Chapter 7
The house fell silent.
The storm broke at midnight.
Freezing rain lashed the reinforced windows and turned the estate grounds into a black void.
Sadie sat in a leather armchair inside Dominic’s study. The fire had burned down to glowing embers.
She had not remained locked in his bedroom.
The isolation was unbearable.
Instead, she had checked on Rosa before settling in the study near the security monitors.
3 men remained behind to guard the estate. They paced the corridors while radios hissed with static.
The study door opened.
Sadie jumped.
Rosa stood there leaning heavily on a silver-handled cane. A thick silk robe covered her nightgown, and her white hair had been pulled into a severe braid.
She appeared frail.
Her eyes did not.
“Move.”
Sadie rushed to help her.
Rosa swatted away her hand, crossed slowly toward the second leather chair, and lowered herself with a grunt.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“If my son is going to get himself killed tonight, I’m not receiving the news lying on my back.”
For a long time, only rain and Rosa’s labored breathing filled the room.
“He loves you,” Rosa said.
Sadie flinched.
“He doesn’t even know me. It’s only been a week.”
“Time doesn’t exist in our world the way it does in yours. In a normal life, you meet a boy. You get coffee. You learn his favorite color over 3 months. You decide if you can tolerate his mother.”
Rosa gave a dry laugh.
“In this life, you learn who someone is in 3 seconds. When bullets start flying. Or when the fire starts burning.”
She looked at Sadie.
“You didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You pulled me out.”
“I’m just a waitress.”
“You were a waitress.”
Rosa’s voice softened.
“Now you are the anchor. Dominic has spent his entire life building walls. He built this house. He built his empire because his father was weak, and weakness gets you put in the ground. Dominic swore he would never care about anything enough to let it be used against him.”
Rosa paused.
“Just me. And I was an old woman who knew the rules.”
Her gaze remained on Sadie.
“Then you walked into the fire. You broke his rules. You saved me and demanded nothing. You didn’t want his money. You didn’t cower when he yelled. You just existed.”
Rosa leaned back.
“And now he is out in the rain pulling the trigger because he realizes an empire means absolutely nothing if you aren’t sitting in it.”
“If he dies—”
Sadie could not finish.
“If he dies, Carmine has orders. There is a private jet waiting at O’Hare, a briefcase containing $2 million in untraceable cash, and a passport with your photograph on it. You will be on a beach in Costa Rica by tomorrow morning.”
Sadie stared at her.
“What about you?”
“I’m an old woman. My time is done. But Dominic made sure you will disappear.”
Sadie felt tears rise.
She did not want $2 million.
She did not want Costa Rica.
She wanted Dominic.
The radio on the desk erupted in violent static.
A breathless voice broke through.
Carmine.
“Packages secured. Moving to extraction. We need medical at the south entrance. Heavy casualties.”
Rosa tightened her grip on the cane and muttered rapidly in Italian.
Sadie was already moving.
She sprinted through the marble corridor and burst into the foyer as the front doors were kicked open.
Freezing wind entered with the smell of blood, wet asphalt, and ozone.
3 men stumbled inside.
2 soldiers carried Carmine between them.
His face was covered in blood. His left arm hung uselessly while blood poured from his shoulder.
Sadie searched past them.
“Where is he?”
Her voice tore through the foyer.
“Where is Dominic?”
Carmine coughed blood onto the marble.
“He’s behind us. He made sure we got out first.”
Sadie ran.
Freezing rain soaked her as she reached the portico.
A black SUV screamed into the driveway.
The driver’s door opened.
Dominic nearly fell out.
He caught himself against the frame.
His tactical vest was shredded. Blood, soot, and rain covered his face.
He dragged his left leg.
Sadie ran down the stone steps and threw herself beneath his arm.
Dominic groaned but wrapped his weight around her shoulders.
Together, they stumbled into the foyer.
“Lock it down,” he rasped.
Then he looked at the guards.
“It’s over.”
After the doctor left, the estate’s medical wing smelled intensely of iodine, rubbing alcohol, and iron.
Dominic sat shirtless on the edge of a steel examination table.
A thick bandage covered his left thigh where a bullet had grazed the muscle. Another covered his ribs.
He had 3 cracked ribs, a concussion, and profound exhaustion.
But the Morettis were dead.
The warehouse was ashes.
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The old man, the captains, and the freelancers were gone.
A war that had been building for 5 years had ended in 45 minutes of absolute brutality.
