Chapter 7 - The Wrath of Valente
The warehouse descended into utter stillness, a silence far more terrifying than the gunfire at the restaurant had been. Dominic’s men—loyalists who had been waiting for the signal—disarmed Vincent’s crew in seconds.
Vincent stood in the center of the laser sights, his arrogance shattering like the crystal pitcher at the Gilded Spoon. He looked from Cassidy to Dominic, his jaw working uselessly.
“Dominic, wait, be reasonable,” Vincent stammered, stepping back as his brother approached. “You need me. I control half the docks. The Russians won't deal with you without me.”
Dominic didn't speak. He handed his rifle to a lieutenant and walked directly up to Vincent.
With a movement so fast Cassidy barely registered it, Dominic drove his fist into Vincent’s stomach, then grabbed him by the throat, slamming him against the steel beam of the warehouse.
“You put a bomb in my car,” Dominic snarled, his voice guttural, vibrating with years of unresolved grief. “You murdered Elena. You broke my daughter. You made me hunt ghosts for two years while you smiled at my dinner table.”
“It was business!” Vincent choked out, spitting blood. “You were getting soft! You wanted to go legitimate for the kid! We are kings, Dominic! We don’t go legitimate!”
Dominic stared at his brother, the last shreds of his familial mercy evaporating. He didn't pull a weapon. He didn't have to.
“Take him to the basement of the meatpacking plant,” Dominic ordered his men, his voice devoid of emotion. “Make sure he stays awake for a very long time.”
As Vincent screamed and was dragged away into the shadows, Dominic turned his attention to Cassidy. His cold exterior cracked, relief washing over his harsh features. He reached out, his large hands gripping her shoulders, checking her for injuries.
“I told you to run to the church,” he breathed, his eyes searching hers.
“I left Mia there with the priest,” Cassidy said, her voice shaking now that the adrenaline was fading. “But I couldn't let you trade your life for my mom’s. I had to create a distraction so you could get your men.”
Dominic pulled her against his chest, holding her tight. It was a fiercely protective embrace, and for the first time in years, Cassidy allowed herself to lean on someone else.
But the moment shattered when Cassidy’s cell phone rang in her pocket.
She pulled away, her heart dropping as she saw the caller ID. St. Jude’s Dialysis Clinic.
“Vincent’s men,” Cassidy gasped, remembering the threat. “He said they were in the lobby.”
Dominic snatched the phone and answered it, putting it on speaker. “Who is this?”
A frantic woman’s voice echoed over the line. “Cassidy? This is Nurse Jenkins! You need to get here now!”
“Are there armed men in the clinic?” Dominic demanded.
“What? No!” the nurse cried. “It’s your mother, Cassidy! Her blood pressure bottomed out. The machines are failing. She’s coding. We’re doing CPR, but you need to get here right now!”
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Cassidy dropped the phone. It cracked on the concrete.
She had survived the mafia. She had survived the gunfire. But she was too late to save her mother.
