Chapter 6 - Shadows on Wharton Street
Two weeks passed. The arrangement at number 44 settled into a quiet, rhythmic routine that South Philadelphia had not witnessed in a decade.
Every morning at eight, Tess arrived. She managed Sam’s medication schedules with military precision, organized Connie’s mounting medical paperwork, and prepared meals that filled the narrow rowhouse with warmth. In return, Dominic’s presence loomed like a silent, impenetrable shield over the block.
Vlasov’s men no longer walked down Wharton Street. The illegal gaming machines in the local laundromat were quietly removed, and the streetlights that had been broken for months were suddenly repaired by city crews after a brief, quiet telephone call from Dominic’s office.
On a rainy Thursday afternoon, Dominic stood by the front window of number 44, watching Tess load groceries into the trunk of her newly repaired Honda. Little Sammy was sitting on the porch steps, wearing a heavy winter coat, happily racing his plastic trucks along the damp wooden planks.
Dean stepped out of the Lincoln, holding a secure satellite phone. He walked quickly up the porch steps and leaned into the living room.
“Boss,” Dean whispered, his face unusually pale. “We have an issue.”
Dominic stepped out onto the porch, closing the front door behind him. “Speak.”
“It’s Cory Kincaid,” Dean said, his eyes flicking briefly toward Tess across the street. “The ex-husband. He’s back in town.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “I thought he was in Arizona.”
“He was,” Dean replied, reading from a text message on his phone. “Got picked up on a bench warrant in Phoenix three weeks ago. Got bailed out by a local bookmaker. Word is, Cory found out about the fifty-thousand-dollar settlement Tess received from Aegis Senior Care. The idiot thinks he’s entitled to half of it because they were never legally divorced.”
Dominic felt a familiar, cold stillness settle over his chest. “Where is he now?”
“He was spotted two hours ago at a dive bar on Snyder Avenue, drinking heavily and boasting to his old meth buddies that he was going to 'collect his marital share' from his ex-wife tonight.”
Dominic looked across the street. Tess had just closed her car trunk and was walking back toward the porch, smiling down at her son as she carried a brown paper bag of fresh fruit. She looked lighter, younger, the deep exhaustion under her eyes finally beginning to fade.
“Dean,” Dominic said softly.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Tell the boys on Snyder Avenue to locate Cory Kincaid. I want to have a conversation with him before he reaches this street.”
“You want me to handle it quiet?”
“No,” Dominic said, his dark eyes fixing on the approaching woman. “I want to handle it personally.”
Ten minutes later, Tess climbed the porch steps, setting the grocery bag on the table inside. She noticed Dominic standing near the coat rack, adjusting his heavy leather gloves.
“Going out?” she asked casually.
“A brief business matter,” Dominic replied.
Tess paused, her sharp eyes scanning his rigid posture and the dark focus in his stare. She had grown adept at reading his subtle shifts in mood over the past fourteen days. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” Dominic said smoothly. “Make sure the back door is deadbolted tonight, Teresa. The wind is picking up.”
She looked at him for a long moment, sensing the hidden edge beneath his quiet words. “Dominic... don't do anything stupid.”
It was the first time she had called him by his first name without adding a tone of defiance.
May you like
Dominic paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame. He looked back at her, a faint, almost imperceptible softening appearing at the corners of his mouth. “I don't do stupid things, Teresa. I settle accounts.”
He closed the door and descended the steps into the gathering twilight.
