Chapter 7 - The Reckoning
The war ended that night.
Dominic did not sleep. He sent Elena and the girls back to the estate under an escort of thirty guards, personally commanded by Marco, with strict orders that they were not to leave the main house.
Then, Dominic took care of business.
By 3:00 AM, the Marcone family—a syndicate that had plagued the East Coast for two decades—ceased to exist. Their warehouses were seized, their leaders vanished into the dark waters of the Atlantic, and their territory was absorbed into the Russo empire before the sun crested the horizon.
When Dominic returned to the Long Island estate at six o'clock the following morning, there was no blood on his suit. He had showered and changed at his city office, leaving the violence behind at the gates.
He walked up the grand marble staircase to the east wing.
He opened the door to the nursery quietly.
The morning sun was just beginning to paint the sky in shades of soft pink and orange.
On the large, comfortable sofa near the window, Elena was fast asleep, still wearing her stained sweater, an open picture book resting in her lap.
Tucked around her on the sofa, sleeping peacefully, were the three girls. Lucia was curled up against Elena’s right side; Valentina was resting her head on Elena’s lap; and Mia was fast asleep across Elena’s chest, her small hand firmly grasping Elena’s thumb.
They looked safe. Completely, totally safe.
Dominic walked over slowly, his footsteps silent on the soft rug. He stood over them, looking down at the woman who had protected his children with her own life when the bullets were flying.
Elena’s eyes fluttered open. She sensed his presence and looked up, her brown eyes soft with sleep.
"Are you okay?" Elena whispered, her voice raspy.
Dominic looked into her eyes. For the first time in fourteen months, the cold, lethal mask on his face was entirely gone. What remained was a man—a tired, grateful, profoundly moved man.
"They are safe," Dominic whispered back. "Because of you."
"They're your daughters, Dominic," Elena said gently, using his first name for the first time without realizing it. "They love you. They were just waiting for you to come home."
Dominic knelt beside the sofa. He reached out, his massive, calloused hand gently covering Elena’s hand where Mia was holding her thumb. He squeezed her fingers softly, a silent gesture of gratitude that words could never adequately express.
"Thank you, Elena," Dominic said, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."
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Elena smiled warmly, a soft, beautiful expression that lit up the dim nursery. "You're welcome, Don Russo."
"Dominic," he corrected quietly, a small, genuine smile finally breaking across his face—the first real smile his daughters had seen in over a year. "Call me Dominic."
