Chapter 4 – THE ASSAULT RIFLE AND THE RESCUE
The deafening roar of the armored SUV echoing in the warehouse was only surpassed by the terrifying silence that followed.
Dominic Castellano stood in the billowing smoke, the assault rifle resting seamlessly against his shoulder. His dark eyes locked onto Silas with a lethal, unyielding focus. He wasn’t the man who gently offered twenty dollars for a broken teacup. He was the ruthless Don of the Chicago syndicate.
“Drop the weapon, Silas,” Dominic commanded. His voice wasn’t a shout; it was a deep, gravelly promise of violence.
Silas, recovering from the shock of the explosive breach, sneered and instantly raised his suppressed pistol toward Dominic.
“You should have stayed home, Castellano,” Silas spat.
Before Silas could even pull the trigger, Dominic fired a single, deafening shot from the assault rifle.
The heavy caliber round struck Silas cleanly in the right shoulder, violently spinning the massive bodyguard backward. Silas crashed into the rusted metal desk, his pistol clattering across the concrete floor, out of reach. He collapsed, clutching his shattered shoulder, howling in agony.
Dominic didn’t fire again. He marched across the warehouse floor, his eyes shifting immediately from the bleeding man to me.
I was still huddled against the wall, clutching my bruised ribs, my heart hammering wildly against my chest.
Dominic lowered his weapon, the terrifying aura of the mafia boss instantly vanishing as he dropped to one knee beside me.
“Claire,” he said, his voice thick with a raw, protective panic that completely caught me off guard. He reached out, his large, tattooed hands gently checking my face, his thumb lightly brushing the blood from my split lip. “Are you badly hurt? Did he shoot you?”
“No,” I breathed, staring at him in absolute awe. “I’m okay. You… how did you find me?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “When you started talking about Emma’s broken toys on the phone, I knew you were trying to tell me the call was a setup. And I knew only one person in my house knew about those toys.”
He looked toward the open warehouse doors.
“I didn’t send a driver for you, Claire,” Dominic explained grimly. “I sent Marco. When Marco arrived at the storage facility and saw Rebecca’s personal bodyguard driving away with you, he tailed the car. He called me. I brought the cavalry.”
I looked past the SUV. Marco and half a dozen heavily armed syndicate enforcers were pouring into the warehouse, securing the perimeter with terrifying efficiency.
“Rebecca,” I panicked, grabbing Dominic’s arm. “She left five minutes ago. She knows you’re onto her. She said her father’s syndicate is going to attack your mansion tonight!”
Dominic’s eyes widened, a flash of pure dread crossing his sharp features.
“Emma,” he whispered.
He surged to his feet, hauling Silas up from the floor by the collar of his ruined suit. He slammed the bleeding bodyguard against the metal desk, pressing the barrel of the assault rifle directly under Silas’s chin.
“Where is Rebecca’s father planning to breach my house?” Dominic roared.
Silas coughed, blood spilling over his lips, offering a defiant, agonizing grin. “You’re too late, Castellano. The hit squads are already in place. By the time you get back, your daughter is going to be a memory.”
Dominic didn’t hesitate. He struck Silas brutally across the temple with the heavy stock of the rifle, instantly knocking the man unconscious.
“Marco!” Dominic shouted, turning toward his security chief. “Secure him and toss him in the trunk. We are leaving. Now.”
He turned back to me, offering his hand. I took it, and he pulled me up effortlessly, practically carrying me toward the armored SUV.
“You shouldn’t have come for me,” I said as he shoved me into the backseat, climbing in right beside me. “You should have stayed at the house to protect Emma.”
“I left twenty of my best men guarding Emma,” Dominic said, slamming the heavy door shut. The SUV tore out of the warehouse, tires screeching as Marco took the wheel. “And I don’t leave my people behind to die, Claire. You risked your life to go to that storage unit for me. I wasn’t going to let them kill you for it.”
His words sent a jolt of warmth through my freezing, bruised body. He wasn’t just a boss protecting an employee. He was a man fiercely protecting someone he valued.
“She killed her,” I whispered, the horrifying reality of what I had found in the storage unit finally crashing over me.
Dominic looked at me, his brow furrowing in confusion in the dark cabin of the SUV. “Killed who?”
“Lauren,” I sobbed, the tears I had been holding back finally spilling over. “Your ex-wife. Rebecca’s father orchestrated a kidnapping four years ago. Lauren fought back, but she was wounded. Rebecca intercepted all the mail, all the cards Lauren tried to send Emma. Lauren died last month in Seattle, thinking you both hated her.”
Dominic went completely, terrifyingly still.
The silence in the car was absolute, save for the roar of the engine and the frantic beating of my own heart.
I watched the man beside me shatter. The hard, untouchable exterior of the mafia boss cracked, revealing a profound, agonizing grief that had been manipulated and twisted for four years.
He closed his eyes, his large hands balling into fists on his knees.
“She didn’t leave me,” Dominic whispered, his voice cracking with a sorrow so deep it hurt to listen to. “She was taken.”
“I’m so sorry,” I cried, reaching out to gently touch his arm.
Dominic opened his eyes. The grief was still there, but it was rapidly being consumed by a rage so dark and absolute it practically sucked the oxygen out of the car.
“Marco,” Dominic said, his voice dangerously low.
“Yes, Boss?” Marco replied from the driver’s seat.
“Call the captains. All of them,” Dominic ordered. “Tell them I am authorizing a full territorial purge of the Moretti family and anyone associated with Rebecca’s father.”
“A purge, Boss?” Marco asked, genuinely surprised. “That’s open war.”
“I don’t care if Chicago burns to the ground tonight,” Dominic snarled, his eyes burning with lethal intent. “I am going to kill every single person who had a hand in keeping my daughter from her mother.”
The SUV tore onto the expressway, speeding toward the Castellano estate.
We arrived twenty minutes later. The massive wrought-iron gates were wide open, swaying ominously in the wind.
Dominic’s face paled. “The gates are breached.”
Marco slammed on the brakes as we approached the main courtyard.
The scene was a nightmare. Three of Dominic’s security SUVs were burning on the lawn. The front doors of the mansion were completely blown off their hinges. Bullet casings littered the stone steps.
Dominic didn’t wait for Marco to secure the area. He kicked his door open and sprinted toward the blazing entrance, his assault rifle raised.
I scrambled out of the car, running right behind him, terrified of what we were going to find inside.
We burst into the grand foyer. It was eerily quiet. The smoke alarms were blaring, and water from the sprinklers was raining down on the marble floor.
“Emma!” Dominic roared, his voice echoing through the massive, empty house.
Silence.
We ran to the living room. The room where we had held the auction just hours ago was destroyed. Furniture was overturned, expensive paintings ripped from the walls.
But sitting perfectly intact in the center of the ruined coffee table was the broken porcelain teacup.
And tucked underneath it was a small, folded piece of thick, expensive stationary.
Dominic snatched it up. He read the elegant handwriting, his hands trembling violently.
He didn’t say a word. He just handed the note to me.
I looked at the paper, my blood running completely cold.
I told you she was a clumsy child, Dominic, the note read. Bring the deed to the syndicate’s offshore accounts to the old shipping yard on 35th street. Come alone. Or the little girl joins her mother.
Share
