Chapter 6 - The Traitor Revealed
Vinnie Gallo, bleeding from a grazing wound along his shoulder, scrambled backward across the floor, his hand desperately clawing for a dropped shotgun near the base of the industrial compactor.
"Cover me!" Gallo screamed to his remaining men.
Suddenly, a heavy combat boot slammed down onto Gallo's wrist, pinning it to the concrete with bone-cracking force.
Gallo screamed, looking up.
It wasn't Dominic. It was Vic Ferraro, his face carved from cold stone, his submachine gun pressed flat against Gallo’s forehead.
"The party's over, Vinnie," Vic said calmly. "Your bosses in Chicago are already in federal custody. The entire syndicate council was rolled up forty minutes ago."
Across the room, the gunfire died down as the last of the Salieri enforcers dropped their weapons, surrounded by Dominic’s overwhelming tactical force.
Dominic didn't look at the prisoners. He didn't look at Vic.
He dropped his weapon, letting it clatter against the concrete, and sprinted the final twenty yards to the steel pillar. He fell to his knees in the dust, his massive hands trembling as he cut the zip-ties binding Rosalie’s wrists.
"Rosalie," he choked out, his voice breaking completely. "Baby... Daddy's here. Look at me."
Rosalie blinked against the harsh red emergency lights, her lower lip trembling. Then, recognizing the familiar scent of cedar and expensive cologne that she had known her entire life, she threw her small arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder and sobbing with all her might.
Dominic lifted her into his arms, crushing her against his chest as if he intended to weld her back into his own body so she could never be taken again. He buried his face in her blonde curls, his massive shoulders shaking as hot, silent tears finally spilled over his weather-beaten cheeks.
"I've got you," Dominic whispered over and over, rocking her back and forth against the deafening hum of the idling machinery. "Nobody will ever touch you again. I swear to God, nobody will ever touch you."
A small, hesitant tug pulled at the hem of his jacket.
Dominic looked down.
Marcus was standing beside them, clutching his oversized sleeves, looking down at his scuffed sneakers with a sudden, overwhelming sense of displacement now that the battle was over. He looked like he wanted to disappear back into the shadows from whence he came.
May you like
Dominic reached out with one arm, wrapping it securely around Marcus’s thin shoulders, pulling the homeless boy into the circle of his embrace right alongside his daughter.
"You too, Marcus," Dominic said, his voice ringing with absolute, unbreakable authority across the silent warehouse floor. "You're coming home with us."
