Chapter 6 - THE DRIVER
The world tilted on its axis.
I stared at the back of the driver’s head.
He had Michael’s build. He wore Michael’s tactical jacket. In the dark, in the chaos, we hadn't looked closely.
We had jumped into the SUV blindly.
Dominic raised his gun instantly, pressing the barrel against the back of the driver’s skull.
“Pull over,” Dominic ordered.
Silvio’s son—Marco—just laughed. He didn’t slow down. He accelerated, the SUV roaring toward the docks.
“Shoot me, Dom, and we all go into the harbor at ninety miles an hour,” Marco said.
On the phone screen, Elena’s voice echoed.
“Such a predictable family,” she sighed. “Did you really think Michael was driving? My men took him out while you were playing detective in the warehouse.”
“Where are Tommy and Leo?” I screamed at the screen.
“Oh, they’re safe. For now.” Elena leaned closer to the camera. “But here is the new deal, Dominic. Marco is driving you to Pier 4. You are going to sign over the Caruso estate to me. Tonight. If you don't, Michael dies. Then the boy. Then the brother.”
The call disconnected.
The SUV tore through the industrial district. The harbor water loomed ahead, black and freezing.
“You’re pathetic, Marco,” Dominic said, keeping the gun steady. “Taking orders from an illegitimate sister.”
“She’s family,” Marco spat. “You hoarded the wealth. She promised my father half.”
“She lied to you.”
“Shut up!”
“She lied to you,” Dominic repeated, his voice cold and hypnotic. “Elena doesn’t share. She wants the diamond, the estate, and the control. Once you kill me, Silvio is next. She’s using you to clean house.”
Marco’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.
Doubt is a poison, and Dominic knew exactly how to administer it.
“If you drive us to that pier, Marco, you sign your own death warrant. Elena’s men are waiting there, right? To kill me?”
Marco didn’t answer.
“Who do you think they’re going to kill next?” Dominic asked. “No loose ends.”
We were three blocks from the pier.
“Hit the brakes, Marco,” Dominic commanded. “Walk away. I let you live.”
Marco gritted his teeth. “My father will kill me.”
“Your father is already dead,” Dominic lied smoothly. “My men just took the hangar.”
Marco panicked. He looked in the rearview mirror.
That one second of distraction was all Dominic needed.
Dominic didn’t shoot. He slammed the butt of his gun into the side of Marco’s temple.
Marco slumped against the window.
The SUV swerved wildly.
“Grab the wheel!” Dominic yelled.
I leaped over the center console, grabbing the steering wheel as the heavy vehicle careened toward a brick wall.
I yanked it hard to the right.
The tires screamed. The side of the SUV scraped against the brick, sending a shower of orange sparks into the night.
Dominic threw the transmission into neutral and pulled the emergency brake.
The SUV skidded to a violent, shuddering halt.
I collapsed back into the passenger seat, gasping for air.
Dominic opened the driver’s door and shoved the unconscious Marco onto the pavement.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and looked at me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” My hands were shaking uncontrollably. “Dominic, Michael is at the hangar. Elena wants the estate. Silvio wants the diamond. They’re going to kill everyone.”
“Not everyone.”
Dominic put the SUV in gear.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Elena thinks she’s won because she controls the board. But she doesn’t know the one thing my father told me before he died.”
He looked at me, his eyes burning with a dangerous fire.
“She forged the marriage certificate, Grace.”
I blinked. “Forged it?”
“My father never married her mother. He legally adopted Elena when she was a baby. It was buried in closed court records.”
“But... why does that matter?”
“Because an adopted child cannot inherit the Caruso estate if there is a blood heir named in the true will.”
I felt a cold chill run down my spine. “Dominic... you are the blood heir.”
“I am,” he agreed. He turned the steering wheel sharply. “But I’m not the only one.”
I stared at him.
“Grace,” Dominic said softly. “Why do you think my father gave your mother the Isabella Diamond?”
My breath caught in my throat.
Before he could answer, my phone lit up again.
A text message.
It wasn’t from Elena. It wasn’t from Silvio.
It was a photo of a small child’s drawing.
A drawing of a house with a red roof.
May you like
It was the drawing I had hung on the refrigerator in my tiny apartment.
The text beneath it read: Come home, Grace. We are waiting.
