Chapter 8 - A BLOOD DEBT
I woke after emergency surgery with one fewer bullet inside me.
Dr. Patel removed the fragment that had shifted near my liver and repaired the damage I caused by playing hostage negotiator while still technically a trauma patient.
His description, not mine.
He also banned Dominic from my room for twelve hours.
That was his punishment.
Mine was listening to my mother tell me she had been right.
“You could have died.”
“I almost died before.”
“That is not a hobby.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
She sighed.
Then she kissed my forehead.
Father Michael survived with a dislocated shoulder and enough righteous anger to make him stronger than morphine.
Matteo survived too.
That fact became complicated.
Dominic wanted answers.
The federal investigators who received copies of the ledger wanted answers.
The district attorney wanted answers.
And Matteo, perhaps realizing Victor had abandoned him the moment the shooting began, wanted a deal.
By afternoon, Enzo brought news.
“Matteo is talking.”
I was eating applesauce because apparently seven bullets reduce adulthood to baby food.
“What did he say?”
Enzo pulled a chair closer.
“Costa has been using city contracts to move money through construction projects for years. The ledger proves the older network. Matteo can prove the current one.”
“Why help now?”
“He wants protection.”
“From Dominic?”
Enzo looked uncomfortable.
“From everyone.”
I set down the spoon.
“Will Dominic let him testify?”
Enzo stared at me.
“That's an interesting question.”
“Meaning?”
“Five years ago, no.”
“And now?”
“He stayed with you instead of chasing Costa.”
I looked toward the window.
“That's not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
Dominic entered thirty minutes later.
The ban had expired.
He carried coffee for himself and an absurd bouquet for me.
White roses.
“Isabella chose those,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You would bring something depressing.”
“Yes.”
“Black roses?”
“If available.”
I smiled before I could stop myself.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Then I remembered I was angry.
“You let me believe we were legally married.”
His face returned to neutral.
“I let everyone believe it.”
“Why?”
“Protection.”
“You keep using that word.”
“It worked.”
“Costa still found me.”
“But he could not approach the hospital, your mother, your home, or your finances without triggering Rossi security responses.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“It wasn't meant to be.”
There was something almost vulnerable in the admission.
I looked at the gold ring on the bedside table.
The band had been cut cleanly through one side.
“Why a wedding at all?”
“Because saying you were under protection would make you look like a witness.”
“And saying I was your wife?”
“Makes attacking you an attack on the entire family.”
“The family being criminals.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Some.”
“Dominic.”
“All right. Yes.”
I appreciated that he did not insult me with euphemisms.
I asked the harder question.
“Would you have married anyone who saved Isabella?”
He looked at me for a long time.
“No.”
My heart did something inconvenient.
“Why me?”
His gaze dropped to the blanket.
“I knew your name before I knew your voice.”
“That is not romantic. That's creepy.”
“I know.”
“You watched me for years.”
“I know.”
“You knew I worked two jobs when my mother got sick.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I paid for community college myself.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I dated a man named Tyler who stole my laptop?”
His expression changed.
“He did not steal it twice.”
I stared.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Dominic.”
“Enzo spoke to him.”
From the hallway, Enzo called, “Politely.”
I covered my face with one hand.
“This family is insane.”
Dominic almost smiled again.
Then his expression became serious.
“My father promised Daniel we would watch over you if anything happened.”
“Watch over is not the same as watch.”
“No.”
“Did you ever plan to introduce yourself?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because your life was normal.”
The answer surprised me.
“I thought that was what Daniel died trying to give you.”
He looked toward my bandaged arm.
“And then you jumped in front of seven bullets for my mother.”
“Terrible timing.”
“The worst.”
Silence settled between us.
I realized the blood debt went both directions.
My father saved Dominic.
I saved Isabella.
Dominic saved my mother.
He carried me to the hospital.
No one owed anyone anymore.
That thought felt important.
“I don't want you protecting me because of my father.”
“I know.”
“Or Isabella.”
“I know.”
“Or a fake marriage.”
His eyes met mine.
“Then what do you want?”
I was not ready for the question.
“Choice.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then choose.”
I looked at the door.
“You mean I can leave?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“No. Patel will murder me.”
“After discharge.”
“If you want.”
“Security?”
“Available. Not forced.”
“My mother?”
“Her choice.”
“The ledger?”
“Already with prosecutors.”
“Your file on me?”
“I'll give it to you.”
I did not expect that.
“All copies?”
“Yes.”
“And no more surveillance?”
“No more without consent.”
The words were simple.
But for a man like Dominic, I suspected they cost something.
I looked at him.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“I'll stay until I'm medically cleared.”
His mouth moved.
Not quite a smile.
“And after?”
“I haven't decided.”
“Fair.”
He stood to leave.
“Dominic.”
He turned.
“What happens to Matteo?”
His face hardened.
“He betrayed my father. He helped kill yours.”
“That wasn't my question.”
He understood.
For a long moment, the old Dominic and the man who lowered his gun at the ferry terminal seemed to occupy the same body.
Finally he said, “He testifies.”
“And then?”
“Then the courts decide.”
I searched his face for sarcasm.
There was none.
“Your father would hate that,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And mine?”
Dominic looked at the cut ring on my table.
“I think Daniel wanted a world where you never had to know men like me existed.”
“That world failed.”
“Yes.”
“So maybe we build a better one with what we have.”
He stared at me.
Then he nodded.
That evening, the news announced Victor Costa had been indicted based on newly submitted evidence from a fifteen-year-old financial ledger and cooperating witnesses.
They did not have him yet.
But for the first time, he was running from more than Dominic Rossi.
May you like
He was running from daylight.
And daylight, I was learning, was harder to shoot.
