Chapter 9 - THE RECKONING AT RACINE HARBOR
The private docks at Racine, Wisconsin, were dark, slick with freezing spray from Lake Michigan, and battered by a biting midnight wind.
A sleek, sixty-foot luxury yacht—the Black Diamond—was idling against the wooden pylons, its engines humming a low, throaty purr as the crew scrambled to cast off the mooring lines.
On the upper deck, Roland Blackwood stood holding a glass of scotch, his face twisted into a snarl of paranoid rage. His empire was in ruins, his bank accounts frozen by federal agents tipped off by Moretti lawyers, and his safe houses compromised.
“Cast off!” Roland screamed down to the deckhands. “Get this damn boat moving!”
“Not so fast, Roland.”
Roland spun around, spilling his scotch across the teak deck.
Standing at the top of the gangplank, flanked by four armed enforcers, was Dominic Moretti. He walked onto the yacht with the unhurried, terrifying grace of a predator entering an abattoir.
Roland reached frantically for the revolver tucked into his belt, but before his fingers could even touch the grip, a heavy boot slammed down onto his hand, pinning it against the railing with bone-crushing force.
Roland shrieked, dropping to his knees. “Dominic! Wait! We can make a deal! I have offshore funds—millions—you can have it all!”
Dominic towered over him, his face carved from granite, his dark eyes devoid of human pity.
“You think I came here for your money, Roland?” Dominic asked softly, leaning down until his face was inches from the terrified shipping tycoon. “You sent men into my home. You tried to murder my brother in his bed. You thought you could tear my world apart and walk away.”
“It was business!” Roland gasped, spitting blood onto the wooden deck. “It’s just business!”
“Business is docks and tariffs,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into an icy, lethal whisper. “Family is blood.”
He straightened up, signaling to his men. “Tie him to the anchor chain. Drop him over the side until he remembers how to apologize.”
“No! No! Dominic—!”
Roland’s screams were cut short as two enforcers dragged him kicking and screaming toward the stern.
Dominic turned around, walking slowly back down the gangplank onto the snowy concrete of the pier. The wind whipped his dark coat around his legs. He pulled out his phone, dialed a secure number, and held it to his ear.
It rang twice.
“It’s finished,” Dominic said into the phone.
On the other end of the line, standing in the warm, quiet study of the Lake Forest estate with the soft glow of the fireplace illuminating her face, Evelyn let out a long, shuddering breath she felt she’d been holding for an hour.
“Are you coming home?” she asked softly.
Dominic looked up at the starless winter sky, feeling the cold wind sting his skin, knowing that for the first time in his life, there was someone waiting for him in the dark who wasn't afraid of the monster he had become.
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“I’m coming home, Evelyn,” he said. “Lock the doors for me.”
“I already did,” she whispered. “Hurry.”
