaty for six months," Dominic said, taking a slow drink. "He thought he could use your dead husband's debt to push into my territory on 9th Street. He thought if he took you, nobody would care because you're nobody."
He set the glass down with a heavy clack against the wood.
"He made a mistake," Dominic continued, looking straight at me. "He didn't realize you had a business partner with capital."
"He's ten years old!" my mom yelled, her voice trembling with sudden anger. "He's a child! You can't use him to justify a mob war!"
"I didn't use him, Mrs. Miller," Dominic said softly, his dark eyes fixing on hers. "He walked up to my car alone on 5th Street. He stood in front of four armed men and looked me in the face while the police were hiding behind their desks. He did what a man is supposed to do when his family is in danger."
He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a small black cell phone, and set it on the table beside my five-dollar bill.
"Victor Valenti just called my main line," Dominic said. "He wants a sit-down at midnight at the old docks. He wants to know why his son is sitting in a basement on 9th Street with two broken knees."
My mom gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
"What are you going to tell him?" she whispered.
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Dominic leaned over the table, his broad shadow covering both of us.
"I'm going to tell him his son broke the law," Dominic said flatly. "And then I'm going to charge him twenty thousand dollars to buy his boy back."
