Chapter 8 - The Bloodline's Price
The panic room was soundproof, but I could still feel the faint vibrations of heavy impacts echoing through the concrete foundation of the house.
I sat on a small cot in the corner of the room, rocking Julian back and forth. Miraculously, the baby wasn't crying. He seemed to sense the fierce protection surrounding him, his dark eyes wide, watching my face as I hummed softly to drown out the terror screaming in my head.
Please be safe, Dominic, I prayed silently, my mind racing with images of the gunman, the blood, and the terrifying rage in Dominic’s eyes. Please come back.
Forty-five agonizing minutes passed.
Every second felt like an eternity. I monitored the security feeds displayed on the wall monitors. I watched black-and-white camera angles of the estate grounds—the main gate, the driveways, the front foyer. I saw armed men moving, smoke filling the rooms, and then, one by one, the red threat markers on the monitors vanished.
At 8:15 PM, the heavy steel door of the panic room buzzed.
I instantly stood up, clutching Julian to my chest, my body tense.
The lock mechanism turned with a sharp hydraulic hiss, and the heavy door slowly swung open.
Dominic stood in the threshold.
His dark hair was disheveled, his white shirt stained with dirt and deep crimson blood. His knuckles were raw, bruised, and bleeding. But he was standing upright.
Behind him, Frankie stood in the corridor, looking battered but alive, holding a heavy shotgun.
"Dominic!" I gasped, tears instantly springing to my eyes.
Dominic walked into the room, his heavy steps slow and deliberate. He didn't look at his own wounds. His dark eyes searched my face, then dropped down to check Julian.
"Are you hurt?" Dominic asked, his voice hoarse and raspy.
"No," I wept, shaking my head. "No, we're fine. Are you okay? You’re bleeding!"
"It’s not my blood," Dominic said flatly.
A cold chill ran down my spine. The reality of what he was, of what had just occurred above our heads, slammed back into my consciousness.
"Is it... over?" I whispered.
"Valerio’s men have been eliminated," Dominic said coldly. "And Valerio has been captured. The Commission in Chicago has already been informed of his treason. He will never touch this family again."
Dominic stepped closer to me, reaching out his bloody, bruised hand. He paused, looking at his stained skin, and slowly pulled his hand back, not wanting to touch me or Julian with the reality of his violence.
"I promised you safety, Clara," Dominic said low, his voice filled with a quiet, heavy regret. "I failed you tonight. I brought violence to your doorstep."
I looked at his blood-stained hands, then up into his dark, tortured eyes. I saw the monster the world feared, but I also saw the man who had thrown himself behind a planter to protect a waitress and his motherless son.
I didn't step back.
I set Julian down gently on the cot, walked up to Dominic, and took his bruised, bloody hands in mine.
Dominic stiffened in shock. "Clara, I am covered in—"
"I don't care," I whispered, holding his large hands tightly. "You came back for us. You kept your promise."
Dominic stared down at our joined hands, his chest rising and falling heavily. Slowly, he raised his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air in the room vanish.
"You should leave, Clara," Dominic whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "Take the money I promised you. Take your freedom. This world will consume you if you stay."
I looked at him, feeling the steady heat of his hands, the terrifying strength of his presence, and the undeniable truth that had taken root in my heart over the past twenty-four hours.
"I spent four years running from grief, Dominic," I said softly, tears rolling down my cheeks. "I thought if I hid in that restaurant, if I kept my life small and safe, I wouldn't get hurt again. But staying here... keeping Julian alive... helping you heal... it gave me my life back."
I squeezed his hands.
"I’m not going anywhere."
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Dominic looked at me as if I were a miracle he didn't deserve. He pulled one hand free and gently cupped the back of my neck, pulling my forehead to rest against his chest.
"Then God help us both," Dominic whispered into my hair. "Because I am never letting you go."
