Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE WALL
Dominic lowered the gun instantly.
He dropped to his knees, ignoring the expensive slacks on the dirty floorboards, and pulled the little girl into a fierce, desperate hug. Sage watched as the terrifying mafia boss completely dissolved into a terrified uncle.
“Mia,” Dominic whispered, burying his face in the little girl's messy hair. “Sweetheart, how did you get here? Where is your mother?”
Mia sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her small hand. “Mommy hid me in the laundry chute when the men broke the door. She told me to run to the docks. She told me to find your boat.”
Sage felt her heart shatter. She stood up, favoring her bandaged foot, and walked over to the kitchen galley. She quickly poured a glass of warm milk and brought a soft cashmere blanket from the armchair.
She knelt beside Dominic and wrapped the blanket around Mia’s shivering shoulders.
“Here, sweetie,” Sage said softly, offering the milk. “Drink this. It’ll help.”
Mia looked at Sage, then up at Dominic for permission. Dominic gave a short, tight nod. Mia took the glass, her little hands shaking.
Dominic stood up, walking to the far corner of the cabin. He pulled out a burner phone and dialed a number. Sage could hear the deadly, vibrating tension in his voice.
“Cain. They hit Elena’s house,” Dominic said. The silence on the other end was heavy. “I have Mia. She’s safe. Find out who took my sister, and find out now.”
He hung up, staring out the porthole window into the black lake.
Sage sat next to Mia on the sofa, gently brushing the little girl’s tangled hair. “She’s exhausted,” Sage whispered to Dominic. “She needs to sleep.”
Dominic nodded, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He carried Mia into the small rear bedroom, tucking her into the heavy duvet. When he came back out, he looked older. The invincible armor he wore in the restaurant had cracked.
“My sister Elena wanted out of the life,” Dominic said quietly, pouring two fingers of amber whiskey into a glass. He didn't drink it. He just stared at it. “She moved to the suburbs. She bought a minivan. I promised I would keep the violence away from her.”
“Tyler gave them her address,” Sage realized, the pieces clicking into a horrifying picture.
“Tyler didn't have her address,” Dominic corrected sharply. “Only three people in the world knew where she lived. Me, Cain, and my father’s oldest advisor.”
He walked over to a wood-paneled wall, pressed a hidden latch, and a small safe slid open. He reached inside and pulled out a manila envelope.
“If Tyler used you to hold the legitimate assets,” Dominic said, spreading the papers onto the coffee table, “it means he was trying to buy time to negotiate a buyout. He wants to trade the key to my rivals, in exchange for them killing me. Then he takes the company back from you.”
Sage looked down at the table. Among the financial documents was a single, faded photograph.
It was a picture of Dominic’s father, sitting at a restaurant table decades ago. Sitting across from him was a young, sharp-looking man in a police uniform.
“Who is that?” Sage asked, pointing to the cop.
“Detective Harrison,” Dominic said with a sneer. “He’s the man Tyler is working with. He’s the one who ran the rogue cops that shot at us tonight. He’s been on my family’s payroll for twenty years, but he got greedy.”
Sage felt the blood drain entirely from her face. She picked up the photograph with trembling fingers.
“Sage?” Dominic asked, his brow furrowing at her reaction. “What is it?”
“When I finally tried to get a restraining order against Tyler,” Sage whispered, her voice cracking, “the precinct captain told me I didn't have enough evidence. He told me to go home and try to work it out with my fiancé.”
She looked up at Dominic, sheer terror washing over her.
“That’s him,” Sage said, pointing at the cop in the photo. “That’s the captain who denied my police report. Tyler didn't just pay him off. Harrison was protecting Tyler so Tyler could steal your key.”
Dominic’s eyes widened in realization. The traitor wasn't an advisor. It was the police captain who had orchestrated the entire coup.
Before Dominic could speak, Sage’s cell phone buzzed from the pocket of the wool coat.
She pulled it out. The caller ID read: Martha.
Martha was the seventy-year-old woman who owned the bakery where Sage worked. She was the only mother figure Sage had left in the world.
Sage answered it, her hand shaking. “Martha?”
“She’s a lovely woman, Sage,” Tyler’s slick, self-satisfied voice echoed through the speaker. “Makes a hell of a cherry pie.”
Sage stopped breathing. “Tyler. Don’t you touch her.”
“I’m not touching her,” Tyler said lightly. “But Captain Harrison’s men are currently sitting in her living room. And they are very impatient.”
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“What do you want?” Sage sobbed.
“The brass key,” Tyler said. “Tomorrow morning. Pier 41. Come alone, Sage. Or I promise you, the old lady won’t be baking anything ever again.”
