Chapter 12
12
DOM POV
The amber liquid in my crystal tumbler catches the lamplight, transforming my office into a prison of shadows and regret. Seven days. Seven days since Alessandro took Aurora from Luciano's hospital room while he lay unconscious. Seven days since I put a bullet in my best friend's shoulder, leaving him vulnerable when she needed him most.
The leather of my chair creaks as I shift, ice cubes clinking against crystal like tiny bells. Outside, thunder rumbles—a storm rolling in from the lake, matching my dark mood. The air feels thick with cigar smoke and failure.
This isn’t power. This is helplessness dressed in gold, and it’s mine to own.
Maps and surveillance photos blanket my mahogany desk, proof of our desperate search. The sounds of Chicago’s cityscape hum distantly through the office’s windows, and it makes Aurora feel all the further away. This is supposed to be my kingdom, and I can’t even protect my own blood.
My phone buzzes—Marco’s name flashing on the screen. I don’t need to read it to know we’re no closer. The bitter taste of failure fills my mouth as I knock back another drink.
“Dom.” Enzo’s voice cuts through my dark thoughts. He stands in the doorway, his usually immaculate suit stained with fresh blood. Dark circles shadow his eyes—none of us have really slept since Aurora vanished. “The Rossi lieutenant talked.”
I set down my glass with deliberate control. “And?”
“Nothing useful.” His jaw tightens as he moves to pour himself a drink. “Just kept babbling about Alessandro having ” bigger plans .” Before he died.”
“Christ.” I run a hand over my face, feeling the stubble of sleepless nights. “That’s the third one this week.”
“Fourth.” The crystal decanter clinks against his glass. “Marco’s getting... creative with his methods. The basement’s starting to smell.”
The unspoken question hangs between us: How many more bodies before we find her? How much blood needs to stain our hands?
“Any word from the hospital?” Enzo asks carefully, studying my reaction.
My shoulder tenses, phantom pain from the recoil of shooting Luciano burning through me. The memory flashes vivid and sharp—Aurora’s scream, the spray of blood, the look of betrayal in my best friend’s eyes.
“No change.” The words taste like ash. “He’s still?—“
A sharp knock interrupts us. One of our younger soldiers appears, breathless and pale. “Don Salvatore. It’s your nephew. He’s asking for you again.”
Luca . The name strikes me sharply. Another innocent caught in this web of violence and betrayal. Another responsibility I’m failing.
“How long has he been waiting?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Too long. Always too long.
“An hour, sir. Rosetta tried to get him to eat, but...” The soldier shifts uncomfortably. “He says he’ll only talk to you.”
I catch Enzo’s knowing look as I stand. We both remember being that age, waiting for our own father to emerge from his office of secrets and shadows. History repeating itself in the worst possible way.
“Keep digging,” I tell Enzo. “And tell Marco to clean up the basement. We can’t afford any surprises right now.”
The walk to the dining room feels endless, each step weighted with the crown I never wanted but can’t put down. In my pocket, my phone buzzes again—another dead end, another bust, another crack in the foundation of everything I’ve fought to maintain.
The dining room’s oppressive silence hits me first. Crystal chandeliers cast shadows across the massive table where Luca sits alone, his small frame dwarfed by the high-backed chair. His plate of pasta remains untouched, red sauce congealing like blood against white china. Rosetta hovers nearby, her worried eyes meeting mine as I enter.
“When’s Papá coming home?” Luca’s voice carries that fragile hope that makes my chest ache. His dark eyes—so like Luciano’s—search my face for answers I don’t have.
“Not today, piccolo .” I settle into the chair beside him, noting how his shoulders slump. The motion reminds me painfully of his father.
“But tomorrow?” He pushes his pasta around, creating abstract patterns that remind me of Aurora’s artwork. “He promised to help with my science project. We’re building a volcano.”
The innocent excitement in his voice twists the knife deeper. I remember Aurora helping him gather supplies last week, their laughter echoing through these same halls that now feel like a mausoleum.
“ Zio Dom?” His small hand touches my arm, and I realize I haven’t answered. “Is it because of what happened to Zia Aurora?”
My throat tightens. “What do you mean?”
“I heard Marco talking.” His voice drops to a whisper. “He said bad men took her. Is that why Papá’s still in the hospital? Was he trying to save her?”
Cristo . I meet Rosetta’s panicked gaze over his head. She starts to approach, but I wave her back. He deserves some truth, even if I can’t give him all of it.
“Your father...” I choose my words carefully, “got hurt trying to protect someone he cares about. That’s the kind of man he is. The kind of man you’ll be someday.”
“Like you protect us?” His faith in me is absolute, crushing. “Marco says you’re the strongest. That you always fix everything.”
Looking at the contrast between his pasta sauce and the plate, suddenly I’m back in that safe house, watching Luciano’s blood spread across pristine sheets. My hands curl into fists under the table.
