Chapter 7 - Reckoning at the Harbor
Three hours later, the estate had returned to a chilling, sterile calm.
Federal authorities, tipped off by Dominic’s private security network, swept through the remaining Moretti safehouses across the city, dismantling what was left of the syndicate in a single, coordinated midnight raid. The men who had breached the north gate were tied up in the reinforced holding cells beneath the estate, waiting to learn the true meaning of regret.
Inside the underground bunker, Dominic stood over a stainless-steel table, his sleeves rolled up, cleaning his weapon with mechanical precision.
The heavy steel door slid open, and Lena walked in. She wore a simple black sweater, her arm still in its sling, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders.
Dominic looked up. He set the cleaning cloth down on the table.
“You should be in bed,” Dominic said quietly. “Maeve gave you strict orders to rest.”
“I’m tired of resting,” Lena said, walking up to the table until she stood just an arm’s length away from him. “And I’m tired of hiding in this fortress while you fight a war in the shadows.”
Dominic stared at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “This is my world, Lena. It’s brutal, it’s dirty, and it doesn't forgive mistakes. Tonight proved that bringing you here... keeping you close... it puts a target on your back.”
“A target was put on my back the moment I stepped in front of a bullet for your daughter,” Lena replied, her voice ringing with absolute, unyielding conviction. “You think I didn't know that? You think I haven’t lived in Chicago long enough to know how this city works?”
She reached out, placing her hand gently over his large, calloused fingers resting on the steel table.
“I didn't save Sofia because I wanted a reward, Dominic,” Lena whispered. “And I didn't stay here because I was afraid. I stayed because... because walking away from you and that little girl became impossible the second she called me Mommy.”
Dominic’s breath hitched. The cold, unyielding armor he had worn for five long years—the armor that had protected his heart from grief and vengeance—shattered completely.
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He didn't say a word. He stepped forward, wrapped his strong arms around her waist, and pulled her against him, burying his face in her neck. Lena wrapped her good arm around his broad shoulders, pressing her face into his chest, letting the tears she had held back all night finally spill over.
“You’re not leaving,” Dominic murmured against her skin, his voice thick with emotion. “Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
