Chapter 5 - The Price of BloodThe winter air rushed into the shattered front of the clinic, carrying swirling snowflakes and the distant wail of police sirens echoing down Dorchester Avenue.
Salvatore lay motionless in the snow outside among the jagged glass, his head bleeding profusely onto the white drift. Frankie was handcuffed to a radiator upstairs, knocked out cold by Maya using a heavy veterinary text.
Inside, the clinic was quiet save for the heavy, ragged breathing of Titan, who stood over the broken glass, his bandaged shoulder leaking a small streak of fresh crimson onto his dark fur.
Nico walked slowly to the shattered window, looking out into the pale, freezing light of dawn. Sirens were getting closer—too close. Someone in the neighborhood had definitely heard the shotgun blast.
"The police are coming," Maya said, stepping down the stairs with a roll of medical tape and a roll of gauze in her hands. She stopped when she saw Nico’s face—bruised, bleeding from the lip, his eyes burning with an intense, terrifying focus. "And if they trace those fingerprints to your father's men, the whole city will be looking for you. Or worse, the feds."
"They won't find me," Nico said, turning away from the window. He knelt beside Titan, gently running his hand over the mastiff’s thick neck. The dog leaned into his touch, its golden eyes calm, steady, unbreakable. "Vittorio didn't send them just to kill me. He sent them to make noise. He wants the authorities to know I’m here."
Sarah walked out of the back room, her shotgun resting casually over her shoulder, her expression grim. "He’s framing you. Your father has half the Boston precinct in his pocket, Nico. If the police pull up here right now, they won't find a rescued dog and a self-defense story. They’ll find stolen Falcone ledgers, a cache of unregistered weapons, and a wanted fugitive."
Nico stood up slowly. The realization hit him with the force of a tidal wave. Vittorio hadn't just cut him off; he had initiated the second phase of his destruction. The feds were likely already on their way, armed with a fabricated warrant and a lifetime sentence wrapped in a neat legal package.
"We have to move," Maya said, her gray-blue eyes flashing with urgency. "We have a cabin up in the White Mountains—an old place my grandfather used to keep. No phones, no cameras, no paper trail. If we stay in Boston twenty minutes longer, we’re all dead or in federal prison."
Nico looked at Sarah, then at Maya, and finally down at Titan. He had walked out of the Beacon Hill mansion with nothing but three words from a dead woman and a bleeding dog. Now, he was dragging two innocent women into a war against the most powerful syndicate in New England.
"I can't let you come with me," Nico said, his voice flat. "This is my bloodline. My war."
"It was your war," Maya snapped, stepping right up to his chest, refusing to back down an inch. "Now it’s on our front porch, our window is smashed, and there’s an unconscious goon tied to our radiator. You don't get to play lone wolf anymore, Falcone. We ride together, or we burn together."
May you like
Nico stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then, for the first time in twenty-seven years, a faint, genuine ghost of a smile touched the corner of his bruised lips.
"Pack the medical supplies," Nico said. "We leave in five minutes."
