Chapter 6 - Ashes of the Past
The morning sun reflected blindingly off the red-stained snow surrounding the Moretti estate.
The battle had lasted less than twenty minutes, but the devastation was absolute. Half of the east wing was charred black from incendiary grenades, shattered glass littered the courtyards, and federal sirens could finally be heard wailing in the distance as state police and FBI units responded to the massive explosion reports in Brookline.
Inside the grand foyer, surrounded by the bodies of Vincenzo’s elite hitmen, Dominic Moretti stood alone.
His suit was torn, his left shoulder bleeding from a graze wound, his face smudged with soot and gunpowder. In his hand, he held a smoking pistol.
At the bottom of the grand staircase, an older man with silver hair and a terrified expression—Vincenzo Moretti himself—lay pinned beneath a heavy mahogany console table that had collapsed during the firefight.
Vincenzo coughed, spitting blood onto the Persian rug, looking up with horror at his nephew.
“You’re… you’re insane, Dominic,” Vincenzo wheezed, clutching his bleeding side. “If you kill me, the Commission in New York will tear your entire organization apart piece by piece.”
Dominic walked slowly toward his uncle, his boots crunching on the glass and debris scattered across the floor. He stopped right beside the table, looking down at the man who had murdered his wife, orphaned his son, and tried to destroy everything he loved.
“The Commission doesn't scare me anymore, Uncle,” Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Because for the first time in six years, I have nothing left to lose.”
“Wait! Dominic, wait!” Vincenzo screamed, raising a trembling hand as Dominic raised his pistol. “I know where the rest of Elena’s offshore accounts are! I know who helped her set up the escape—”
Bang.
The single gunshot echoed through the cavernous foyer, silencing Vincenzo forever.
Dominic lowered the smoking gun. He didn't care about offshore accounts. He didn't care about the syndicate, the territory, or the power. All he cared about was that the monsters hunting his family were finally gone.
Footsteps echoed softly from the rear hallway.
Dominic spun around, raising his weapon instinctively, but froze as he saw who was standing there.
Isabella stood at the edge of the foyer, her clothes stained with soot, holding Lily’s hand. Behind them, peeking out cautiously from behind Isabella’s skirt, was Leo.
The boy looked at the blood on the floor, then at his father standing amidst the wreckage of the estate.
Dominic slowly lowered his pistol, letting it slip from his fingers to clatter against the hardwood floor. He felt naked, exposed, and utterly terrified for the first time in his life—not of death, but of what his son would see when he looked at him.
“Is he… are they gone?” Isabella whispered, her voice shaking.
“They’re gone,” Dominic said hoarsely. “It’s over.”
Leo slowly let go of Isabella’s hand. He took one step forward, then another, walking cautiously across the blood-stained rug until he stopped just a few feet away from his father.
Dominic didn't move. He held his breath, waiting for the boy to run away in terror.
Instead, Leo looked up, his dark eyes searching his father’s face.
“Are you hurt, Dad?” Leo asked, his voice small, but steady.
Dominic felt a hot tear finally break free, cutting a clean path through the soot on his cheek. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and opened his arms.
Leo didn't hesitate this time. He ran forward and threw his arms around his father’s neck, burying his face in Dominic’s shoulder and sobbing tears of pure relief.
May you like
Dominic wrapped his arms around his son, pulling him so tight he felt like he was fusing him to his very soul. Over Leo’s shoulder, Dominic looked up at Isabella.
She was smiling through her tears, standing beside Lily, who was holding up her little stuffed rabbit as if offering it to them both.
