Chapter 7 - The Quebec Interception
By midnight, the snowstorm outside the Wisconsin compound had begun to ease, leaving two feet of fresh, pristine white powder covering the pines.
Inside the compound's private study, the air was quiet.
Jean-Luc Duval and Sergio Rossi had been stripped of their ranks, their assets, and their security teams, locked in the lower holding cells beneath the garage while Dominic’s legal and operational teams executed a total takeover of their territories.
Karl Vance and old Matteo Moretti had formally signed a new regional alliance agreement with Dominic—one that placed forty percent of the northern transit corridors under the direct oversight of the Rossi family.
Maeve sat on a leather sofa near the small fireplace in the study, a ice pack pressed gently against her bruised shoulder where she had hit the floor during the shooting.
Dominic walked into the room carrying two crystal glasses and a bottle of vintage red wine. He set the glasses on the table and sat down beside her.
"The Canadian mounties and Quebec port authorities just seized Duval's Marseille shipment," Dominic said, pouring the dark wine. "Twelve shipping containers full of illegal contraband, worth roughly sixty million dollars. We redirected the tip through an anonymous Interpol wire."
"And your brother?" Maeve asked softly.
"Anthony is in Montreal right now, taking over Duval’s primary shipping logistics company," Dominic said. He handed her a glass of wine. "He called ten minutes ago. He asked if you were okay."
Maeve smiled, taking a sip of the warm, rich wine. "Tell him I'm fine. Just a little sore."
Dominic leaned back against the cushions, looking at her in the soft firelight. The ruthless, terrifying mob boss who had executed traitors without blinking was gone, replaced by a man who looked deeply tired, reflective, and profoundly grateful.
"You know, Maeve," he said gently, "I've spent my entire life surrounded by people who speak five languages fluently, carry degrees from Oxford and Harvard, and wear ten-thousand-dollar suits. And yet, every single one of them was deaf."
"They weren't deaf," Maeve corrected softly. "They were just greedy. When you spend all your time thinking about what you're going to take from a room, you forget how to listen to what's already inside it."
Dominic looked at her for a long, quiet moment. "Where did you learn to be so wise?"
"Poverty is a very thorough teacher, Dominic," she replied, looking into the crackling flames. "When you have nothing, your mind is the only asset you own. If you don't keep it sharp, the world eats you alive."
Dominic reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a clean white envelope. He placed it gently on her lap.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Your fee," Dominic said. "A check for fifty thousand dollars, plus an additional hundred thousand dollar bonus for saving my life in the Great Hall."
Maeve stared down at the envelope. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
It was enough to change her life forever. She could buy a house. She could start a business. She could go back to school and get a formal degree in linguistics. She was free.
She looked up at Dominic. "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a quiet, intense tone. "You earned every single penny. Tomorrow morning, my private jet will take you anywhere in the world you want to go. London, Paris, Rome... or just back home to Chicago."
Maeve felt a strange, unexpected pang of cold sadness in her chest.
"And what about you?" she asked.
"I go back to running my family," Dominic said, offering a faint, melancholic smile. "Back to watching my back, checking my food for poison, and wondering which of my advisers is going to betray me next."
May you like
Maeve looked at the envelope in her lap, then looked at the dark-haired man sitting beside her—a man who had everything in the world, yet lived in an absolute, suffocating silence of mistrust.
She closed her hand over the envelope, but she didn't open it.
