Chapter 14 - The Scent of Treachery
The silence inside the hidden vault was louder than the gunfire echoing through the tunnels above.
Dominic stood motionless against the marble doorway, his gun lowered at his side.
His dark eyes were locked on mine, devoid of excuses, stripped of the arrogance he wore like armor before the world.
"I didn't know until the night you were brought into the hospital with seven bullets in your chest," Dominic said, his voice raw.
"You expect me to believe that?" I demanded, tears of furious betrayal stinging the corners of my eyes.
"My father took that secret to his grave," Dominic continued, taking a slow step toward me.
I raised the Glock, leveling the barrel directly at the center of his chest.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't raise his weapon.
He simply stopped, letting the black muzzle rest two inches from his heart.
"Pull the trigger if you believe I had a hand in your suffering, Clara," he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Pull it, and end the Rossi line right here in this tomb."
My finger curled against the cold steel of the trigger.
My heart hammered against my ribs, right against the jagged scar where the first hollow-point had shattered my bone.
Every memory of pain, blood, and abandonment screamed for retribution.
Yet looking into Dominic’s steady, tormented gaze, I saw the truth.
He hadn't pulled the trigger on my past; he had bled to keep me alive in the present.
"Why did you marry me?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly. "Out of guilt?"
"Out of obsession," Dominic answered without hesitation.
"When my father died, he left me a ledger of our family's debts—both financial and moral."
"Your name was the only debt that hadn't been washed in blood."
"I went to that church in Brooklyn to protect you from Marcone, but I arrived too late."
"I saw you lying in that pool of blood on the altar, refusing to die."
"I didn't marry you out of pity, Clara."
"I married you because from the moment I saw your stubborn soul clinging to life, I knew I would burn the entire world to the ground before I let anyone take you from me."
A tear escaped my eye, tracing down my cheek.
Slowly, agonizingly, I lowered the barrel of the gun.
Dominic let out a breath he seemed to have held for years, stepping closer and cupping my face with his scarred hands.
"My father was a monster, Clara," he murmured, his forehead resting against mine.
"And I have spent every waking breath undoing the rot he planted in this empire."
"Then start by telling me who leaked our location tonight," I whispered, wiping the moisture from my cheek.
Before Dominic could answer, the faint sound of footsteps outside the marble entrance broke our fragile truce.
Dominic instantly stepped between me and the door, his Sig Sauer raised to eye level.
The heavy slab swung open fully, revealing Vincenzo, his suit torn, blood dripping from a gash on his temple.
"Don Rossi," Vincenzo breathed, leaning heavily against the doorframe.
"We secured the perimeter, but we have a catastrophic problem."
"Speak," Dominic ordered, not lowering his weapon completely.
"Marcus Leone didn't just target the Delmonico," Vincenzo said, his voice trembling with rare panic.
"He dispatched a strike team to the Long Island estate twenty minutes before the summit began."
My heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss.
"My mother," I gasped, the world spinning around me.
"She was in the medical recovery wing on the south lawn."
"Did they breach the manor?" Dominic barked, his voice filled with terrifying thunder.
"The outer gates fell," Vincenzo admitted, keeping his eyes on the floor.
"The private security detail engaged them in the gardens."
"We lost communication with the safehouse five minutes ago."
I pushed past Dominic, my heels tearing across the cold stone floor of the tunnel.
"Clara, wait!" Dominic shouted, chasing after me.
I didn't stop.
The pain in my chest, the revelation of my father's past, the politics of the Five Families—everything vanished beneath a wave of primal terror.
My mother had endured twenty years of psychological torture in Cleveland.
She had barely begun to breathe fresh air again.
I had promised her that she would never be touched by monsters again under the Rossi banner.
We burst out of the service exit into an alley behind the hotel, where an armored black Suburban was waiting with its engine running.
Dominic shoved the driver out of the front seat, taking the wheel himself while Vincenzo and two bodyguards piled into the back.
I threw myself into the passenger seat, racking the slide of the Glock until the metal clicked sharply.
Dominic slammed his foot on the accelerator, tires screaming as the heavy vehicle leaped into the rain-slicked Manhattan streets.
He drove like a madman, weaving through red lights and sirens with reckless precision.
"If Marcus Leone touches a single hair on her head, Dominic," I said, my voice dead and emotionless.
Dominic stared straight ahead through the windshield, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
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"Then we won't just kill him, Clara."
"We will burn the Leone name from every history book in New York."
