Chapter 11 - The Blood on the Snow
The tires of Dominic’s black armored Maybach sliced through the fresh snow blanketing the Long Island Expressway. The silence inside the vehicle was heavy, smelling of burnt cordite, expensive leather, and cold winter air.
In the passenger seat, Enzo checked his tactical tablet, watching the live feeds from the North Shore perimeter.
“The Commission has already ratified the transfer of Costa’s Brooklyn terminals,” Enzo said, his voice flat and efficient. “The five families received the message within five minutes of Costa taking that bullet. No one is contesting your claim, Boss. New York belongs to the Rossi name.”
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his right hand, where a small smear of Costa’s blood had dried near the cuff of his white shirt. He pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the stain away until the cloth was spotless.
“I don't care about Brooklyn, Enzo,” Dominic said, his voice low and gravelly. “I care about the Long Island estate. Did the medical transport from Vermont arrive?”
“Doctor Miller landed the private air ambulance at Republic Airport thirty minutes ago,” Enzo confirmed, swiping to a medical telemetry feed. “Clara’s mother, Helena, is already settled in the east wing medical suite under guard. Her vitals are stable. The advanced immunotherapy treatments started the moment she was wheeled off the tarmac.”
Dominic leaned his head back against the leather headrest, closing his eyes for the first time in thirty-six hours.
When he had first placed that gold band on Clara’s finger in a quiet hospital chapel, it had been a transaction of convenience and blood debt. She was the innocent diner waitress who had thrown herself between a hired assassin’s bullet and his ailing mother, Donna Rosa. In return, Dominic had offered her absolute protection, financial security, and the cutting-edge medical care her dying mother needed to survive.
He had promised her safety behind the high stone walls of his fortress.
Instead, Victor Costa had turned her into a target, digging into her past, threatening her mother’s care facility, and trying to leverage the woman Dominic was sworn to protect.
Costa had made a fatal miscalculation. He had assumed Clara was Dominic’s liability.
He hadn't realized that the moment Clara took his name, she had become the only thing in this world Dominic was truly willing to burn the city down to protect.
The Maybach slowed as it approached the towering wrought-iron gates of the North Shore estate. The heavy steel slid open with a hydraulic hum, allowing the four-car convoy to roll up the crushed-gravel driveway lined with ancient, snow-dusted weeping willows.
Dominic stepped out into the freezing night. He didn't wait for his guards. He unbuttoned his wool overcoat, walked through the massive double oak doors of the grand foyer, and climbed the sweeping staircase two steps at a time.
Standing by the panoramic bay window of the master suite, dressed in a soft ivory sweater, Clara turned around as the door clicked open.
Her hazel eyes were wide, luminous with unshed tears. She looked at his midnight suit, at his uninjured shoulders, and down at his clean hands.
“Dominic,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Dominic closed the distance between them in three long strides, pulling her small, fragile frame into his arms. His large hands cradled the back of her head, burying his face into the soft curve of her neck as her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
May you like
“You’re home,” Clara wept into his chest, clutching his lapels as if terrified he might dissolve into the winter shadows.
“I told you I was coming back,” Dominic murmured against her hair, his arms locking around her with an unyielding, protective ferocity. “The war is over, Clara. No one is ever going to touch you again.”
