Chapter 8 - THE GHOST
“You blew up your own car?” Silvio stared at the phone screen in my hand, his face draining of color.
“Marco is dead?” Silvio’s voice cracked.
“Marco walked away,” Dominic said coldly. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
Before Silvio could speak, two of Dominic’s men entered the apartment. They grabbed Silvio by the arms, dragging him out the door.
“Take him to the compound,” Dominic ordered. “Lock him in the basement.”
I knelt beside Tommy, untying the thick ropes around his wrists. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely manage the knots.
“Grace,” Tommy rasped, pulling me into a desperate hug the moment his hands were free. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”
“Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe.” I kissed the top of Leo’s head. The little boy buried his face in my neck, crying softly.
Dominic watched us. For a moment, the mafia boss disappeared, and I saw something else in his eyes. Regret.
“We have to move,” Dominic said quietly. “The police will respond to the explosion soon. Elena thinks I’m dead. We need to capitalize on that before she realizes it’s a trick.”
“What about Michael?” I asked. “She said her men had him at the hangar.”
Dominic shook his head. “Michael is fine. The men at the hangar worked for me, not Silvio. Elena only saw what I wanted her to see.”
I stared at him, realizing the depth of his strategy. He had played them all.
We sneaked out through the alley and climbed into a black transport van waiting two blocks away.
Inside the van, Tommy held Leo tightly. He looked at Dominic, then at me.
“Grace, what is going on?” Tommy asked. “Why did Silvio say you had the key to a diamond?”
I looked at my brother. The man who had raised me, protected me, worked double shifts to buy my school clothes.
“Tommy...” I choked on the words. “Our mother...”
“I’ll explain later,” Dominic interrupted gently, saving me from having to break Tommy’s heart right now. “Right now, we need to end this.”
The van drove out of the city, heading toward the Caruso estate in the suburbs.
“Elena is throwing a victory party right now,” Dominic said, loading a fresh magazine into his weapon. “She thinks the throne is hers. She’s going to open the father’s safe, take the forged documents, and present them to the family board tomorrow morning.”
“How do we stop her?” I asked.
“We let her try.”
Thirty minutes later, the van pulled up to the heavy iron gates of the Caruso estate.
The gates were wide open.
Elena’s men were everywhere. They were celebrating, smoking cigars on the front lawn, laughing.
They thought the king was dead.
Dominic didn’t wait for backup. He didn’t sneak around the back.
He kicked the side door of the van open and walked straight up the main driveway.
I followed closely behind him, my heart pounding in my ears.
One of Elena’s guards turned around. His cigar fell from his mouth.
“Boss?” the man stammered, raising his hands in surrender.
Dominic didn’t even look at him. He walked past the terrified guards, straight up the marble steps, and kicked the front doors open.
The heavy mahogany doors slammed against the walls like a thunderclap.
The grand foyer fell dead silent.
Elena was standing at the top of the sweeping staircase, holding a glass of champagne.
When she saw Dominic, the glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the marble floor.
“Dominic,” she breathed, her face turning chalk white.
“Hello, Elena,” Dominic said, his voice echoing in the massive hall.
Elena backed up a step. “The news... the car bomb...”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.” Dominic walked slowly toward the stairs. “Did you enjoy my funeral?”
Elena’s eyes darted toward the armed guards in the hall. “Shoot him!” she screamed.
Nobody moved.
Dominic’s men, who had been hiding in plain sight, suddenly drew their weapons, aiming them directly at Elena’s loyalists.
The coup was over before it began.
Elena backed against the wall. “You can’t do this! I am the legitimate heir! I have the marriage certificate!”
“You have a forgery,” Dominic corrected.
“It doesn’t matter! I have the board in my pocket. I’ll tie you up in court for ten years!”
Dominic stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
He looked back at me.
“Grace,” he said. “Come here.”
I stepped forward, my worn shoes squeaking faintly on the polished marble.
Elena laughed, a hysterical, desperate sound. “You brought the maid? What is she going to do, clean up my blood?”
“No,” Dominic said softly.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The heavy parchment bore the seal of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts.
“She’s going to fire you.”
Dominic handed the paper to Elena’s lawyer, who was standing nervously near the stairs.
The lawyer read it. His eyes widened.
“This... this is an authentic bloodline decree,” the lawyer stammered.
Elena snatched the paper from him.
She read it once. Then again.
Her eyes slowly lifted from the page, locking onto me.
For the first time in three years, Elena Russo looked at me not with disgust, but with absolute, paralyzing fear.
And then, she did something I never expected.
May you like
She pulled a small, silver pistol from her evening gown.
And pointed it directly at my chest.
