Chapter 4
Dominic’s worst memory had begun repeating itself.
Smoke entered beneath the doors.
This time, he was not trapped inside a car.
He was not alone or defenseless.
Dominic looked toward Abigail.
She did not scream.
She opened the desk drawer, removed 2 spare magazines, and placed them inside her pockets.
Her storm-gray eyes had become steel.
“Remain behind me.”
Dominic drew back the Glock’s slide.
“Tommy, move the men to the east-wing corridor.”
His voice carried absolute authority.
“We force them into the narrow passage.”
Dominic faced the doors.
“No one crosses alive.”
The devil of the Gold Coast had returned to the fight.
The library doors shook as automatic fire entered the main corridor.
High-caliber rounds destroyed old vases and tore through oil paintings.
Inside the library, the world narrowed into tactical reality.
Dominic’s mind had spent 5 years trapped inside the echo of 1 explosion.
It now operated with perfect clarity.
The ghost was gone.
The boss remained.
The woman he loved stood behind him, armed and ready.
“Turn the desk.”
Dominic’s order cut through the gunfire.
“Use it for cover.”
He looked toward Abigail.
“Stay low against the stone fireplace.”
His gaze held hers.
“Do not shoot until someone crosses the entrance.”
Tommy forced the antique mahogany desk onto its side.
The heavy furniture became a barricade facing the double doors.
Dominic lowered himself behind it and rested the Glock against the polished wood.
His injured leg remained stretched awkwardly to reduce the pain.
“They cut the primary power.”
Tommy checked his magazine.
“The generators should begin shortly.”
He looked toward the corridor.
“Six men are holding the east wing.”
His face hardened.
“The Costas brought an army, and we still do not know who gave them the codes.”
“That does not matter now.”
Dominic watched the door handles shake.
“Anyone without a Russo suit dies.”
“Understood.”
The gunfire stopped suddenly.
Rain struck the windows inside the suffocating silence.
A voice entered from beyond the doors.
“Dominic.”
Carmine Costa’s voice was coarse from decades of cigars.
“Your men in the east wing are dead.”
He sounded close.
“You are surrounded.”
The rival boss continued.
“Send the woman outside, and perhaps I permit you to limp through the rear exit.”
Carmine’s tone became cruel.
“Keep her, and I burn the mansion around both of you.”
Dominic’s jaw became rigid.
He looked back.
Abigail crouched beside the hearth with both hands around the Glock.
She was frightened.
Her chest moved heavily.
Her eyes remained on Dominic with complete trust.
She shook her head once.
She would not surrender.
“You crossed a line.”
Dominic shouted through the doors.
“You brought war inside my home.”
His voice deepened.
“There will be no negotiation.”
Dominic looked toward Abigail.
“If you want her, you pass through me.”
Carmine laughed from the hallway.
“Breach it.”
A battering ram struck the doors.
Wood broke inward.
The lock tore apart.
Three Costa enforcers entered with assault rifles raised.
Dominic fired twice.
The leading man fell with a round inside his chest.
Tommy opened fire immediately afterward and dropped the 2nd attacker as chandelier glass broke above them.
The 3rd man moved behind a leather chair and returned fire.
Bullets entered the mahogany desk.
Splinters filled the air.
One cut Dominic’s cheek and left a warm line of blood.
He did not react.
“Cover.”
Tommy fired repeatedly while Dominic shifted.
He leaned beyond the barricade and placed a bullet through the chair’s thin leather.
The man behind it fell.
The room became silent.
“Clear.”
Tommy rose and turned toward the corridor.
A figure entered quietly through an adjoining reading room.
The hidden entrance was known only to Russo men.
Sullivan, 1 of Dominic’s most trusted lieutenants, emerged with a suppressed pistol aimed at the back of Tommy’s head.
Dominic understood immediately.
Sullivan was the traitor.
He possessed the gate codes and knew the building’s layout.
“Tommy, down.”
Dominic raised his weapon.
His injured leg delayed the pivot by a fraction of a second.
Sullivan tightened his finger against the trigger.
A gunshot sounded.
It did not come from Dominic or Sullivan.
Sullivan staggered.
Shock crossed his face.
The pistol fell.
A dark stain spread through his jacket at the shoulder.
He collapsed onto both knees.
Dominic turned.
Abigail stood near the fireplace with both hands around the smoking Glock.
Her stance was exactly as she had been taught.
Her entire body shook.
She had shot a man.
Tommy kicked Sullivan’s weapon away and drove his boot onto the traitor’s chest.
Dominic ignored Sullivan.
He forced himself upright despite the agony inside his femur and crossed to Abigail in 3 long movements.
He removed the hot weapon gently from her rigid hands, secured it, and threw it aside.
Her eyes were wide and unfocused.
“I shot him.”
She struggled for breath.
“He was going to kill Tommy.”
Abigail looked toward Dominic.
