Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO RAN
Carlo Ferrante caught him near the service entrance.
His name was Peter D’Amato.
Forty-two.
Accountant.
Not the kind of man who carried a gun.
Not the kind of man anyone expected to sprint through Dominic Santoro’s kitchen while eleven captains drank coffee twenty yards away.
When Carlo brought him into the library, Peter’s tie hung loose and sweat darkened the collar of his shirt.
Dominic remained seated.
That frightened Peter more than shouting would have.
Sebastian stood near the fireplace.
Antonio stood behind Dominic’s chair.
Nora had been told she could leave.
She stayed.
Dominic noticed.
“Why did you run?” he asked.
Peter swallowed.
“I panicked.”
“About what?”
“The gates.”
“Why would closed gates frighten an accountant?”
Peter looked at Sebastian.
Sebastian immediately said, “Don’t look at me.”
Dominic’s eyes moved between them.
Interesting.
Peter had worked for the Santoro organization nine years.
He handled restaurant books, property payments, payroll accounts.
Unremarkable.
Reliable.
Invisible.
Exactly the kind of man powerful people stopped noticing.
Dominic had learned from his father that invisible men usually heard the most.
“Sit,” Dominic said.
Peter sat.
“Were you involved with the fork?”
“No.”
“Do you know about it?”
“No.”
“Then why did you run?”
Peter stared at his shoes.
Dominic waited.
Thirty seconds.
Forty.
Nobody rescued him from the silence.
Finally Peter whispered, “Because it wasn’t supposed to happen tonight.”
Sebastian closed his eyes.
Only for half a second.
Dominic saw it.
“What wasn’t?”
Peter realized his mistake.
“Nothing.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“You have one chance to stop making this worse.”
Sebastian spoke sharply.
“Dominic, this is becoming paranoid.”
Dominic turned.
“You’re done talking unless I ask you a question.”
Sebastian’s face flushed.
That sentence would have been unthinkable a week earlier.
Nora saw him understand it.
So did everyone else.
Dominic returned his attention to Peter.
“What was supposed to happen?”
Peter breathed through his nose.
Then said:
“A vote.”
Antonio’s expression changed.
Dominic remained still.
“What vote?”
Peter looked toward the closed library doors.
The captains had been moved upstairs under Carlo’s supervision.
No one had been allowed to leave.
Peter spoke quietly.
“Confidence.”
The word landed harder than any accusation.
Dominic leaned back.
There had been no formal vote of confidence in the Santoro family since 1989.
Not because there were written rules.
There weren’t.
Because calling one meant the leadership had already cracked.
“Who planned it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Peter.”
“I swear.”
Dominic looked toward Antonio.
Antonio walked closer.
Peter started talking faster.
“I only heard pieces. People saying the family needed stability. That after the shooting maybe you should step back temporarily.”
“Temporarily.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“That’s what they called it.”
“Who?”
Peter hesitated.
Sebastian interrupted.
“You know what? I’m finished with this.”
He headed for the doors.
Carlo appeared in front of him.
Sebastian stopped.
“Move.”
Carlo looked toward Dominic.
Dominic gave no signal.
Carlo remained where he was.
Sebastian turned.
“You are actually holding me here?”
Dominic’s voice was soft.
“You ordered my staff to tamper with my place setting.”
“For your own good.”
Nobody expected that answer.
Especially Nora.
Dominic stood.
“For my own good?”
Sebastian’s anger replaced caution.
“Yes.”
He pointed at Dominic’s right hand.
“You refuse to admit what everyone can see.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“What can they see?”
“That you’re hurt.”
“I know I’m hurt.”
“You’re weak.”
The room changed.
Peter looked away.
Antonio’s mouth tightened.
Carlo took one slow step toward Sebastian.
Dominic raised his left hand.
Carlo stopped.
Sebastian had gone too far.
He knew it.
But now pride kept him moving.
“You think those men upstairs don’t talk about it?” Sebastian asked. “You think they haven’t spent four months wondering whether the next time someone comes after you, your hand will even work?”
Dominic’s voice became dangerously calm.
“So you helped them wonder.”
“I was forcing you to face reality.”
“By making my injury look worse?”
Sebastian did not answer.
Nora looked at him.
There it was.
Not shame.
Calculation.
Dominic saw it too.
“That isn’t the whole reason.”
Sebastian laughed.
“Of course you’d listen to her.”
He pointed at Nora.
“A woman who’s been in this house for three months.”
Nora finally spoke.
