Chapter 4 - The Inversion of Authority
The silence that followed Dominic’s voice was heavier than the storm. The three guards stood frozen in the mud, the leashes of the Rottweilers going slack as the animals instinctively sensed the sudden, overwhelming shift in power. Dominic did not look at them; his eyes were fixed entirely on Fiona, who was still standing on the top of the stone wall, her body coiled over Arthur like a hawk protecting its nest.
“Fiona,” Dominic said, his tone softening by a single, crucial fraction of an inch as he stepped toward the base of the wall. “Bring him down. I’ve got you.”
Fiona looked into his icy blue eyes and saw, for the first time since she had taken the job, the absolute, unvarnished truth of his desperation. She slid down the wet granite, her boots landing hard in the wet sand of the beach, her arms transferring the heavy bundle of blankets into his massive chest.
Dominic pulled the blanket back, his large, scarred hand checking the boy’s pulse with a surprisingly gentle efficiency. He saw the dark, bleeding puncture wounds on Arthur’s neck. He saw the blue tint around the child’s lips.
“What happened?” Dominic asked, his voice dropping into a register that made Marcus take another step backward into the trees.
“The pillow,” Fiona gasped, her breath coming in ragged spurts as she leaned against the side of the G-Wagon. “Harrison Reed filled it with spinal needles. They were delivering micro-doses of a paralytic toxin every time he went to sleep. Victoria was managing the schedule. They were trying to kill him, Dominic.”
Dominic didn't scream. He didn't curse. He slowly reached down, pulled the wool blanket back over Arthur’s face to shield him from the rain, and turned back to the three guards standing on the upper ledge.
“Marcus,” Dominic said softly.
“Boss… Boss, we didn't know,” Marcus stammered, his blood-stained bandage peeling away from his broken nose in the wind. “Victoria told us the nurse had gone crazy—she said she was trying to kidnap the kid—"
“Rocco,” Dominic muttered into the small, encrypted radio headset at his collar.
From the shadow of the trees behind the stone wall, four more Mercedes SUVs materialized like ghosts made of steel and exhaust. Within seconds, thirty heavily armed men from the Tenth Street crew had surrounded the perimeter, their automatic weapons leveled at the three guards with the leashes.
Rocco Miller stepped out from the lead vehicle, his dark coat unbuttoned, his face a flat sheet of granite as he looked at Dominic. “We’ve secured the house, boss. Dr. Reed is in the study. Victoria’s trying to call her father’s lawyers from the bedroom.”
“Take them to the docks, Rocco,” Dominic said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion as he lifted Arthur into the back seat of the G-Wagon, where a custom medical mattress and an oxygen tank had already been installed. “All of them. Marcus, the boys from the gate, and anyone else who signed a ledger for my wife this month. I’ll be down there as soon as Fiona stabilizes the boy.”
He turned back to Fiona, his blue eyes locking onto her wet scrubs and the silver Glock still tucked into her waistband. A faint, dangerous smirk appeared at the corner of his lips for a fraction of a second.
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“You hit my enforcer with a pair of surgical scissors, Miss Jenkins?”
“They’re titanium trauma shears, Mr. Costello,” Fiona snapped, climbing into the back seat beside Arthur without waiting for an invitation. “And if you don't get this car to a clean surgical theater in ten minutes, you won't have a son left to inherit your docks. Drive.”
