Chapter 6 - [THE HUSH MONEY IN THE DARK]
The old rail yard on 47th Street was a graveyard of rusted train cars and overgrown weeds. The rain had intensified, turning the ground into a thick, muddy sludge.
Dominic parked the SUV three blocks away.
He turned to Claire. “Lock the doors. Do not leave this vehicle.”
Claire unbuckled her seatbelt. “She is my mother, Dominic. I am not sitting in a car while she dies.”
Dominic looked at her. Her jaw was set, her dark eyes flashing with a defiant courage he couldn't help but admire.
He didn't argue. He reached into the center console and pulled out a small, compact 9mm pistol. He handed it to her.
“Safety is off. Point and pull. Only if you have to,” Dominic instructed.
Claire gripped the cold steel, nodding once.
They moved through the shadows of the rail yard, entirely silent. Dominic was in his element—a phantom moving between the rusted metal behemoths.
They approached a dilapidated maintenance shed. A single, dim lantern glowed from inside.
Dominic held up a fist, signaling Claire to stop. He peered through a crack in the rotted wood.
Claire crept up beside him and looked inside.
Margaret Dawson was tied to a wooden chair in the center of the shed. Her lip was bleeding, and her clothes were soaked with rain.
Pacing in front of her was Marcus Gallo. He was holding a heavy steel pipe, tapping it aggressively against his palm.
“Victor is a fool,” Marcus spat, looking at his watch. “He sent the boy to an empty locker, didn't he? Dominic isn't coming.”
Margaret lifted her chin. Even bruised and terrified, the older woman possessed an iron will.
“Victor was always a coward,” Margaret rasped. “He never even paid you what he paid me to stay quiet.”
Outside, Claire froze.
Her breath caught in her throat. She looked at Dominic, confused and horrified. What did her mother just say?
Marcus stopped pacing. He laughed, a cruel, scratching sound. “Is that right? Victor paid the tailor’s whore hush money? How much did your silence cost, Margaret? How much did it take to let Joseph take the fall for murder?”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Margaret said, her voice defiant, though tears streamed down her face.
Claire’s world spun. Her mother—her righteous, hardworking, suffering mother—had taken fifty thousand dollars from the man who framed Joseph and killed Dominic’s mother?
“Well,” Marcus smiled, raising the heavy steel pipe high above his head. “You should have asked for more.”
Marcus swung the pipe downward.
CRACK.
The wooden door of the shed exploded inward.
Dominic stepped through the splintered wood, his weapon raised, and fired a single, deafening shot.
The bullet tore through Marcus’s kneecap.
Marcus screamed, dropping the pipe as his leg completely gave out. He crashed to the dirt floor, clutching his bleeding knee in agony.
Dominic walked into the shed, his gun still aimed at Marcus’s head.
Claire rushed in right behind him, dropping her weapon and throwing her arms around her mother.
“Mom! Mom, are you okay?” Claire cried, frantically untying the ropes binding her wrists.
Margaret sobbed, burying her face in her daughter’s shoulder. “Claire, oh my God, Claire. You shouldn't be here!”
Dominic kicked Marcus’s gun across the floor. He looked down at the bleeding enforcer, then looked at Margaret.
“You took Victor’s money,” Dominic said. It wasn't an accusation. It was a terrifyingly calm statement of fact.
Margaret stopped crying. She looked up at the mafia boss, then looked at her daughter.
Claire backed away a half-step. “Mom? Is it true? Did you take money to keep quiet about Dominic’s mother?”
Margaret closed her eyes. A heavy, tragic silence filled the shed, broken only by Marcus’s groans.
May you like
“Yes,” Margaret whispered.
TITLE: THE CHILD’S DRAWING IN THE POCKET
