Chapter 4
The guest room was the size of Sadie’s entire apartment, yet it felt infinitely smaller.
There were no bars across the windows, only heavy silk drapes pooling against the hardwood floor. The door was not locked from the outside.
It did not need to be.
The men at the end of the hallway wore shoulder holsters beneath tailored jackets. They were more effective than any deadbolt.
Dr. Mitchell arrived carrying an old-fashioned leather medical bag. He was older and worked in complete silence.
He removed Sadie’s cheap gauze, cleaned the blisters with medical-grade saline that burned intensely, covered her palms with thick, cooling silver sulfadiazine cream, and wrapped both hands in pristine white bandages.
“Keep them dry.”
Those were the only words he spoke before leaving.
Sadie sat on the edge of the king-size bed and stared at her wrapped hands.
She was a hostage.
Dominic had called it protection and dressed it in the language of gratitude and debt, but the reality remained unchanged.
She could not leave.
Carmine had taken her phone for security reasons, explaining that its GPS could be tracked. He replaced it with a burner containing only 2 programmed numbers.
His.
And Dominic’s.
Eventually, the silence became unbearable.
Sadie left the room.
The guards at the end of the hallway straightened.
“I want to see her.”
The taller guard frowned.
“Who?”
“Rosa. His mother.”
10 minutes later, Sadie was escorted to the west wing.
It resembled a private hospital ward more than part of a home. Monitors beeped rhythmically.
Rosa was sitting upright beneath a mountain of pillows. Smoke inhalation had left her pale, and an oxygen cannula rested beneath her nose.
Her eyes, however, remained sharp.
They were the same dark, calculating shade as Dominic’s.
“So,” Rosa croaked. “You’re the girl who ruined my front door.”
Sadie stopped.
“I used a planter. I didn’t have the key.”
A rough rattling sound came from Rosa.
Sadie realized she was laughing.
“Come here.”
Rosa patted the mattress.
Sadie sat beside her.
The older woman examined her bandaged hands.
“Dominic says you’re a waitress. A civilian.”
“I am.”
“Civilians don’t walk into burning buildings. They stand on the sidewalk and scream. Why did you go in?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. I just heard you.”
Rosa covered one of Sadie’s hands with her age-spotted fingers.
Her grip was surprisingly strong.
“My son is keeping you here.”
“He says it’s for my safety.”
“It is. The Morettis are butchers. If they discover you pulled me out, they will cut you into pieces just to send a message.”
Rosa’s eyes hardened.
“But that isn’t the only reason Dominic is keeping you here.”
“What other reason is there?”
“Dominic does not like to owe anyone. He deals in leverage. Control. You saved the only thing in this world he cares about. You hold a debt over him that he cannot quantify, cannot buy off, and cannot kill to erase.”
Rosa leaned backward, breathing with some difficulty.
“It makes him crazy.”
“I don’t want anything from him.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
“You pulled me from the fire, Sadie. But you walked straight into his.”
Across the city, Dominic stood inside the back room of a meat-packing plant near the river.
The temperature was freezing. His breath clouded the air.
Heavy steel hooks held slabs of beef.
A man named Frankie knelt tied to a chair.
Frankie was a captain in the Moretti family.
He was missing 3 fingernails and most of his front teeth.
Carmine stood nearby cleaning a pair of pliers with a greasy rag.
Dominic unbuttoned his jacket.
He did not appear angry.
He looked bored.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, Frankie. Who poured the gasoline?”
“I don’t know.”
Frankie spat blood onto the concrete.
“I swear to God, Dom. I swear on my kids. It was outsourced. Some freelancers from out of state. We didn’t get names.”
Dominic watched his face.
Frankie was telling the truth.
“They know she got out,” Frankie continued desperately. “They know it wasn’t the firemen. They’re looking for whoever pulled her out. Dom, the old man put a bounty on the savior.”
He swallowed.
“$100,000.”
A cold calm settled over Dominic.
$100,000 for a waitress who could not afford her rent.
He removed a Glock 19 from his shoulder holster.
There was no hesitation and no final prayer.
He raised it and fired.
The shot filled the enclosed room.
“Clean it up.”
May you like
Dominic holstered the weapon.
“Double the guard at the estate.”
