Chapter 4 - The Poison in the Family
The air in Room 412 was thick with tension as Nora worked.
She had successfully intubated Christopher, her hands steady and precise as she cleared his airway and connected the fresh oxygen tank. The frantic, high-pitched screaming of the heart monitor slowly settled back into a rhythmic, comforting thump-thump. The color was returning to my son’s cheeks, his breathing deep and regular once more.
I stood near the window, staring at the small, wrinkled photograph I had ripped from the hallway wall.
Vincent.
My older brother. The brilliant, erratic golden boy of the Lombardi family who had supposedly died in a car crash in the mountains of North Georgia after a drug deal went bad. I had seen the charred remains of the vehicle. I had buried the casket. I had taken the reins of the empire because there was no one else left to carry the name.
And yet, here he was, ten years after his "death," standing beside my own security chief in a photograph that had been hanging in the open for a decade.
I turned slowly to face Lawrence. He was standing near the door, his hand resting on his holster, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“Lawrence,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “How long?”
Lawrence didn't look up. “Dominic, you don't understand. The family was falling apart under your father. Vincent saw the future. He knew we couldn't survive as simple street thugs. He wanted to build something legitimate, something corporate. But your father was too stubborn.”
“So you helped him fake his death,” I said, the puzzle pieces finally clicking together with a sickening precision. “You helped him disappear, and then you placed yourself at my side to watch over my shoulder. To ensure the Lombardi assets were slowly funneled into his offshore accounts.”
“It was business, Dominic,” Lawrence said, his voice losing its deferential tone, turning cold and clinical. “But then you had the boy. Christopher became your only focus. You stopped expanding. You turned down the cartel deals. You became soft. Vincent knew that as long as the boy was alive, you would never let the empire grow to its true potential.”
“So Vincent ordered the hit on my son,” I said, my hand tightening around the grip of my Glock.
“Not a hit,” Lawrence corrected, a shadow of regret crossing his face. “A medical complication. It was supposed to be clean. You would have grieved, you would have returned to the business, and the family would have remained intact. But this… this cleaning lady ruined everything.”
Nora didn't look up from her work, but her voice was cold as steel. “I didn't ruin your plans, Lawrence. You did. The moment you decided to murder a child to protect a dead man's bank account.”
Lawrence drew his weapon, but he was a fraction of a second too slow.
My bullet caught him in the center of his chest. The impact slammed him back against the metal cart wedged against the door, his gun firing once into the ceiling before he slumped to the floor, his eyes wide and vacant.
I stepped over his body, looking out the window of the hospital room.
The first light of dawn was beginning to break over the Atlanta skyline, casting a pale, pink glow across the wet streets below. The rain had finally stopped, but the cold remained.
“He’s stable,” Nora said, standing up and wiping her brow with the back of her sleeve. “The medication is working. He’s going to survive, Dominic.”
I looked at her. Her face was ruined, her body exhausted, but she had saved the only thing in this world that mattered to me.
“Why did you do it?” I asked. “You didn't know who he was. You could have run.”
“My little brother died in a place like this when I was twelve,” she said softly, her eyes looking far away. “I couldn't protect him. But I could protect yours.”
I reached into my pocket, pulling out the black titanium card, and placed it in her hand. “This card has no limit. My private pilot is waiting at the Peachtree hangar. By sunrise, you and whoever you love will be on a plane to a place where Vincent’s shadow can never reach you.”
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“And what about you?” she asked, looking at the card, then at me.
“I have a brother to bury,” I said, my voice cold. “For the last time.”