“I had to.”
“I know.”
Dominic pulled her against his chest and enclosed her trembling body with both arms.
He pressed his face into her auburn hair.
“You acted perfectly.”
His hold tightened.
“You saved his life.”
Dominic spoke close to her ear.
“You saved all of us.”
He breathed with her.
“Breathe.”
“Boss.”
Tommy’s voice was urgent.
“The generators are starting.”
He looked toward the shattered entrance.
“The primary Costa force is moving up the staircase.”
His expression darkened.
“We cannot hold this room.”
Dominic pulled back and framed Abigail’s face with both hands.
“We are leaving.”
His eyes held hers.
“There are underground tunnels leading to the garage.”
Dominic spoke slowly.
“You remain directly behind me.”
He waited.
“Do you understand?”
Abigail swallowed and nodded.
“I understand.”
“Move.”
Tommy dragged the wounded Sullivan upright by the collar.
“You are coming.”
His voice carried disgust.
“You have a considerable amount to explain.”
They passed through a hidden panel inside the library wall and entered the damp concrete tunnels beneath the estate.
Above them, Costa soldiers shouted and destroyed the mansion.
The devil had already escaped through the cracks.
His queen disappeared into the darkness beside him.
The secondary safe house was nothing like the penthouse or the Barrington estate.
It was a reinforced steel warehouse above an abandoned auto-repair shop in Pilsen.
Motor oil, stale coffee, and rust filled the air.
Abigail sat on a damaged cot with a coarse gray blanket around her shoulders.
She stared at both hands.
The recoil of the Glock seemed to remain inside her bones.
Across the room, Tommy secured Sullivan to a metal chair.
The traitor was pale and sweating heavily from the untreated wound inside his shoulder.
Dominic stood over him with terrifying calm.
His suit jacket was gone.
Dirt marked the white shirt, and blood from the splinter wound crossed his cheek.
“I will ask once.”
Dominic’s voice was almost a whisper.
“Your answer determines whether death comes quickly or whether I keep you alive for 1 week while my men practice with knives.”
His eyes remained on Sullivan.
“Why did you give Carmine Costa the gate codes?”
Sullivan coughed and spat bloody saliva onto the concrete.
“Lawson.”
His breath became uneven.
“The detective went to Carmine.”
Sullivan raised his head.
“He said you were weak.”
He swallowed.
“He said you could not even leave your front door.”
Sullivan’s gaze lowered.
“Carmine offered me $2 million and control of my own crew.”
Dominic’s expression did not change.
The room still seemed colder.
“Where are Carmine and Lawson?”
“They are celebrating.”
Sullivan wheezed.
“Carmine believes you died inside the fire.”
His head dropped.
“They arranged a meeting tonight to divide your territory.”
Sullivan continued.
“The private dining room at Gene & Georgetti’s.”
He breathed through the pain.
“Midnight.”
His eyes closed.
“Lawson is collecting his payment.”
Dominic looked toward Tommy.
“End him.”
Then he turned and walked toward Abigail.
Behind him, Tommy’s suppressed pistol made a muted sound beneath the heavier rhythm of Dominic’s cane.
Abigail closed her eyes and tightened the blanket.
She did not turn away.
This was the world she had chosen.
Dominic lowered himself heavily beside her.
The adrenaline had begun receding, exposing the physical cost inside his ruined leg.
He placed the cane against the wall and covered his face with both hands.
A long, shaking breath left him.
Abigail touched his shoulder.
“Your leg is hurting.”
“It is nothing.”
He did not look at her.
“Do not lie.”
She moved nearer and let the blanket fall.
Abigail carefully lifted the injured leg onto the cot.
Her hands located the hard knot behind his knee.
She began applying the familiar therapeutic pressure.
The routine grounded both of them inside the chaos.
Dominic rested his head against the concrete and released a low sound when the cramp began loosening.
“You should not have needed to do that.”
He opened his eyes.
“You should not have blood on your hands.”
“I did what was necessary.”
Abigail’s voice became steadier.
She looked toward his scars.
“You told me to replace fear with power.”
Her hands continued working.
“I did.”
She looked at Dominic.
“Richard Lawson made me believe I was helpless.”
Abigail’s expression hardened.
“When Sullivan raised the gun toward Tommy, I understood that I was not helpless.”
Her shoulders straightened.
“Not anymore.”
Dominic caught her wrist.
It was the same one Lawson had bruised.
The purple marks had faded to pale yellow.
He lifted it to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss against the healing skin.
“I love you.”
The words remained in the dusty warehouse air.
Dominic had not planned them.
He did not know whether a man emotionally dead for 5 years retained the ability to love.
Looking at the woman who entered his tomb and pulled him toward the light made the truth undeniable.
Abigail stopped working on the leg.
She looked into his dark, wounded eyes.
May you like
Every barrier between them had disappeared.
“I love you too.”
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