“I’m trying, Luca.” The admission costs me, but I owe him this much. “I promise you, I’m doing everything I can to bring them both home.”
“I know you will.” He finally takes a bite of pasta, as if rewarding my honesty. “Papá says Salvatores never break their promises.”
My phone vibrates—the hospital’s number lighting up the screen. Something’s changed with Luciano. I start to stand, but Luca’s small voice stops me.
“ Zio Dom?” His small voice carries the same quiet strength as his father’s, but wrapped in childhood innocence. “Will you tell Papá something when you see him?”
“Of course.”
“Tell him...” His lower lip trembles slightly. “Tell him I finished the volcano base. And I used extra papier-maché, just like he showed me. So it’ll be perfect when he comes home.”
The simple faith in his voice nearly breaks me. I lean down, pressing a kiss to his dark curls that smell of Rosetta’s lavender shampoo. “I’ll tell him, piccolo . Try to eat something for me, okay?”
As I stride toward the garage, my driver already waiting, I hear Luca’s voice drift after me: “Don’t forget about the volcano, Zio Dom!”
The words follow me into the car, mixing with memories of another little boy waiting for his father to come home. The weight of responsibility settles heavier on my shoulders as Chicago’s streets blur past the bulletproof windows.
I am not my father. I will not let history repeat itself. Whatever it takes, whatever price I must pay, I will bring them home.
The hospital looms ahead, its sterile windows reflecting the setting sun like blood on glass.
The antiseptic smell assaults me as I enter Luciano’s room, mixing with the metallic tang of guilt in my mouth. The fluorescent lights cast sickly shadows across his face, transforming my strong consigliere into something fragile. Machines hum and beep in an irregular rhythm, a discordant symphony of survival. My shoes squeak against the freshly waxed linoleum, each step echoing my approach to judgment.
Luciano lies there like a fallen warrior, tubes snaking from his arms, chest rising and falling with mechanical precision. The sight of him—so still, so unlike his usual measured, perceptive self—makes my stomach clench. This is my handiwork. My failure to control my temper. My bullet.
“You should see the basement, fratello .” My voice sounds foreign in the sterile quiet. “Marco’s turned it into something out of a horror movie. All for her. All because I couldn’t—“ I break off, the words sticking in my throat.
A nurse slips in, checking vitals with practiced efficiency. Her soft-soled shoes whisper against the linoleum as she works, pretending not to notice the armed guards outside or the gun beneath my jacket.
“Any changes?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“His vitals are stronger.” She adjusts something on one of the IV bags. “The doctor thinks he might wake soon.”
Soon . The word echoes hollowly. Soon might be too late for Aurora.
When we’re alone again, I move closer to his bedside.
“I keep thinking about that night at the compound. Remember? When you took that bullet meant for me?” My fingers trace the edge of his blanket. “You said then that loyalty demands sacrifice. But this... Christ, what have I done?”
The machines beep steadily, mocking my confession. Through the window, Chicago’s skyline glitters like broken glass, each light a reminder of where Aurora might be suffering.
“Alessandro sent another video.” My voice roughens. “She’s alive, but... there’s a bruise on her face, Luciano. Her lip was split. And all I could think was: this is my fault too. If I’d listened, if I’d seen what was happening between you two instead of reacting like my father would have...”
A slight movement catches my eye—his fingers twitching against the stark white sheets. Then his eyelids flutter, and my heart lurches.
“Luciano?” I lean forward, hitting the call button repeatedly. “Can you hear me?”
His eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, then sharpening with recognition. The machines’ beeping accelerates as he tries to speak around the breathing tube.
“Don’t try to talk.” I grip his hand, feeling the weak pressure of his fingers. “The doctors are coming. You’re safe.”
“Nurse!” My voice booms through the doorway, echoing down the sterile hallway. “I need a doctor in here now!” The urgency in my tone sends several nurses running, their shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
“Get Dr. Romano,” one nurse calls out sharply to another. “Tell him the patient’s awake.”
Medical staff floods the room, their urgent voices and quick movements creating controlled chaos. I step back, watching them remove tubes and check responses, my chest tight with relief and dread.
Finally, they step away. Luciano’s throat works as he swallows, his voice emerging as a rasp.
“Aurora?”
One word. Just one word, but it carries the weight of everything—love, betrayal, forgiveness, fear.
“Alessandro has her.” The admission burns like acid. “He took her from this very room, while you were unconscious. Seven days ago.”
His eyes close briefly, pain etching deeper lines around his mouth. When they open again, they burn with an intensity that makes me step back.
“How?” The word comes out like gravel.
“We’re still piecing it together. He had help—someone on the inside. The security footage was wiped.” I run a hand through my hair. “By the time we realized... he was gone. And he took her with him.”
Luciano’s hand fists in the sheets, his knuckles white with strain. “The Rossis?”
“They’re involved somehow. But we can’t prove it.” I move closer, needing him to understand. “We’ve torn apart half of Chicago looking for her. Marco’s interrogation methods are getting... extreme.”
“Not enough.” His voice strengthens with anger. “You’re the Don. Make them talk.”
“You think I haven’t tried?” Frustration edges into my tone. “Every lead goes nowhere. Every threat meets silence. It’s like they’re all protecting something bigger than?—“
His heart monitor spikes as he tries to sit up. “Then make a deal.”
“A deal?” The word tastes like surrender on my tongue. “The Rossis made their terms clear. They want?—”
“ Cristo , Dom!” His voice carries the weight of command even from the hospital bed. “We both know exactly what they want. Stop dancing around it like a politician. They want Aurora. A marriage alliance to cement their power.” His laugh is bitter, rattling in his chest. “And you’re too proud to give it to them.”
The accusation hits like a physical blow. “It’s not that simple?—“
“The hell it isn’t.” He struggles to sit up, machines protesting with shrill beeps. “Your sister’s life against your pride? That should be the simplest choice you’ve ever made.”
I pace the small room, the walls closing in. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent every night since she disappeared?—“
“Thinking?” His voice cracks like a whip. “While she suffers? While Alessandro—” He breaks off, pain flashing across his features. “Show me the video.”
“Luciano—”
“Show me.” The command in his tone is familiar, a glimpse of his old strength.
My hands shake slightly as I pull out my phone, queuing up Alessandro’s latest message. The screen flickers to life, casting a sickly glow across Luciano’s face.
My stomach lurches at the sight of Aurora, bound to a chair in what looks like an industrial space. Each mark on her face sends a wave of nausea through me, my fingers tightening on the phone until my knuckles whiten. The metallic taste of rage floods my mouth as Alessandro’s voice fills the room. Her designer dress is torn, dark hair matted with what might be blood. But her eyes— Cristo , her eyes burn with that same defiant fire.
“Say hello to your brothers, Principessa .” Alessandro’s voice comes through the speaker, smooth as poison. “Tell them how much you’re enjoying our hospitality.”
“ Vai all’inferno ,” she spits, earning a sharp crack across her face.
Luciano’s heart monitor spikes dangerously. “Turn it off.”
I pocket the phone, the image of her split lip burned into my retinas. “Now you understand why?—”
“Why what?” He fixes me with a glare that could strip paint. “Why you’re letting your sister rot while you play at being Don? While you weigh her life against family reputation?”
“You don’t understand the position?—“
“I understand perfectly.” He pushes himself up straighter, ignoring the pain that tightens his features. “You’re acting exactly like him. Like your father.”
The words hit me like bullets. “Don’t.”
My chest constricts, breath coming in short bursts. The comparison to my father cuts deeper than any physical blow could. I taste copper, realizing I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood.
“Why not? It’s true.” His voice drops lower, more dangerous. “The great Don Salvatore, so focused on power and control that he’d sacrifice his own blood?—“
“Enough!” The word explodes from me. “You think this is easy? You think I don’t see her face every time I close my eyes?”
“Then do something about it!” He grabs my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “Make the deal. Give them what they want.”
“And condemn her to a life with Franco Rossi?” The name is sour on my tongue. “You’ve heard the rumors about him, what he does to?—“
“She’s stronger than you think.” Luciano’s eyes burn with something fierce. “And she’ll have us. All of us. To protect her.”
A knock interrupts us—one of my men, face grim. “Don Salvatore. There’s been a development.”
I move to the door, but Luciano’s voice stops me. “Whatever it is, whatever they’re offering—take it. Because if anything happens to her...” He lets the threat hang unfinished.
The soldier hands me a phone—another video loading. This time, Alessandro’s face fills the screen, familiar features twisted into something foreign and cruel. The sight of him—my brother’s mirror image corrupted by hatred—sends ice through my veins. His smile is sharp as a blade, but it’s his eyes that terrify me. They hold the same madness I once saw in our enemies, right before Marco made them disappear.
“Time’s running out, brother dear. The Rossis are getting impatient, and I’m getting... creative with my entertainment. Shall I show you what creativity looks like?”
The camera pans to Aurora, her head held high despite the fresh bruises. “Don’t you dare give them what they want,” she says directly to the camera. “Dom, I swear to God, if you?—”
The feed cuts out, leaving us in charged silence.
“Make. The. Deal.” Luciano’s words fall like hammer blows.
I turn back to him, seeing the raw desperation in his eyes. “You love her that much?”
“Enough to let her go.” His admission costs him visibly. “Enough to watch her marry another man, if it means she lives.”
The weight of command settles heavier on my shoulders. “And if she never forgives me?”
The Don in me wants to maintain control, to show no weakness. But the brother in me—the part that still remembers Aurora’s first steps, her graduation smile, her fierce hugs—that part is screaming for surrender. Two voices warring in my head, just like always.
“Better alive and angry than dead with your pride intact.”