Chapter 8 - SEBASTIAN’S CONFESSION
Sebastian returned to the townhouse shortly before dawn.
His face was bruised.
One sleeve torn.
A shallow cut crossed his eyebrow.
Nothing life-threatening.
Everything humiliating.
Dominic met him in the library.
Nora remained outside initially.
Then Sebastian asked for her.
That surprised everyone.
She entered at 5:42 a.m.
Sebastian sat near the fireplace wrapped in a gray blanket.
He looked nothing like the polished man who had slapped her days earlier.
When Nora approached, he stood.
Dominic watched carefully.
Sebastian looked at Nora’s cheek.
The mark had faded.
His shame had not.
“I’m sorry.”
Nora said nothing.
Sebastian continued.
“I had no right to touch you.”
“No.”
“I was frightened.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
“I know.”
Nora believed him.
That did not erase it.
She nodded once.
Sebastian sat again.
Dominic stood near the window.
They had not spoken privately since Sebastian returned.
That was obvious.
Something enormous remained between them.
Sebastian looked toward him.
“You deserve everything.”
Dominic turned.
“Start at the warehouse.”
Sebastian closed his eyes.
Then began.
Vincent first approached him six months before the shooting.
Not with a conspiracy.
With concern.
Dominic was taking risks.
Meeting people without enough security.
Rejecting Sebastian’s advice.
Vincent presented himself as the reasonable cousin.
The person who understood Dominic’s stubbornness.
Then came small requests.
Schedules.
Dinner guests.
Which captains Dominic trusted.
What routes he drove.
Sebastian shared things without thinking.
After all, Vincent was family.
Then the warehouse shooting happened.
Sebastian learned the truth three days later when Vincent showed him a photograph.
Dominic leaving the hospital.
A red circle drawn around his head.
“I understood the message.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“He threatened another attempt.”
“Yes.”
“And you agreed to help remove me.”
Sebastian nodded.
“At first, only temporarily.”
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“There is no temporary replacement in this world.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Sebastian looked down.
“Yes.”
That honesty hurt more.
Nora watched Dominic.
His right hand trembled at his side.
He did not hide it.
“What did Vincent promise you?”
Sebastian looked up.
“That you’d live.”
“Anything else?”
Silence.
Dominic’s face changed.
“There it is.”
Sebastian stood.
“Dominic—”
“What else?”
“A place.”
“What place?”
Sebastian’s eyes filled.
“Beside Vincent.”
Nora felt the betrayal deepen.
Not because Sebastian loved Vincent.
Because he had imagined surviving Dominic.
Imagined adapting.
Finding another powerful man to stand beside.
Dominic’s face became completely blank.
“You planned a future after me.”
“No.”
“You just said you did.”
“I was terrified.”
“You planned one.”
Sebastian’s voice broke.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
Dominic looked away.
For the first time, Nora understood why someone could be hurt more by a future imagined without them than by the betrayal that caused it.
Sebastian moved closer.
“I never wanted you dead.”
Dominic turned sharply.
“But you prepared for it.”
Sebastian stopped.
“Yes.”
The truth ended whatever argument remained.
Dominic sat.
Not because he was tired.
Because the relationship had finally collapsed under the weight of what both men knew.
Sebastian removed his engagement ring.
He placed it on the desk.
The sound was tiny.
Nora still heard it.
“I love you,” Sebastian said.
Dominic’s eyes remained on the ring.
“I believe you.”
Sebastian started crying.
Dominic continued.
“That doesn’t make you safe for me.”
Sebastian nodded.
“I know.”
He left the library ten minutes later.
Not under guard.
Not as Dominic’s fiancé.
Simply as Sebastian Vale.
Antonio arranged a hotel and protection because Vincent still considered him dangerous.
Dominic did not watch him leave.
Nora did.
There was no victory in it.
Only consequence.
At noon, Frank brought new information.
Vincent had contacted three captains overnight.
None agreed to help him.
The family had closed ranks.
His money was being cut off.
Warehouses refused him access.
Drivers refused calls.
Restaurants once controlled through fear suddenly forgot his name.
Vincent was becoming isolated.
That made him more dangerous.
“What does he have left?” Dominic asked.
Frank answered:
“Your father’s old summer house.”
Dominic frowned.
“Long Island?”
“It was sold.”
“Officially.”
Antonio placed a folder on the desk.
Vincent had quietly purchased it through another company two years earlier.
Dominic stared at the property photograph.
A large weathered house near the water.
His childhood summers lived there.
Fishing with his father.
His mother yelling from the porch.
Vincent breaking his arm jumping from a dock because Dominic dared him.
Another place corrupted by memory.
Nora entered carrying coffee.
She noticed the photograph.
“I’ve seen that house.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Where?”
She thought.
Then remembered.
“On Teresa’s phone.”
Antonio turned sharply.
“When?”
“One of the messages.”
They recovered screenshots.
Teresa had received a photograph from Vincent six weeks earlier.
The summer house.
Caption:
AFTER THE TRANSITION.
Dominic stared.
A plan for afterward.
Not merely removing Dominic.
Vincent had been preparing a new headquarters.
Frank said, “He could be there.”
Dominic stood.
Nora put the coffee down.
“Don’t go alone.”
Dominic looked at her.
“I won’t.”
At sunset, Dominic arrived at the summer house with Antonio, Carlo, Frank, and four men.
No army.
No public spectacle.
Vincent was sitting on the old dock.
Alone.
Dominic walked toward him.
His cousin did not turn.
“Remember when you pushed me off this thing?”
Dominic stopped several feet away.
“You jumped.”
“You dared me.”
“You were fifteen.”
Vincent laughed.
“You’ve always been good at getting people to do stupid things.”
Dominic looked at him.
“Why?”
Vincent stared at the water.
“Because I was better.”
“At what?”
“Everything you hated.”
Dominic said nothing.
Vincent continued.
“Your father wanted you because you were his son. Not because you were ready.”
“You think shooting me proved you were?”
“I didn’t intend the first plan to kill you.”
“Until you did.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“You wouldn’t step aside.”
“So you decided I should die.”
Vincent stood.
“You don’t understand what it was like.”
Dominic almost laughed.
“What?”
“Being second.”
There it was.
Not strategy.
Not family protection.
Not concern.
Thirty years of resentment distilled into one sentence.
Dominic looked at his cousin and realized something unexpectedly freeing.
There was nothing he could say that would repair a man who had spent his entire life keeping score.
Vincent reached into his coat.
Carlo moved.
Dominic didn’t.
Vincent removed a pistol.
Nora was not there to see it.
Later, she would be grateful.
Vincent pointed it.
Not at Dominic.
At himself.
Dominic’s voice changed.
“Put it down.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“Still giving orders.”
“Put it down.”
“You win.”
“This isn’t winning.”
“Of course it is.”
Dominic stepped closer.
Carlo whispered, “Boss.”
Dominic ignored him.
Vincent’s hand shook.
Dominic looked at it.
Then at his own injured hand.
“Mine shakes too.”
Vincent blinked.
Dominic continued.
“You spent four months convincing everyone that made me weak.”
He took another step.
“It doesn’t.”
Vincent’s face crumpled.
“You should hate me.”
“I do.”
Vincent laughed through tears.
“Then let me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because my father buried enough people.”
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“And I’m not letting you turn yourself into another story this family tells at funerals.”
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then Vincent lowered the pistol.
Carlo took it.
Dominic exhaled.
The man who had tried to kill him was alive.
Defeated.
And finally unable to hide behind anyone else’s fear.
When Dominic returned home after midnight, Nora was sitting at the kitchen table.
Mia slept upstairs.
Dominic entered.
Nora stood.
“Is it over?”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
She studied his face.
“You don’t look relieved.”
“I don’t know what that feels like yet.”
Nora nodded.
Dominic approached the coffee machine.
His right hand reached for a mug.
It shook.
The mug tapped against another cup.
Nora remained still.
Dominic noticed.
“You’re not going to help?”
“You didn’t ask.”
A tired smile appeared.
“Coffee?”
“You’re making it.”
His smile grew.
Then he reached again.
May you like
This time he got the cup.
And for the first time in months, Dominic Santoro did not care whether anyone saw how difficult it had been.
