Chapter 6 - The Serpent’s Strike
I locked the heavy reinforced door the moment Dominic stepped out into the main living room.
Inside the nursery, the only sound was the quiet, rhythmic breathing of my babies in their cribs and the rain hammering against the bulletproof glass windows. I stood with my back pressed against the door, my heart pounding violently against my ribs as I listened through the heavy wood.
Out in the living room, footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor.
“Dominic,” Silvio’s familiar, gravelly voice came through the thick door. “We came as quickly as we could. What is going on? Why are we at the Westchester safehouse? And what was that business at JFK?”
A long, agonizing pause followed.
“Sit down, Silvio,” Dominic’s voice boomed, completely devoid of warmth. “Marcus... stay standing by the fireplace.”
“Boss?” Marcus’s voice sounded nervous, thin, and edgy. “Is everything alright? The perimeter security seems unusually tight tonight.”
“Where is the letter, Marcus?” Dominic asked smoothly.
A heavy silence descended over the room outside.
“What... what letter, boss?” Marcus stammered.
“The four-page letter my wife handed you in the lobby of my Tribeca building nine months ago,” Dominic said, his tone dropping into a terrifyingly low register. “The letter where she told me she was pregnant with my twins. The letter where she begged her husband for help.”
Through the door, I heard the sharp, frantic scrape of a shoe against the floor—someone reaching for a weapon!
BANG!
A single, deafening gunshot shattered the silence outside!
I gasped, dropping to my knees, covering my ears as Maya began to cry in her crib.
“DON’T MOVE, SILVIO!” Julian’s voice barked out from the living room. “Drop the gun! Drop it now!”
Out in the hallway, a heavy body hit the floorboards with a dull, wet thud. Marcus was screaming in agony—he hadn't been killed; he had been shot through the kneecap.
“Dominic! Wait! Listen to me!” Marcus shrieked, weeping uncontrollably on the floor. “It wasn't my idea! I swear to God, it wasn't my idea!”
“Who paid you, Marcus?” Dominic’s voice was as cold as a tombstone. “Who paid you to burn my wife’s letter? Who paid you to keep her pregnancy a secret from me?”
“HE DID!” Marcus screamed, pointing his finger across the room. “SILVIO! Silvio paid me fifty thousand dollars! He said if I gave you that letter, you would reconcile with her and soft-hearted feelings would weaken the family! He said a Don with a pregnant wife couldn't win a war against Chicago!”
My breath caught in my throat.
Silvio.
The man who had attended my wedding. The man who had held my hand at my father-in-law’s funeral. The man Dominic trusted like his own father.
Out in the living room, Silvio let out a low, bitter laugh—a sound completely devoid of the gentle old man persona he had worn for decades.
“A soft Don is a dead Don, Dominic,” Silvio said smoothly, without a single trace of fear or regret in his voice. “Look at you! Ten months ago, when Chicago threatened your wife, you gave up your marriage like a beaten dog! You sent her away because you were too weak to kill your enemies!”
“I sent her away to keep her safe while I built the coalition to destroy Chicago!” Dominic roared, his voice shaking the very walls of the estate.
“And if you knew she was carrying your heirs, what would you have done?” Silvio spat back, his tone filled with pure venom. “You would have hidden in a bunker! You would have compromised on the waterfronts! You would have accepted peace terms just to protect your precious little family! The Ferraro bloodline has ruled New York for fifty years because we do not hesitate! We do not have soft spots!”
“She wasn't a soft spot,” Dominic whispered, his voice dropping into a register so dark it made the hair on my arms stand up. “She was my reason for breathing.”
THWIP.
A muffled, suppressed gunshot echoed through the room.
Then complete, absolute silence.
Outside the door, a second heavy body hit the floorboards. Silvio’s bitter lecture was permanently silenced.
May you like
A few seconds later, three gentle, distinct knocks sounded against the reinforced steel door of the nursery.
“Elena,” Dominic’s voice called out softly from the other side. “It’s over, my love. Open the door.”
