Chapter 7 - THE TRAIN TICKET
The small parlor car erupted into chaos.
As Dominic lunged, Beatrice shrieked, tightening her grip on Mia and pointing the silver revolver squarely at Dominic’s chest.
“Stop!” Beatrice screamed, her finger white on the trigger.
But Dominic didn’t stop. He was a force of nature, a father fueled by six years of stolen time.
I didn’t think; I just reacted.
“Beatrice!” I screamed, reaching into my pocket.
I pulled out the heavy leather ledger we had taken from the vault and hurled it with all my strength.
The heavy book spun through the air and slammed violently into the side of Beatrice’s head just as she pulled the trigger.
The gunshot deafened me, echoing in the narrow metal tube of the train.
The bullet, meant for Dominic’s heart, went wide, grazing his ribs and shattering a crystal decanter on the mahogany bar.
Beatrice stumbled backward from the impact of the ledger, her grip on Mia loosening.
“Run, Mia!” Dominic bellowed.
The little girl didn’t hesitate. She ducked under Beatrice’s arm and sprinted toward me.
I dropped my gun, fell to my knees, and caught my daughter in my arms. The impact of her tiny body against my chest was the most profound, earth-shattering feeling I had ever experienced.
She smelled like vanilla and fear. She was trembling violently, her little hands clutching the broken half of the gold compass tight against my neck.
“I’ve got you,” I sobbed, burying my face in her dark curls. “Mommy’s got you. You’re safe.”
But we weren't.
Beatrice recovered, her face twisted in a mask of pure, demonic rage. Blood trickled down her temple where the ledger had struck her.
She raised the revolver again, aiming it directly at my back as I shielded Mia on the floor.
“If I can’t sell her, you can all burn together!” Beatrice shrieked.
A shadow moved over me.
Dominic stepped between me and Beatrice, acting as a human wall. He didn't raise his gun. His right arm hung useless at his side, blood pouring from the fresh graze on his ribs and the bullet wound in his shoulder.
He stared down the barrel of his mother’s gun with absolute, terrifying calm.
“Go ahead, Beatrice,” Dominic said, his voice a low, lethal whisper. “Shoot me. But know this—my men have already surrounded the tracks. Silvia knows everything. You won't make it out of this train car alive.”
Beatrice’s hand shook. For the first time, the ruthless matriarch looked truly trapped.
“I built this empire!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “I made you a king! You owe me your life!”
“I owe you nothing,” Dominic replied coldly. “You stole my life. And you tried to steal my family. It ends tonight.”
Suddenly, the heavy train car violently lurched forward.
The screech of metal on metal was deafening. The brakes had been thrown completely in emergency.
We were all thrown off balance. Beatrice stumbled backward, crashing against the mahogany bar. The revolver slipped from her grasp, skittering across the velvet carpet.
Before she could reach it, the front doors of the parlor car burst open.
Silvia, Dominic’s loyal second-in-command, stepped through the doors, followed by heavily armed men in Varelli suits.
“End of the line, Beatrice,” Silvia said, raising her assault rifle. “The tracks are blocked. The Romanovs in the engine car are dead.”
Beatrice looked from the gun in Silvia’s hands to the cold, dead eyes of the son she had bought and abused.
The fight drained out of her entirely. The untouchable queen of the Boston underworld collapsed onto the floor, her velvet coat ruined, her silver cane rolling uselessly under a table.
“Take her,” Dominic ordered softly, not looking away from the pathetic figure on the floor. “Lock her in the deep cell at the warehouse. The commission will decide her fate.”
Two of Silvia’s men hauled Beatrice roughly to her feet and dragged her out of the train car. She didn't scream. She didn't look back. She was finally, truly broken.
The train hissed, the heavy engines powering down into silence. The rain beat against the windows, a quiet, rhythmic drumbeat.
Dominic turned slowly.
He looked at me, sitting on the floor, rocking Mia back and forth.
He fell to his knees beside us. The adrenaline was finally leaving his body, leaving him pale and shaking.
Mia peeked out from my shoulder. She looked at the giant, bleeding man with wide, cautious gray eyes.
Dominic reached out a trembling hand, pausing inches from her face, afraid he would frighten her.
“Mia,” Dominic whispered, tears spilling over his dark eyelashes, cutting tracks through the soot and blood on his cheeks. “I’m your papa.”
Mia looked at his hand. Then she looked down at the half-compass she was holding.
She reached out and gently pressed the broken piece of gold into Dominic’s massive, calloused palm.
“The mean lady said you were dead,” Mia whispered, her tiny voice cracking. “She said nobody was coming for me.”
Dominic let out a choked sob. He wrapped his massive arms around both of us, pulling us tightly into his chest, burying his face in Mia’s hair.
“I’m here, piccola,” Dominic cried, kissing her forehead, then leaning over to kiss my lips with a fierce, desperate love. “I’m here. I’ll never stop coming for you. Either of you.”
I held them both, the fractured pieces of my memory and my heart finally snapping back into perfect place.
I was Clara. This was my husband. This was my daughter.
But as I pulled back to look at Dominic, his eyes suddenly rolled back into his head.
“Dominic?” I gasped.
His massive frame went entirely limp, collapsing heavily onto the velvet carpet. The blood loss from the two gunshot wounds had finally caught up to him.
“Dominic!” I screamed, pressing my hands frantically against his bleeding shoulder. “Silvia! Get a medic! Now!”
Silvia rushed into the car, shouting into her radio.
I pressed my forehead against Dominic’s pale, cold cheek, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Don't you dare leave me,” I whispered into his ear. “We just found our way back. Don't you dare.”
May you like
On the floor beside us, the yellowed adoption paper Beatrice had thrown lay discarded. The proof that Dominic wasn't a mafia prince. He was just a man.
And as I held him, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in three years, I realized that was all I ever wanted him to be.
