Chapter 9 - The Seat at the Head of the Table
Victoria’s head snapped back. The derringer flew from her manicured hand, clattering harmlessly across the hardwood floor. She collapsed in a heap of white silk and ruined pride.
I stood over her, shaking out my bruised hand, my chest heaving.
“That,” I panted, “was for calling me a worthless little maid.”
The room was stunned into absolute silence. The heads of the Five Families stared at the housekeeper who had just knocked out a mafia princess.
Dominic didn’t look surprised. He looked at me with a profound, terrifying admiration.
“Where is her mother?” Dominic demanded, turning his gun on Don Bellini.
Bellini raised his hands in surrender, completely abandoned by his own guards. “She’s in the east wing guest room. She’s unharmed, I swear it!”
“Go,” Dominic nodded to me.
I ran from the dining room, my flashlight cutting through the dark mansion. I reached the east wing, kicked open the guest room door, and found my mother tied to a chair, gagged but wide awake.
“Mom!” I cried, rushing to untie her.
She sobbed in relief, pulling me into a fierce, desperate hug. “Rachel! I thought we were dead. I thought they were going to kill us.”
“We’re safe now, Mom,” I promised, kissing her forehead. “It’s over.”
When I guided my mother back to the grand foyer, the scene had completely changed.
The emergency backup generators had kicked in, bathing the ruined entrance in a warm, golden light.
Don Bellini and Victoria were on their knees in the center of the marble floor, surrounded by the Commission guards. The other bosses looked down at them with absolute disgust.
“The Bellini family is stripped of its seat,” the Genovese Don declared, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “Your territories are forfeit. Your assets belong to the Commission. And your lives… belong to Dominic.”
Victoria wept openly, her makeup smeared, her dignity entirely erased. She looked up at Dominic, begging silently.
Dominic looked down at the woman he had almost married.
“I don’t want their blood in my house,” Dominic said coldly. “Take them to the docks. Put them on a freighter to South America. If they ever step foot in New York again, shoot them on sight.”
The guards dragged the sobbing father and daughter out through the shattered front doors, tossing them into the back of a black van like garbage.
The war was over. Dominic had won.
The Genovese Don stepped forward, offering his hand to Dominic.
“You handled this with honor, Dominic,” the old Don said respectfully. “Your grandfather would be proud. The seat at the head of the table is yours. Uncontested.”
Dominic shook the Don’s hand. “Thank you.”
As the Commission members filed out of the mansion, their black sedans slowly disappearing into the rainy night, the massive house finally fell quiet.
Dominic stood alone in the center of the ruined foyer. The armored car was still smoking near the stairs. Glass covered the floor like diamonds.
I walked up behind him, supporting my mother.
Dominic turned around. The cold, ruthless mafia boss vanished. He looked exhausted, broken, and profoundly sad.
He walked over to my mother and gently kissed her hand.
“I am so deeply sorry for what you endured tonight, Mrs. Adams,” Dominic said softly. “I promise you, on my life, you will never be in danger again. All your medical debts are cleared. And I’ve arranged for a private suite at a secure facility in upstate New York for your recovery. Fully paid for the rest of your life.”
My mother wept, overwhelmed by the sudden salvation. “Thank you. God bless you, son.”
Dominic arranged for his personal driver—one of the few guards who had stayed loyal—to take my mother to safety.
When the door finally closed, it was just Dominic and me in the ruined mansion.
He walked over to the grand staircase and slumped down on the bottom step, burying his face in his hands.
I walked over and sat down right beside him.
We didn’t speak for a long time. The silence was a shared mourning for the man who wasn’t there to see the victory.
“He made this tie for me,” Dominic whispered, his fingers gently tracing the uneven blue stitch on the black cotton. “He stayed up for three weeks, fighting his arthritis, just so I would look sharp for my wedding.”
“He loved you more than anything in the world, Dominic,” I said softly, resting my hand on his arm.
“I almost killed him in that garage,” Dominic choked out, a single tear escaping. “When I found out he signed the paper… I aimed my gun at the only father I ever knew.”
“But you didn’t pull the trigger,” I reminded him gently. “You listened to the truth. You forgave him. He died knowing you loved him.”
Dominic looked up at me. His dark eyes were filled with a terrifying vulnerability.
“You saved my life tonight, Rachel,” Dominic said. “You saved my grandfather’s honor. You saved my entire empire.”
“I just wanted to do the right thing,” I whispered.
Dominic reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the heavy silver pocket watch. He ran his thumb over the cracked glass face.
“I need an estate manager,” Dominic said softly. “Someone I can trust with my life. Someone who isn’t afraid to punch a mafia princess in the jaw.”
I let out a wet, exhausted laugh. “I think I could do that.”
“Good,” Dominic smiled, a genuine, warm smile that finally reached his eyes.
He stood up, offering me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet.
For the first time since I met him, the distance between us felt completely gone. He wasn’t just a boss, and I wasn’t just a maid. We were two survivors standing in the wreckage of a lie.
But as Dominic went to put the silver watch into his pocket, his thumb accidentally caught the small release latch on the back casing.
The back of the watch popped open.
I frowned. I hadn’t noticed the back could open when I found it in the alley.
Dominic looked down. Tucked inside the hollowed-out back of the watch was a small, tightly folded piece of paper.
He pulled it out and unfolded it.
His warm smile vanished instantly. His face went ashen, as if he had just seen a ghost.
“Dominic?” I asked, a new wave of panic rising in my chest. “What is it? What does it say?”
Dominic stared at the paper, his hands trembling violently.
“It’s a birth certificate,” Dominic whispered, his voice cracking with absolute horror.
“Whose?”
May you like
Dominic looked at me, his eyes wide with a terror I hadn’t seen even when the guns were firing.
“Mine.”
