Chapter 5 - The Federal Net
The iron gates of the Lake Forest estate didn't just open; they were blown off their hinges with a muffled thud of a thermal charge.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation! Nobody move!”
The amphibious assault was text-book precision. Black-clad tactical officers swarmed the manicured lawns, sliding down ropes from two unmarked helicopters that hovered menacingly over the slate roof.
Inside the study, Dominic didn't panic. He moved with cold, mechanical speed.
“Dante, get Tommy out through the underground storm drain to the secondary safehouse in Evanston,” Dominic commanded, his voice slicing through the chaos. “Use the car with diplomatic plates.”
“Boss, what about you?” Dante shouted over the approaching roar of boots in the hallway.
“They want me,” Dominic said, pulling a sleek, encrypted burner phone from his pocket and sliding it across the desk toward Clara. “And they think Clara is an accomplice. Clara—take this. Go down to the boat house. A launch is waiting. It will take you across the lake to Michigan. You stay away from Chicago until I clear the board.”
Clara looked at the phone, then up into Dominic’s dark, unyielding eyes.
“And let you take the fall for everything?” Clara shook her head, her jaw set with a stubbornness that matched his own. “If the FBI arrests me for sheltering a fugitive, I lose my nursing license, my life, and my future. But if I run, I prove every single thing they want to claim about me.”
“Clara, this isn't a hospital trauma bay,” Dominic growled, gripping her shoulders. “Vance has been building a RICO case against me for three years. She will use you as leverage to bury me under the prison for the rest of my natural life!”
“Then we don't run,” a cool, sharp voice echoed from the doorway.
Special Agent Sarah Vance stood in the threshold, her tailored pantsuit immaculate, her blond hair pulled back into a severe bun, and a cold, triumphant smile playing on her lips. Behind her, six tactical agents held automatic rifles leveled straight at Dominic’s chest.
“Well, well, well,” Sarah said, walking slowly into the study, her heels clicking rhythmically against the Persian rug. “Dominic Russo, the untouchable king of the South Side, brought down not by a rival syndicate, but by a twenty-six-year-old night-shift nurse.”
Dominic slowly stepped in front of Clara, shielding her body with his own.
“She has nothing to do with this, Sarah,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a deadly, freezing cadence. “She treated a gunshot wound. It’s called the Hippocratic Oath. Look it up.”
“Oh, I know all about oaths, Dominic,” Sarah smiled, tapping her tablet. “But the Hippocratic Oath doesn't usually involve moving into a multi-million-dollar estate, sleeping in the master wing, and orchestrating a multi-million-dollar money laundering cleanup through dummy hospital accounts.”
Clara pushed past Dominic’s shoulder, her eyes flashing with pure lightning. “That is a lie, and you know it!”
“Is it?” Sarah turned her sharp gaze onto Clara. “Let’s find out at the federal courthouse downtown. Cuff them both.”
As the cold steel of the zip-ties ratcheted around Clara’s wrists, Dominic looked at her one last time. There was no fear in his eyes—only an infinite, bottomless resolve.
May you like
“I told you, Clara,” Dominic whispered as the agents dragged him toward the door. “I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”
“Neither am I, Dominic,” she whispered back into the empty air as the cell doors slammed shut.
