Chapter 6 - THE BLOOD IN THE DIRT
The sound of the gunshots shattered the fragile glass ceiling of the greenhouse.
Sabrina collapsed backward into the mud, the red silk of her gown turning a darker, terrifying shade of crimson.
"No!" Leo screamed, covering his ears, though he didn't understand the complex web of blood and lies that tied him to the dying woman.
Beneath the floorboards, Dominic moved.
He didn't wait. He didn't strategize.
With a roar of pure rage, Dominic kicked his heavy boots upward, smashing through the rusted iron grate and the rotting wooden floorboards of the potting room.
Wood splintered and flew into the air.
Dominic erupted from the floor like a demon ascending from hell.
Frankie spun around, his eyes wide with shock. "What the—"
Dominic didn't give him a chance to aim. He fired his pistol point-blank. The bullet caught Frankie in the shoulder, spinning the massive bodyguard around before he crashed into a table of dead orchids.
Vitiello’s other two men raised their rifles.
I shoved my hand through the broken floorboards and grabbed the ankle of the nearest gunman. I yanked as hard as I could.
The man slipped on the wet mud and went down hard, his rifle clattering across the floor.
Dominic stepped over him, firing twice into the chest of the second gunman.
In less than five seconds, the greenhouse was secure.
Don Vitiello stood frozen, his cane trembling in his ancient hands. The ruthless mob boss suddenly looked very old and very mortal.
Dominic walked slowly toward him, the barrel of his smoking gun leveled squarely at Vitiello's forehead.
"You came into my house," Dominic whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying fury. "You took my blood."
Vitiello swallowed hard. "Dominic, wait. We can make a deal. The port authority—"
Dominic struck Vitiello across the face with the heavy steel grip of the pistol.
The old man crumpled to the dirt, unconscious.
"Uncle Dominic!" Leo cried, jumping off the chair and running toward him.
Dominic dropped the gun and fell to his knees, catching the boy in a desperate, crushing embrace. He buried his face in Leo’s shoulder, breathing heavily.
"I've got you, Leo," Dominic choked out. "You're safe. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
I pulled myself up through the broken floorboards, my apron covered in mud and rot.
I ran over to Sabrina.
She was lying on her back, staring up at the shattered glass ceiling. The rain was falling softly on her face. She was bleeding heavily, her breath coming in shallow, rattling gasps.
Dominic gently set Leo aside and walked over, kneeling beside the woman he was supposed to marry tonight.
"Sabrina," Dominic said softly.
Sabrina turned her head slowly, her glazed eyes finding his face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth. "I just... I wanted to protect him. My father would have killed him if he knew I kept Marco's bastard."
"Elena protected him," Dominic said, his voice surprisingly gentle for a man speaking to his betrayer. "Elena loved him as her own."
"I know," Sabrina gasped. She reached out with a trembling, bloody hand. "Dominic. My purse. Please."
I saw a small silver clutch purse lying in the mud a few feet away. I grabbed it and brought it to her.
Sabrina fumbled with the clasp. Her fingers were growing weak.
She pulled out a small, velvet pouch.
She pressed it into Dominic's hand.
"Give this to Leo," Sabrina wept, a single tear cutting through the rain and soot on her cheek. "Tell him... tell him his mother loved him enough to let him go."
Sabrina’s hand fell limp into the mud. Her eyes fixed on the glass ceiling, and she stopped breathing.
Answer one: Sabrina’s entire manipulation was born of a mother’s desperate, twisted love to keep her secret son safe from her own ruthless family.
Open two: If Vitiello knew about the boy all along, why wait three years to strike?
Dominic closed Sabrina’s eyes with a gentle swipe of his thumb. He stood up, looking at the velvet pouch in his hand.
He opened it.
Inside was a delicate, silver rosary.
Dominic stared at it, his brow furrowing in deep confusion.
"This isn't Sabrina's," Dominic muttered.
"Whose is it?" I asked, stepping closer.
"It belongs to my father," Dominic said, holding the silver beads up to the dim light. "He was holding this when he died in the crash."
Suddenly, a weak, painful laugh echoed from the corner of the greenhouse.
Frankie.
He was leaning against the stone wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder, grinning a bloody smile.
"You still don't get it, do you, Boss?" Frankie coughed.
Dominic turned his gun on the wounded traitor. "Get what?"
"Vitiello didn't orchestrate your father's death," Frankie laughed, spitting blood onto the dirt. "Vitiello only bought me off last week."
A massive reversal. If Vitiello didn't order the hit three years ago, who did?
"Then who paid you to cut the brakes on my father's car?" Dominic demanded, stepping toward Frankie.
May you like
Frankie smiled, looking Dominic dead in the eye.
"I wasn't paid to kill your father, Dominic," Frankie said. "I was paid to kill Elena."
