THE SCISSORS IN THE STUDY

Claire stared at her mother, completely shattered. “How could you? You let Joseph die. You let Victor ruin your hand. And you took his money?”

Margaret looked at her daughter, her eyes filled with an unbearable sorrow.

“I didn't take the money for me, Claire,” Margaret wept.

She reached into her soaked coat pocket with her good hand. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a piece of paper, folded and protected inside a small plastic sleeve.

She held it out to Claire.

Claire took it. It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on construction paper. It showed a little girl with a big red heart drawn over her chest, lying in a hospital bed. Across the top, written in seven-year-old Claire’s handwriting, it read: Thank you for fixing my heart, Mommy.

Claire’s breath hitched.

“You were seven years old,” Margaret said, her voice breaking. “You had a congenital heart defect. The doctors said you wouldn't live to see your eighth birthday without a specialized valve surgery. It cost fifty thousand dollars. We had nothing.”

Dominic lowered his weapon slightly, listening.

“Joseph found out about Victor,” Margaret continued, sobbing. “Victor caught him. Victor came to the shop. He smashed my hand with a hammer to show Joseph he was serious. Then he offered me a choice.”

Margaret looked directly at Dominic.

“He said if I told the Bellini family the truth, he would kill me and my little girl. But if I kept my mouth shut, and let Joseph take the fall, he would give me the exact amount I needed to save my daughter’s life.”

Claire covered her mouth, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. Her entire life—her heartbeat—was bought with her mother’s silence and Joseph’s life.

“Joseph begged me to take the deal,” Margaret cried. “He said saving you was worth more than his life. So I took the money. I paid for your surgery. And I lived with the guilt every single day for seventeen years.”

Dominic stared at the child’s drawing in Claire’s hand. The anger that had been boiling inside him for his mother’s murder slowly shifted. It didn't disappear, but it aimed itself entirely away from the broken woman in the chair.

Margaret had made the only choice a mother could make.

Dominic holstered his weapon. He walked over to Margaret and gently helped her to her feet.

“Your debt is paid, Margaret,” Dominic said softly. “You kept your daughter alive. That is the only thing that matters.”

Suddenly, Dominic’s phone vibrated violently in his pocket.

He pulled it out. It was a text from his head of security back at the mansion.

BOSS. VICTOR ESCAPED THE BASEMENT. HE HAD INSIDE HELP. HE’S UPSTAIRS.

Dominic’s blood ran cold.

A second text came through immediately.

HE HAS YOUR GRANDFATHER.

Dominic looked at Claire and Margaret. The warmth completely vanished from his eyes, replaced by the ruthless king of the Chicago syndicate.