Epilogue
DOMINIC
T he scent of saltwater mingles with the sharp tang of gasoline as I step onto the pier. The sun is barely up, casting a pale light over the hauling crates and loading ships. My territory. My empire.
While my sister was getting hitched, I've been juggling the role as the head of the Longshoremen union. It's a constant struggle, but one that comes with its own rewards. With this newfound power and responsibility, our illegal narcotics business, in collaboration with The Fallen Angels Cartel, has grown immensely. And now, with California under our control, we have bigger plans in motion.
"?Jefe!" one of the workers calls out to me, his cap tipped respectfully. I nod in acknowledgment without breaking stride. They respect me. Fear me, even. That's how it should be.
Another voice pipes up, breaking through my thoughts. "Dominic, we need you at the warehouse," he says urgently, but I wave him off.
"Later," I reply firmly, my tone brooking no argument. My business with Don Martin cannot wait.
Leaving behind the chaotic energy of the docks, I make my way toward Don Martin's office. The sound of my footsteps is muffled by the plush corporate carpet beneath my feet. It feels like a world away from the rough and gritty atmosphere outside. As I enter his office, Don Martin is already seated, a glass of something dark in hand. The scent of rich whiskey fills the room as I take a seat across from him.
His voice is low and smooth, carrying a hint of steel beneath the surface. "Dominic," he says, looking up at me. His eyes are sharp and calculating like a predator sizing up its prey. "When do I get to finally call you The Don?"
I take a deep breath, settling into the plush leather chair across from him. I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees as I meet his intense gaze. "It's not that simple," I reply evenly. "I have to expand to Seattle first. And taking down the Rossi family won't be easy."
"Ah, the Rossi's," he murmurs, getting up to pour me a glass of the amber liquid he's currently enjoying. "They won't go down easy."
"Nothing worth having ever does," I retort with a smirk, unable to resist the challenge in his words.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he leans back in his chair, studying me with renewed interest. "You'll need support," he states firmly.
"I know." I nod, fully aware that I can't take on the Rossi family alone.
"I'll back you," he offers, voice brimming with confidence. "But only if we enter into an equal partnership. We can call it the Fallen Angels Alliance."
"Fallen Angels Alliance," I repeat, liking the sound of it. "It's got a ring to it."
"Good. Then it's settled." He raises his glass in a silent toast.
"Salute," I say, clinking my glass against his.
But before I thoroughly enjoy the moment, Don Martin's voice interrupts us. "One more thing."
I set my drink down on the desk and lean forward, raising one eyebrow in interest. "Yes?"
"Human trafficking." His face darkens, the joviality from earlier replaced with a cold seriousness.
"We don't touch it. Ever. And those who do die."
I nod in agreement, my own expression mirroring his.
"Bueno." He nods, satisfied. "Shake on it."
Our hands clasp in a firm grip, sealing the deal. The weight of our vow hangs between us, unspoken but understood.
As I walk out into the cool evening air, the scent of saltwater and diesel filling my lungs once again, I pull my coat tighter around me. The docks are alive with activity—cranes moving containers, workers shouting instructions.
As I approach my private driver, my thoughts drift back to Serafina. Her choice to step away, to carve her own path. I can't help but let out a quiet chuckle at the thought of her marrying the son of my most powerful ally, Don Martin. Does she truly believe he can go back to a simple life after experiencing the thrill and power of our world? I knew who he was and what he was capable of the moment I saw him. One day, I may need to reawaken the monster within him, but for now, I'll let them play house on their little island.