Chapter 7 - The Final Verdict
Before Dominic could press the trigger, the front doors of the mansion were kicked open.
Frankie "The Hammer" burst into the foyer, followed by ten heavily armed Moretti security guards, their tactical gear glistening with rain from outside.
“Boss!” Frankie yelled, sweeping his weapon across the room before seeing the trail of dead mercenaries lining the hallway. Frankie stopped, staring at the scene in absolute shock, and then looked at Dominic. “Jesus Christ...”
Dominic didn't lower his gun. His finger remained resting on the trigger, his gaze locked on the terrified face of Mateo Valenti.
“Boss,” Frankie said cautiously, stepping closer. “The perimeter is secured. The rest of their backup team outside was eliminated. We have the house locked down.”
Mateo looked at Frankie with desperate eyes. “Frankie! Tell him! Tell him to take the deal! I’ll surrender the Valenti syndicate to the Morettis! Everything!”
Frankie looked down at Mateo, then up at Dominic. “He’s right, boss. If we execute him here, the Valenti captains might start an all-out turf war across the state. But if we take his surrender publicly, we absorb their entire network without firing another shot.”
Dominic stood still, the heavy weight of the gun in his hand. Three years ago, he would have pulled the trigger without a second thought. He would have painted the marble with Mateo’s blood and spent the next three months burning the Valenti family to the ground, not caring how many lives were lost in the process.
Because three years ago, he didn't care if he lived or died.
But now, as he looked at the cold marble floor, he remembered the warm feeling of a little girl’s fingers wrapped around his knuckles. He remembered the smell of star-shaped pancakes. He remembered that this house was no longer just a grave; it was a home where a child was growing up.
He didn't want this house to smell like blood anymore.
Slowly, deliberately, Dominic lowered the gun.
Mateo let out a ragged, sob-filled gasp of relief, collapsing against the floorboards.
“Frankie,” Dominic commanded softly.
“Yes, boss?”
“Take him to the basement,” Dominic said, his voice cold and uncompromising. “Strip him of his titles, his territory, and his weapons. Have his legal team sign over every Valenti asset to the Moretti trust by sunrise. Then put him on a boat to Europe. If he ever steps foot on American soil again, kill him.”
Frankie smiled—a fierce, proud grin that showed he recognized his Don was truly back. “With pleasure, boss. Get him up!”
The guards grabbed Mateo by his arms, dragging the weeping former mob boss out through the front doors.
As the foyer cleared and the guards began removing the bodies, Frankie walked up to Dominic, handing him a clean white handkerchief.
Dominic took it, wiping a speck of dust from his sleeve.
“You look good, boss,” Frankie said quietly, genuine warmth in his eyes. “You look like yourself again.”
Dominic looked up at the ceiling, toward the east wing where the nursery sat quiet and safe.
“I’m not the same man I was three years ago, Frankie,” Dominic said softly. “And that’s a good thing.”
“What changed?” Frankie asked, genuinely curious.
May you like
Dominic reached into his coat pocket and felt his hand touch something small and soft that he had picked up from the parlor floor earlier that evening—a tiny, stray piece of blue yarn that had unraveled from a faded stuffed toy.
“A rabbit,” Dominic said with a faint, rare smile. “A rabbit with only one ear.”