“She noticed because you wanted everyone looking at the wrong thing.”
Sebastian stared at her.
Dominic turned slightly.
“What do you mean?”
Nora’s heart started beating harder.
She had been thinking about the heavy fork since Tuesday.
About why someone would risk such a childish trick.
About what it accomplished.
And what it distracted from.
“The fork doesn’t remove you,” she said.
Dominic frowned.
“It makes people doubt me.”
“Yes. But doubt isn’t enough.”
Antonio watched her carefully.
Nora continued.
“If Mr. Vale wanted those captains to replace you, he’d need someone they were willing to put in your chair.”
Dominic’s eyes moved slowly toward Sebastian.
Sebastian didn’t blink.
Nora looked at Peter.
“When you heard them talking about stability, did they mention a name?”
Peter went white.
That answered the question.
Dominic’s voice sharpened.
“Who?”
Peter whispered:
“Vincent.”
Dominic’s cousin.
The man who had hugged him after the shooting.
The man who visited him in the hospital.
The man who told every captain that anyone exploiting Dominic’s injury would answer to him.
Dominic stared at Peter.
“Vincent Santoro?”
“Yes.”
Antonio cursed softly.
Sebastian said nothing.
That silence was louder than denial.
Dominic walked toward the window.
Rain had begun outside.
Brooklyn lights blurred against the glass.
His cousin Vincent had always wanted more responsibility.
But ambition wasn’t betrayal.
Not automatically.
Dominic turned.
“Bring Vincent down.”
Carlo left.
Nora watched Sebastian.
For the first time since the confrontation began, he looked afraid.
Not angry.
Afraid.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Carlo returned alone.
“Vincent’s gone.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“How?”
“Second-floor balcony. Crossed onto the neighboring roof.”
Antonio swore.
Peter covered his face.
Sebastian closed his eyes.
Dominic looked directly at him.
“You knew he’d run.”
“No.”
“Did you warn him?”
“No.”
“Then why aren’t you surprised?”
Sebastian’s composure finally cracked.
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.”
Dominic moved closer.
“You can.”
Sebastian looked around the room.
At Antonio.
Carlo.
Peter.
Nora.
Then back at Dominic.
“There are men inside your organization who think you’re finished.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Sebastian shook his head.
“You don’t.”
His voice fell.
“They didn’t start after you were shot.”
Dominic went still.
Sebastian’s next sentence changed everything.
“They arranged the shooting.”
Nora felt the room freeze.
Dominic stared at the man he had planned to marry.
“Who?”
Sebastian answered with tears standing unexpectedly in his eyes.
“Vincent.”
Dominic’s injured fingers curled.
“And you?”
Sebastian whispered:
“I found out afterward.”
Dominic’s face became unreadable.
“And instead of telling me, you helped him.”
Sebastian looked down.
“I thought if I made you step aside, he’d stop trying to kill you.”
For several seconds, Dominic said nothing.
Then he asked the question Sebastian had been praying he wouldn’t.
“How long have you known?”
Sebastian could barely answer.
“Eleven weeks.”
Nora closed her eyes.
Eleven weeks.
Eleven weeks of therapy appointments.
Eleven weeks of encouraging Dominic.
Eleven weeks of sleeping beside him.
Eleven weeks of watching a man recover from a shooting Sebastian knew had not been random.
Dominic stepped backward.
Not because he was weak.
Because something inside him had just broken.
Nora saw it.
He looked toward Antonio.
“Take Sebastian upstairs.”
Sebastian moved toward Dominic.
“Please.”
Dominic recoiled.
It was small.
Almost invisible.
But Nora saw that too.
“Don’t touch me.”
Sebastian stopped.
Carlo escorted him away.
Peter remained trembling in the chair.
Dominic stared into the empty doorway.
Then his right hand began to shake.
Hard.
Nora took one instinctive step forward.
Stopped herself.
The old rule.
Never finish something for him because he was taking too long.
Dominic looked at the glass of water beside him.
His fingers reached.
Missed.
Reached again.
Nora said nothing.
Neither did Antonio.
On the third try, Dominic lifted it.
Took one drink.
Set it down.
Then he looked at Nora.
“Thank you.”
She knew he wasn’t talking about the water.
Outside, thunder rolled over Brooklyn.
Inside, Dominic Santoro finally understood that the most dangerous man in his family was not the enemy who had shot him.
May you like
It was the cousin who had stood beside his hospital bed afterward.
And Vincent Santoro had just disappeared into the city.
