Chapter 8 - The Ultimate Betrayal and the Final Choice
"Pack your bags again," Dominic commanded, his voice sharp as a razor. "We're moving to the northern safehouse. Now."
"No!" I stepped back, my chest heaving with panic and adrenaline. "This is insane! You brought us here thinking we'd be safe, and within three hours, your enemies are already on our doorstep!"
"Because someone inside my own organization tipped them off," Dominic snarled, slamming his fist against a marble pillar. "Someone in this very house sold us out."
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the foyer swung open.
A figure stepped out of the shadows of the hallway—calm, collected, and holding a silver-plated revolver pointed directly at Dominic’s chest.
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.
It was Mrs. Gable. The kind-eyed older woman who had welcomed us at the door.
"Put the gun down, Sarah," Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm, though a muscle ticked violently in his jaw. He didn't even flinch at the barrel pointed at his heart.
"I'm sorry, Dominic," Sarah said, her voice steady, devoid of any warmth. "Don Salvatore pays better than loyalty. And a bastard child changes the succession rules of the syndicate. The old man couldn't have you growing soft over a waitress and a brat."
Sarah's eyes flicked sideways toward the study where Lily was sleeping.
Something inside Dominic snapped.
In a motion so fast it defied human physics, Dominic drew a concealed Glock from his holster, fired once with pinpoint accuracy, and the revolver flew out of Sarah's hand with a deafening metallic crash, clattering across the marble floor.
Before Sarah could blink, Frankie tackled her to the ground, pinning her arms behind her back.
Dominic stood over her, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fury that promised eternal damnation.
"Get her out of my sight," Dominic growled to Frankie. "Take her to the basement. We'll deal with the traitor later."
As Frankie dragged the screaming woman away, the heavy silence of the mansion settled back over us. Dominic slowly turned around, his shoulders slumping slightly as the adrenaline faded, leaving only a broken, exhausted man who had nearly lost everything twice in one night.
He looked at me across the marble foyer—at the terror in my eyes, the exhaustion in my posture, the impossible reality of the world I had stepped into.
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"You can hate me," Dominic whispered, his voice cracking as he took a step toward me. "You can call me a monster. You can pack your bags and run as far away as you want tomorrow morning. But right now... please let me protect our daughter."
I looked at the man who had abandoned me at eighteen, the kingpin who controlled Chicago, and the father who had wept over a four-year-old's bed. The lie had stolen five years of our lives, but looking into his eyes, I knew one thing for certain: the war for our family had only just begun.
