Chapter 5 - The Safehouse in the Shadows
The safehouse was an abandoned nineteenth-century Gothic brownstone nestled deep within the industrial fringes of Brooklyn, completely fortified with reinforced steel shutters, security cameras, and a private generator humming softly in the basement.
Enzo carried me upstairs to a spacious, dimly lit bedroom outfitted with heavy velvet drapes and antique mahogany furniture, while a personal trauma doctor whom Dominic kept on permanent retainer went to work redressing my wounds.
When the doctor finally left, the room fell into a heavy, oppressive silence.
Dominic stood by the fireplace, staring into the flickering embers with a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. He hadn't spoken a word since we left the hospital.
"Where is your mother?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Safe," Dominic replied, not turning around. "She’s at a private estate in Vermont. Guarded by a detail that could repel a small military battalion. You don't need to worry about her."
"I always worry about her," I retorted, wincing as I shifted against the plush pillows. "It’s kind of my job. Unlike you, I didn't grow up surrounded by men with guns and private armies."
At that, Dominic turned. The firelight carved harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion and the relentless weight of leadership he carried. He walked over to the edge of the bed, placing the glass on the nightstand, and sat down on the mattress.
"You think this is a game to me?" he asked softly, his voice dangerously low. "You think I wanted to bind you to my name, to drag you into a war with Victor Costa?"
"You did it because of the money," I shot back. "My father's money. You want the decryption key just like Costa does."
Dominic let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "If I wanted the money, Clara, I would have put you in a secure basement and tortured the algorithm out of you three days ago. Arthur Vance stole four hundred million dollars from the syndicate, yes. But he also left behind something else in those encrypted files—proof that Victor Costa has been working with federal prosecutors to betray every major family in New York, including his own. If those files go public, Costa hangs. If they stay hidden, he destroys everyone who stands in his way."
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I stared at him, my mind racing. "And my father?"
"Your father tried to use those files as leverage to buy a clean exit for your family," Dominic said, his gaze softening by a fraction. "Costa found out. That's why he hunted him down. And that's why he's hunting you."
