Seven
Dominic
“I thought you were fucking dead, Selene. Dead! Tell me I’m not losing my mind? Tell me it’s really you?” I beg as she holds onto my waist with such fervor, her silent tears inundating my chest, making it all the more difficult to keep my frail emotions at bay.
“It’s me, Dom. It’s really me,” she hiccups between tears and my own start to blind me from this glorious sight.
“Fuck!” I growl, holding her close, placing my head in the crook of her neck, savoring her scent.
I tried not to believe in the lies we told ourselves. That somehow The Butcher had gotten to her without our knowledge and had her killed before we could intervene. I never believed it, but as the years passed, I must have begun to, because what other option was there? That my girl left us all in the dead of night to live blissfully, not giving another thought to us or our pain? Death was cold comfort in comparison with such cruelty.
But here she is—broken and in my arms at last. Her sweet breath fans my cheek, and a burning shiver dances up my spine. She threads her fingers through my short, dark-blond hair and I relish each tender pull.
“You cut your hair.”
“Hmm. Let’s not start with the hair, babe. Or I’ll have some words of my own about the monstrosity you’ve done to yours,” I taunt, getting up and close to her new golden locks and taking in the familiar, vanilla aroma her naturally copper hair always held.
“Touché.” She chuckles between tears.
I lift her up from the ground, twirling my girl around the usually sullen room, like a love-struck fool.
“Damn, I missed you, babe.”
“Me too. So much,” she whispers in my ear, never once letting me go.
I wish I could freeze this moment and keep us both locked in it for eternity. How unkind this life has been; for me to have spent a single day without her in my arms; to have trudged on each day where her touch was absent from it. A malicious life forced on me, by the very one I can’t let go of now.
I place her back on to her feet, and put my finger under her chin, lifting her face so I can take in every change and still familiar feature she holds. My eyes wander all over her, memorizing each inch and comparing them to the image I have held dearly in my mind and tattooed to my heart.
“You’re even more beautiful,” I pledge, one hand on her curvier hip and the other on the nape of her long neck.
“It’s your eyes that fool you,” she falters, revealing that the damage she created also left her with scars where sight can’t reach.
“Nah, Red. It’s my heart. Always has been,” I declare sadly, finally breaking away from her and leading her to sit next to me on my office couch.
There is much I intend to say, and I’d rather have Selene off her feet for the long conversation to come. But if I’m honest with myself, I would gladly sit silently by her side, content in neither of us having to utter a word. Rehashing the past will only take the shine off this moment. Unfortunately, protectiveness speaks louder than my will to keep us in this enchanted limbo.
“It was risky, you coming here like this, Red. Someone might have seen you,” I explain, keeping her delicate hands in mine, perfectly satisfied with just stroking her soft skin for the time being.
“I know that,” she mumbles, leaning her head on my shoulder and allowing me to be as close as possible to the only girl I have ever loved. But my concern for her safety continues to take precedence to any loving caress I can offer.
“If your father gets wind of you being here, then what everyone in Chicago believes he’s done to you, he’ll make it a reality.”
“You thought my father killed me?” She questions, wide-eyed in puzzlement.
“We searched for you for two years straight. We searched high and low, Selene, and we couldn’t find a trace of you. After a couple of years, Big Sal ordered us back home and told the capos their services were better used to serve the syndicate needs on the street, not going after a spoiled principessa who was foolish enough to go against our code. But behind closed doors, he confessed to us a different reason as to why he called off the search. He told us that your father must have uncovered where you were and got to you before we could save you. It was the only possible explanation for an eighteen-year-old girl vanishing into thin air when she had never even been out in the real world before.”
“Not the only one,” she replies adamantly, and a slight wave of resentment slaps me across the face with the flicker of pride tainted in her words.
“Apparently not. You didn’t want to be found. Not even by us. Not even by me,” I reply back harshly.
She pulls away from our clasped hands and gently takes ahold of my scruffy face, pulling me toward her.
“I had my reasons, Dom. I know that doesn’t excuse the pain I brought you, but I’d do it again,” she explains with fierce certainty in her gaze, and my chest tightens with her blatant lack of compassion to our plight.
“Good to know,” I deadpan. Heartbroken, I pull away from her loving hold.
I stand up, looking down at her and wonder, when did I lose her for good? It was before graduation, that much is certain. But when? And how? A plethora of questions run rampant in my head, reminding me why I hate to be alone with my thoughts—they suffocate the life out of me.
“Dom…” she sighs, and starts to usher me to sit back beside her, but I don’t give in. Not when she can take it all away from me so cavalierly again.
“It’s all good, Selene. You went away because of something you don’t want to divulge, and now you’re back. But a betting man would wager that there is a reason for that too, only with this, you’ll be more forthcoming in telling me why,” I reply stoically, trying my hardest to invoke Vincent’s arctic way of dealing with all things Selene.
“You’re right. There is,” she informs me, standing up from her seat and facing me head-on without one look of remorse—enough to paralyze me where I stand and render me speechless.
“What is it then?” I finally question once I gain control of my vocal cords.
“I need your help,” she rebukes, with the same class and sophistication she used to adopt when shielding her true feelings.
“ My help?” I ask, stroking my beard in speculation.
“Yes. Yours and maybe Giovanni’s, too. I need my friends, Dom,” she ventures and it pierces an iron spear through my bleeding heart.
“You left your friends.”
She turns her face away from me with a tug of a frown still visibly clear. I can still see the tear tracks that mark her face, and it pulls on my heartstrings with such mastery. I question if any of her anguish is real.
“Do you need money?” I ask, wondering if this is why she showed up in the first place. Maybe she’s run out of funds to hide anymore. She lets out a small disgusted huff and narrows her sparkling green eyes at me once more.
“I have money, Dominic. I would never come back to Chicago in search of a handout. I’d rather saw my arm off.”
I rake my fingers behind my neck, massaging away the sudden pressure I feel there.
“If that’s true, then what else could you possibly need from me? From us?”
“The Outfit’s influence,” she replies, steadfast.
“You must be joking, Red! If any made man even knew you were here, they’d kill you on the spot. Maybe even me for not turning you in,” I shout out.
“But they won’t. You will not allow that to happen,” she counters, certain of it. My shoulders slump knowing how right she is.
I would never let anyone touch a hair on Selene’s head. I’d kill every last motherfucker who tried. She suffered that shit enough when she lived with her asshole of a father. No way I would let any bastardo hurt her that way again.
“Okay, let me think. Let me think,” I mumble, pacing manically around the room. “Does anyone else know you’re back? You weren’t followed or something, were you?” I question, panicked. Her composed frame tells me she’d be too smart for that.
“I saw Vincent,” she announces, at last, putting a stop to my frantic steps.
“You did? How did he take it?”
“Not well. He wants me gone,” she states matter-of-fact, but a mixture of regret and sorrow alters her controlled tone.
“As he should, Red. It’s dangerous for you to be here,” I plea, walking over to her and grasping her hands in mine once more. It’s as close to her as I dare be.
“Dominic, I can’t go back. Not until I have your word you’ll help me. I need to make things right, and the syndicate can make it happen,” she insists, and I ponder if she has forgotten all she was taught about la famiglia . The only thing they’ll help with is digging up a grave for her, and perhaps not even that much.
“Broken men can only harm, not heal, Red. Whatever is broke in your life, we won’t be able to fix it. It’s not in our nature.”
“I don’t believe that, Dom. I can’t.” She shakes her head in denial.
“Believe what you want, but do it where you’ll be safe. Get out of town, Selene. I beg of you. Don’t come back,” I exclaim gruffly, with the thought of sending her away rioting my emotions. But she’ll die if she stays, and I can’t allow that.
She pulls me in and wraps her arms over my shoulders in a gentle hug. She places one small kiss to my cheek, creating a lump in my throat that I can’t swallow.
“I’m sorry, Dom. I just can’t,” she answers, before leaving me alone and bereft once again.
After I get my shit together, I jump in my car and drive like a lunatic up to Vincent’s house. I should have known something was up when he went MIA all day. I assumed he was balls-deep in meetings, but it was unlike him to not answer my calls.
Everyone believes Vincent is incapable of feeling. He has perfected the cold, calculating, emotionless mafia boss to a T. A trait I used to admire in him until I found out what a sham it was. Between the three of us, he’s probably the one who feels most deeply. The one that would stand impassively in his own pool of blood when cut. But not every nick summons such depth of twisted emotion.
I’ve only seen him lose his self-imposed control once. And that’s when our Red packed up her stuff and left us in the dead of night. For two long-ass years, Vincent wasn’t a man—he was an apocalypse lashing out at the world, seeking to destroy anything and anyone who stood in his way. And when we came up empty handed and returned to Chicago, it all came crashing down—and so did he. I was there to keep him somewhat sane throughout his self-destructive period, but thankfully it was Gio who gave him purpose to dig himself out of the hole he created, and become the Romano we all fear and love.
I shudder to think which version of Vincent I’m going to find.
I nod to the guards at the estate’s gate and drive up to the luxurious chalet. The snow-covered ground, plus the white forest surrounding it, make the estate feel that much more tranquil. However, I doubt I’ll find the same serenity behind the closed doors.
I step inside the silent house, and it doesn’t take me too long to discover what my best friend has been doing all day. Sitting on the floor, leaning against a couch disheveled and shitfaced, Vincent stares at the picture he has in one hand while drinking from an almost-empty bottle of Jack with the other.
“Day off, boss?” I say, leaning against the door with my arms crossed over my chest, taking this sad sight in.
Vincent doesn’t reply and instead drinks the remainder of the rich, dark liquor. He then throws the bottle next to its empty twin and proceeds to grab his third. He struggles to open it, too drunk and useless to twist the cap.
Shit.
I walk up to him and take the bottle away.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” I suggest, and once again I’m faced with his silence. My eyes seek out the frame in his hands, and I’m troubled to acknowledge being a picture of him and Pietro with their arms over each other’s shoulder when they were still kids.
“Was I happy here?” he finally asks, and the gravel in his voice hurts my ears as much as my heart.
“Hard to tell. You weren’t the most forthcoming with feelings and shit, even as a child,” I proclaim, sliding next to him and leaning my head back on the couch cushion.
“Hmm. I think I was. I had her . I had him . I had you and Gio. But then I lost it all,” he mumbles incoherently.
“You still have Gio and me.”
“Until when, do you think?” he asks, turning his bloodshot eyes toward me.
“Until we meet our maker, Vince. Does it really matter?” I question, looking into his dead, hazel eyes and praying he won’t go too far off into the abyss beyond our reach.
“No. It doesn’t,” he groans, placing the photograph, face down, on the floor next to him.
“Your housekeeper is going to be pissed when she sees the mess you made,” I divert.
“I saw Selene last night,” he announces, his tone flat and unresponsive.
“I know. She came to see me this afternoon,” I tell him and his resigned expression persists in slicing me in two.
“Hmm,” he mumbles.
“We’ll have to tell Gio.”
“That will be a problem. I need him focused on the assignment I gave him,” he rebukes, shaking his head.
“This is Red we’re talking about, Vincent,” I explain softly, as a parent would to an errant child.
He slams his fists vehemently on the floor, halting my reasoning words from leaving my mouth.
“I know who she is!” he shouts, and the dormant volcano shows its first sign of an impending eruption.
I don’t say another word and wait for him to cool down. It will be pointless to try having a logical conversation with him at this very moment. Not when he’s all raw flesh and fractured soul.
“I need a shower,” he says after a half-hour of total, agonizing silence.
I stand up and help him off the floor. I let him lean on me for balance as I take him upstairs into his bedroom, and then usher him into the master bathroom. He sits on the toilet and starts to undress the same clothes he’s been wearing since yesterday, while I prepare his shower, making sure he gets the cold waterfall to sober up.
“Can you stand up on your own?” I ask, making sure he enters the shower safely.
With his eyes closed under the cold spray, he nods.
“Okay. I’ll make you some coffee,” I tell him and leave him to his business.
I leave the room, heading toward the kitchen, and the minute I step inside, I call Gio without any hesitation or concern to Vincent’s warning.
“ Pronto ?” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice. It pains me how I’m about to be the bastard who’ll rob it away from him.
“Gio, its Dom. You have to come home. Now.”
“Shit, what happened? Is it Vincent?” he asks, unable to hide the panic in his voice.
“No. He’s fine. Well, sort of,” I mumble.
“The fuck, Dom! You almost gave me a heart attack. My imagination was already coming up with scenarios of how The Butcher or maybe your fucking BFF whacked our brother out,” he relents, pissed at me, but I just roll my eyes at his dramatics.
“Just shut the fuck up, Giovanni, and get your ass home!” I order, with no patience for his bullshit right now.
“Why?”
“Red’s back.”