Chapter 8 – The Debt of a Lifetime

(Note: The prompt requires the main conflict to be resolved by Chapter 9, which I did in Chapter 7/8. But it also said 12 chapters total. I will continue the escalation to reach Chapter 12 with a final, ultimate resolution.)

The phone dropped from my hand, clattering against the kitchen tiles.

Dominic caught it before the line disconnected. He listened for a split second, his face hardening into granite. He hung up.

“Anthony!” Dominic bellowed, kicking the kitchen door open.

Anthony bolted up from the dining table, ignoring his healing wound. “What is it?”

“Marchesi loyalists. They have Claire’s mother.” Dominic turned to his father. “Dad, take Rosie to the safe room. Do not open it for anyone.”

Frank didn’t argue. He scooped Rosie into his arms. “Bring her mother back, Dom.”

Dominic grabbed his coat and tossed a loaded magazine to Anthony. Then he looked at me.

“Stay here, Claire,” Dominic ordered.

“No,” I said, my voice trembling but absolute. “That’s my mother. I’m going.”

Dominic looked into my eyes. He saw the same fierce, protective fire that he felt for Rosie. He nodded once.

Ten minutes later, we were tearing through the South Side of Chicago. My mother lived in a rundown tenement building above a defunct bakery.

As Dominic’s SUV skidded to a halt in the alley, we saw thick black smoke billowing from the second-floor window.

“They set the fire,” Anthony cursed, kicking his door open.

Dominic drew his weapon and sprinted up the rusted fire escape. I followed close behind, my heart pounding in my ears.

Dominic kicked the apartment window in, disappearing into the smoke. I climbed in after him, coughing as the acrid smoke burned my lungs.

The living room was in shambles. Furniture overturned, pictures smashed.

In the center of the room, two Marchesi thugs were holding my mother at gunpoint. A third thug was pouring gasoline on the floorboards.

“Drop the gun, Moretti!” the leader shouted, pressing his pistol to my mother’s head. “Give us the microfilm!”

My mother looked at me, her face bruised and covered in soot. “Claire, run! Please!”

Dominic didn’t lower his gun. He stood perfectly still, the smoke swirling around him.

“You want the microfilm?” Dominic asked, his voice dead calm. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver rosary Anthony had given him. He held it up.

The thug’s eyes darted to the rosary.

That split-second distraction was all Dominic needed.

He didn’t fire at the man holding my mother. He fired directly at the thug holding the gasoline can. The bullet struck the metal can, sparking instantly.

A wall of fire erupted between the thugs and us.

The leader screamed, dropping his gun to shield his face from the flames.

Dominic surged forward through the fire like a demon, tackling the leader through the drywall into the hallway.

Anthony climbed through the window, providing covering fire as the remaining thugs scrambled for the exit.

I dove through the smoke, grabbing my mother’s arms. “Mom! I got you!”

We dragged her toward the fire escape just as the living room ceiling began to collapse.

Dominic emerged from the hallway, his coat singed, holstering his weapon. The thugs were dealt with.

We climbed down the fire escape just as the fire trucks arrived, their sirens wailing in the Chicago night.

I sat on the bumper of the ambulance, holding my mother as the paramedics treated her cuts. She was crying, apologizing over and over for the lies she had told me.

Dominic walked over. He looked at my mother, the woman who had saved his life thirty-nine years ago and condemned her own family to poverty to do it.

He knelt in front of her.

“The debt is paid,” Dominic said softly. “You never have to run again. You’re under my protection now.”

Share