Chapter 8 - THE BLOODLINE
Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Carlo Moretti’s finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle. Norah lay exposed on the tile floor, clutching the detonator to her chest, her eyes wide with terror.
Before Carlo could fire, a massive figure vaulted over the kitchen island.
Dominic tackled Carlo, driving his shoulder squarely into the rival boss’s chest. The rifle discharged harmlessly into the ceiling, raining plaster down on them.
The two men crashed into the shattered cabinets. Dominic was a force of pure, primal violence. He didn’t fight with technique; he fought with the desperate rage of a man protecting his family. He drove his fist into Carlo’s face once, twice, a sickening crunch of bone echoing under the gunfire.
Carlo reached for a combat knife at his belt, slashing blindly. The blade caught Dominic across the ribs, tearing through his shirt.
Dominic grunted, ignoring the blood soaking his side. He grabbed Carlo’s wrist, twisting it until a loud snap echoed in the kitchen. Carlo screamed, dropping the knife.
Dominic drew his sidearm, pressed the barrel under Carlo’s chin, and pulled the trigger.
The kitchen went dead silent.
The remaining Moretti men, seeing their boss dead on the floor, threw down their weapons. The fight was over.
Dominic stood slowly, chest heaving, blood dripping from his side. His eyes immediately darted to the floor.
Norah was still lying there, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees beside her. He kicked the detonator away and pulled her into his arms.
“Norah. Look at me,” he commanded softly, his hands frantic as they checked her for bullet wounds. “Are you hit?”
“No,” she sobbed, clutching his bloody shirt. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
Lily crawled out from behind the island, rushing into Dominic’s side. He wrapped his massive arm around the little girl, pulling both of them tightly against his chest.
For a long moment, the ruthless cartel boss simply knelt on the ruined kitchen floor, holding the two people who mattered most to him, burying his face in Norah’s neck.
Then, Norah let out a sharp, agonizing cry.
She gripped Dominic’s shoulder, her fingernails digging into his skin.
“Dominic,” she gasped, her face pale. “The baby. It’s coming. Now.”
Dominic looked down. A small pool of water was forming on the tiles beneath her.
The stress, the adrenaline, the physical exertion—it had pushed her body past its breaking point.
“We need a medic!” Dominic roared, looking at his surviving men. “Get the compound doctor! Now!”
He carefully scooped Norah into his arms, carrying her out of the ruined kitchen and into the formal living room. He laid her gently on the plush velvet sofa.
“You’re going to be okay,” Dominic said, brushing the sweaty hair from her forehead. His hands were shaking. The man who had just killed a rival boss barehanded was terrified. “You hear me? You’re not leaving me. Neither of you.”
Norah looked up into his slate-gray eyes. The coldness was entirely gone.
“I’m sorry I lied,” she whispered, crying from the pain. “I was so scared you would take it away.”
Dominic leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers.
“I would never take my own heart away from me,” he promised fiercely.
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The compound doctor rushed into the room with a medical bag.
Dominic refused to leave her side. He held her hand, whispering promises in Italian, as the chaotic, violent night transitioned into a desperate fight for a new life.
