Chapter 8 - The Empire Burns
The days after Anton's arrest were chaos.
News channels reported raids across the city.
Authorities seized properties.
Accounts were frozen.
Several corrupt officials resigned.
Dominic's name appeared in every newspaper.
But he barely watched.
His attention was in the hospital.
Matteo survived surgery.
The doctor said the bullet missed the heart by less than an inch.
Dominic sat beside him.
“You're lucky.”
Matteo smiled.
“No.”
He looked at his brother.
“You are.”
Dominic frowned.
“How?”
“You finally have a chance to leave.”
Dominic looked through the window.
Sadi stood in the hallway with Lucas.
Lucas pressed his hand against the glass.
Dominic smiled at him.
Matteo noticed.
“You love them.”
“Yes.”
“Then go.”
“What about the family?”
“You are not responsible for the sins of dead men.”
Dominic looked down.
For years he had believed the Russo name was a crown.
Now it felt like a chain.
He turned to Sadi.
“What do you think?”
She came inside.
“I think Lucas deserves a life where no one knows his father's name.”
Dominic nodded.
“I agree.”
They made a plan.
Sell the legitimate businesses.
Close the illegal operations.
Pay employees.
Settle debts.
Turn over every financial record.
Dominic knew some people would call him weak.
Others would call him foolish.
He did not care.
For the first time, the choice belonged to him.
One month later, the Russo mansion was empty.
Sadi walked through the rooms.
“This place always scared me.”
Dominic smiled.
“It scared me too.”
She looked at him.
“You owned it.”
“That doesn't mean it was home.”
Lucas ran through the hallway with a toy airplane.
“Dad!”
Dominic turned.
“Coming!”
Sadi watched them.
She smiled.
“We should move somewhere ordinary.”
“How ordinary?”
“Somewhere with terrible coffee.”
Dominic laughed.
“You hate terrible coffee.”
“I can learn.”
They left the mansion.
They moved to a small house outside the city.
There was a kitchen with yellow cabinets.
A porch.
A backyard.
A mailbox.
No guards.
No hidden weapons.
No coded messages.
No locked rooms.
For the first time in years, Dominic slept without a gun beneath his pillow.
But peace did not arrive immediately.
Sadi woke from nightmares.
Dominic sat with her.
Sometimes she cried.
Sometimes he did.
Healing did not look dramatic.
It looked like grocery shopping.
School meetings.
Burned pancakes.
Arguments about laundry.
Lucas learning to ride a bicycle.
It looked ordinary.
And ordinary felt miraculous.
Six months later, Dominic received a letter.
It was from Anton.
He had been sentenced.
The letter contained one sentence.
“You think you escaped the Russo name, but names have memories.”
Dominic burned it.
Sadi watched the paper disappear.
“Doesn't that bother you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He looked at Lucas riding his bicycle.
“Because Lucas won't inherit my father's mistakes.”
That evening, they ate dinner on the porch.
Lucas asked:
“Mom, Dad, are you getting married?”
Sadi nearly choked on her drink.
Dominic smiled.
“We're thinking about it.”
Lucas grinned.
“You should.”
Later, when Lucas went inside, Dominic took Sadi's hand.
“I need to ask you something.”
She smiled.
“That's a dangerous sentence.”
He reached into his pocket.
She froze.
“Dominic…”
He opened his hand.
Not a ring.
A key.
“What is that?”
“The key to the house.”
She looked confused.
“I know where we live.”
“This isn't just a house.”
He stepped closer.
“It is the first place I have ever owned that wasn't built with fear.”
Sadi's eyes filled with tears.
“I want you to have the only key.”
She laughed through the tears.
“That is the least romantic proposal I have ever heard.”
He smiled.
“I can do better.”
He dropped to one knee.
Sadi covered her mouth.
“Now?”
“Now.”
She laughed.
“Dominic Russo, are you sure?”
He looked up.
“For the first time in my life.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Lucas screamed from inside the house.
“They said yes!”
Dominic blinked.
“You were listening?”
Lucas appeared in the doorway.
“Of course.”
Sadi laughed.
The past was not erased.
But it was no longer controlling them.
That should have been the end.
It wasn't.
Because on the morning of their wedding, a package arrived.
Inside was a photograph of Room 307.
May you like
And beneath it, one sentence:
“You never asked who paid the janitor.”
