Chapter 8 - Justice in the Dark
Vincent stared at the black pistol lying on the polished wood.
The cold metal gleamed beneath the single light bulb. The cellar was so quiet that the faint, rhythmic ticking of Dominic’s watch sounded like a countdown to execution.
“Pick it up, Vincent,” Dominic repeated, his voice dangerously even. “You want my empire? You want my father’s legacy? You want to murder my son? Be a man for once in your miserable life and take it.”
Vincent’s chest heaved. Sweat poured down his temples, soaking his white collar.
His hand twitched toward the gun.
For a second, Sophie’s heart stopped. She pulled Leo tighter against her chest, turning her shoulder to shield the baby.
Vincent lunged for the weapon.
Before his fingers could even wrap around the grip, Dominic moved with blinding speed. Dominic’s left hand pinned Vincent’s wrist to the table with bone-crushing force, while his right hand drove an upward palm strike directly into Vincent’s nose.
*CRACK.*
Blood sprayed across the white linen documents. Vincent screamed, clutching his face as he fell backward out of the chair, crashing onto the concrete floor.
Dominic picked up the gun, smoothly sliding it back into his shoulder holster. He looked down at his cousin with pure disgust.
“You’re not a boss, Vincent,” Dominic said, wiping a speck of blood from his cuff with a linen handkerchief. “You’re a thief. And a coward who targets women and infants because you don't have the stomach to face me.”
Dominic turned to Angelo.
“Take Elena to the guest house. Strip her of her passports, her jewelry, and access to all accounts. The federal prosecutors will receive a complete copy of the offshore ledgers and the wire transfers tomorrow morning. Let her spend the next thirty years in a federal penitentiary for conspiracy to commit murder.”
“No! Dominic, please!” Elena wailed, falling to her knees on the cold floor, tears ruining her expensive makeup. “I was Isabella’s sister! I’m family!”
“Isabella is dead because of you,” Dominic said coldly, not even looking at her. “You stopped being family the moment you let them touch my son. Get her out of my sight.”
Two guards dragged the screaming woman out into the corridor, her frantic pleas echoing until the heavy steel doors slammed shut.
Dominic looked down at Vincent, who was groaning on the floor, holding his broken face.
“What about him, Boss?” Angelo asked, resting his hand on his holster.
Dominic stared at his cousin. Every instinct of the Russo bloodline screamed for an execution. A bullet to the back of the head. A barrel filled with cement dropped into Lake Michigan.
Dominic glanced toward Sophie.
She was standing near the wall, holding Leo. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn't looking at Dominic with fear. She was looking at him with an intense, quiet plea.
She had seen enough death. She had dedicated her life to healing, to saving breath, not taking it.
Dominic closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them, the darkness in his gray gaze had shifted.
“Killing him is too easy,” Dominic said. “Vincent loves money, power, and prestige more than life itself. Call the Special Agent in charge of the organized crime task force at the FBI. Give them Vincent. Give them Evans. Give them the entire paper trail of the shipping kickbacks, the money laundering, and the murder of Isabella.”
Vincent choked, looking up in disbelief. “You... you’d give me to the feds? That violates the code! The family—”
“The family belongs to me, Vincent,” Dominic cut him off, his voice like iron. “And as far as the family is concerned, you died the night you poisoned my blood. You will spend the rest of your life in ADX Florence in solitary confinement, twenty-three hours a day in an eight-by-ten concrete box. You will die an old, forgotten man, knowing that Leo is thriving, running everything you tried to steal.”
Dominic nodded to the remaining guards. “Take him away.”
Vincent was dragged out, cursing and spitting blood, until the cellar fell into total silence.
Dominic stood alone under the halogen light. The tension that had held his massive frame coiled for months seemed to fracture, leaving behind a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
He turned toward Sophie.
She walked across the cellar, her footsteps soft against the concrete. In her arms, Leo was awake now, cooing softly, his big gray eyes—so like his father’s—looking up at the ceiling.
Dominic looked at his son. A trembling breath escaped his lips, and for the first time, Sophie saw the ruthless mafia boss break.
Dominic sank into the oak chair, burying his face in his large, calloused hands. His broad shoulders shook with a silent, heavy sob—the grief of a husband betrayed, the terror of a father who had almost lost his child, and the immense weight of a war fought in the shadows.
Sophie didn't hesitate.
She stepped beside him, gently placing one hand on Dominic’s shoulder. It was a gesture of pure human compassion.
“He’s safe, Dominic,” she whispered softly. “He’s safe now. It’s over.”
Dominic reached up, his large hand covering hers where it rested on his shoulder. He lifted his head, his gray eyes red-rimmed and filled with raw, unfiltered emotion.
He looked at Leo, then up at Sophie.
“It’s over because of you,” he said, his voice husky and rough. “You saved us both, Sophie.”
Leo reached out from the blanket, his tiny, warm hand batting playfully against Dominic’s cheek.
Dominic let out a breathless, watery laugh, leaning into his son’s touch, kissing the tiny palm.
May you like
And as the first rays of dawn began to pierce the stormy sky above Lake Michigan, the dark fortress on Lake Shore finally felt like the storm had passed.
***
