Chapter 7 - The Master’s Justice
Bea stepped back, her chest heaving, wiping the sweat and blood from her brow with the back of her sleeve.
Dominic moved in.
There was no grand monologue. There was no hesitation. Dominic seized Cassian by the collar, hauled him to his feet, and looked into the eyes of the man who had been his best friend, his confidant, and the architect of his wife’s murder.
“Dominic... wait,” Cassian choked out, blood pouring down his mouth. “The Riccis... they were moving in. I did it for the family. Elena was going to ruin everything—”
“You didn't do it for the family,” Dominic whispered, his voice freezing the blood in Cassian’s veins. “You did it for five percent of the Montreal corridor.”
Dominic drove his fist into Cassian’s solar plexus. The traitor folded with a wheezing gasp. Dominic didn't stop. He dragged Cassian toward the doorway, where Harold Mercer and six heavily armed loyalist enforcers were already waiting.
“Put him in the cellar,” Dominic commanded, his voice cold as an arctic winter. “Call the district attorney in Albany. Hand over the ledger, the shipping manifests, and Cassian Vance. The Bellmore family doesn't need to kill him. We’ll let him spend the next forty years in a federal penitentiary for murder and treason.”
Harold blinked in sheer disbelief. “The authorities, sir? You’re turning him over to the feds?”
Dominic looked back at Bea, who stood leaning against the generator housing, watching him with calm, measuring eyes.
“Elena wanted this family out of the dark,” Dominic said, his voice ringing with quiet, unshakable authority. “The syndicates in Montreal are finished. We are transitioning entirely to Bellmore Industrial. If any man in my organization has a problem with legitimate enterprise, he can join Cassian in the federal yard.”
Harold looked at his boss, then at Bea, and bowed his head respectfully. “Right away, Mr. Bellmore.”
When the guards dragged Cassian away, Dominic walked slowly over to Bea.
He looked at her torn dress. He looked at the bruised knuckles on her right hand. He reached out, his massive, scarred hands cupping her face with a reverence so profound it made Bea’s breath catch in her throat.
“You fought three armed men,” Dominic murmured, his voice trembling with emotion.
“Two,” Bea corrected, trying to muster a small smile despite the adrenaline crash making her limbs shake. “The grate took out the first one.”
Dominic didn't laugh. He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her slightly off the floor, burying his face into the warm crook of her neck. He held her with a desperate, crushing intensity—not the mob boss asserting dominance, but a man holding onto the anchor that had saved his life, his daughters, and his soul.
“I was dead before you walked through those gates, Beatrice,” he whispered against her skin, his voice thick with tears he had refused to shed for three years. “You brought light back into this house. You brought my daughters back to me.”
Bea rested her forehead against his shoulder, letting her hands tangle in his thick, dark hair. “They brought me back too, Dominic. I was just surviving. With them... with you... I’m living.”
The heavy steel door leading to the sub-level three vault clicked open with a hiss of releasing air.
Harold stepped out, followed by Gia and Frankie.
The two girls saw the blood on the floor. They saw the torn clothing. But then they saw Bea wrapped securely in their father’s arms.
Gia let out a choked cry and broke into a dead sprint. Frankie was half a step behind her.
They slammed into Bea’s hips with all their weight, wrapping their arms around her waist, their faces buried in her navy skirt, sobbing with pure, unadulterated relief.
“You didn't leave!” Frankie wailed, her small hands clutching Bea’s torn fabric. “You promised you wouldn't leave, and you stayed!”
Bea sank to her knees, Dominic kneeling right beside her, the four of them forming an unbreakable circle on the cold concrete floor. Bea wrapped her broad, strong arms around both girls, kissing their heads, whispering reassurances into their damp curls.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweet girls,” Bea promised, her own tears flowing freely now. “Not ever.”
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Dominic wrapped his massive arms around all three of them, shielding his entire world within his embrace.
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