17. Dominic

CHAPTER 17

Dominic

T he need to pummel something into the ground reddens my vision. My fist clenches as I walk through the doors of the Don’s mansion. But I don’t act on my urges or impulses. In fact, I’m calculative to a fault and only take action once I’ve predicted all the possible outcomes of a certain situation. The only exception to that is the infuriating black-haired woman with ocean-green eyes and the propensity to make me forget all my principles.

“Dominic?” my cousin calls.

Heels clack against the floor and blonde hair swishes behind her as she walks toward me. There are lines of worry on her expression, and usually I’d try to get her to relax, especially because I know she’s pregnant, but I can barely get myself under control. And I’ve tried everything, from punching something to trying to find a distraction. Nothing’s worked. It’s like there’s this well inside of me, and every time I think about it, it fills with every emotion slithering through me. The disbelief, anger, pain. It’s all there, threatening to spill over and consume me.

“Hey.” Camila’s touch on my arm is light, tentative. “What’s going on? You’ve never called for a table meeting before. What happened?”

Behind her, I glimpse Adrian leaning against a wall, watching me, his gaze studious.

“Is he here?” I ask instead of answering my cousin’s question. “Did you bring Marco?”

She nods. “Yeah, he’s here. In the meeting room.”

“Good,” I mutter, waving off her concern as I head in.

“You look rough, buddy,” Adrian says in passing greeting.

I barely even glance at him. The Don is standing in front of his table with Raul, a middle-aged man and the last member of the table to be offered the position, standing next to him. He’s a big scary guy with tattoos on his forehead and a permanent scowl, but he’s proven himself to be fiercely loyal to the Cosa Nostra.

The other person in the room is much older than the rest of us—an old man in his late sixties, with thinning brown and white hair and dull black eyes. I admire the survival instincts that have led him to still be alive to this day. He’s the only elder left in the Cosa Nostra. The others are all dead. But Marco thrived on being a slimy fucker who always prioritized himself above all else. Which is something he did right, considering he’s still here.

He officially retired from table matters two years ago. But I requested yesterday that he come out of retirement because I have a lot of questions he could have the answers to.

“Dominic, you asked us all to gather. Now tell us what’s wrong,” Nicholas states.

I slide into a chair and everyone else follows suit. Once they do, I look straight at Marco.

“Hello, Uncle,” I greet. We might not be related by blood, but he was my legal guardian throughout my childhood—he housed me and fed me and took care of me the best that he could, despite not liking me very much. “I need information that only you have access to, apparently.”

Yesterday, I went through every single article, everything I could get my hands on in relation to the serial killings that happened twenty years ago. Madelyn was right, though—either the FBI made sure to wipe the internet clean of any useful information, or the killer did it himself. Anyway, short of hacking into the FBI and potentially bringing them to my doorstep, I can only ask the adult who was present when it happened in the first place.

My other option is Collin Benson, but he’s also decidedly not a fan of me. He knows I was brought up in the mafia and hates my relationship with his son.

“What information?” Marco asks slowly.

“Information on my family’s murder. Tell me about the man that did it.”

Marco frowns. “Unfortunately, Dominic, I couldn’t tell you his name if I tried. And we did try. After your family was murdered, the entire Cosa Nostra threw out its weight to find the man responsible. Hell, even the Bratva helped, despite the hostile relationship between both fractions at the time.”

A muscle pulses in the middle of my forehead. My father might not have been in the mafia, but he was a Russian businessman with an incredible amount of power and reach.

“And yet you all found nothing?” I grit out.

Marco nods. “As you know, your father had many enemies. We thought the murder was orchestrated either by someone with mafia ties or by someone in the business world with a vendetta against your family. It’s why you’ve had to live the way you did. Once it became clear the person wasn’t going to turn up, I made the decision to keep you hidden away.

“Your father’s people wanted to take you with them back to Russia but you were a sick boy that would have been no help to them had you gone. They would have made you a figurehead for your father’s business, put you right in the eye of the storm. I thought it would draw the attention of the killer. So I kept you here—I fostered you and I protected you.”

“Trust me, I’m grateful as fuck,” I drawl. “But the best method of protection would have been to find the bastard that did it in the first place.”

To that, Marco has no reply. So Nicholas speaks up.

“What’s all this about, Dominic?”

“He got in touch with me. The bastard that did it. Twenty years later and he’s finally showing his face again,” I spit.

Uneasy expressions come alight around the table. Camila’s eyes widen fearfully.

“Oh my god, what did he say to you?” she questions.

“A lot of fucking nonsense. But he did make me aware of something. Something I never even considered. Sebestian’s daughter, Madelyn—he was responsible for her mother’s death as well.”

Camila looks stricken. “What?”

Adrian blows out a breath. “Damn, that’s hardcore.”

“So what are you saying?” Nicholas asks, levelling me a look. “Were the both of you targeted because of your connection to the mafia? Or…?”

“No,” I shake my head, “I don’t believe we had any connection at all back when the murders happened. I’m almost sure the sick bastard chose his victims at random. But Madelyn and I were the only two that survived. And the moment I found her, he did, too. He found us both.”

My fists clench. I put her in danger. This never would have happened if it wasn’t for me, and now I’ll make sure to do everything in my power to keep her safe.

“What do you need, Dominic?” Nicholas asks on a frown.

“I need you to help me find him. He’s taunting me, challenging me to a chase, and I plan to happily oblige him. And once I find him, I’ll make him regret the day he decided to mess with me or her. I’ll make him suffer for it.”

They all nod in agreement.

“He did give me something important,” I continue. “Uncle, is the name Specter familiar to you at all?”

Marco blanches, his eyes growing wide. “What did you just say?”

“So you have heard of him,” I note.

“Not in a very long time. That name held a lot of weight thirty years ago. But it’s impossible that he was responsible for your parents’ death. Specter died.”

“He’s alive and well,” I growl. “But you’re saying he died?”

Marco nods. “In a fire thirty years ago.”

“Was he a part of the Cosa Nostra?”

“No. Specter was a kingpin in a league of his own. At only twenty years old, he established his own criminal empire. He was hailed as a genius, an uncaring animal whose only instinct was to kill. He was good at fishing out his enemies and destroying them. But one of his enemies set fire to his home and it was believed by everyone that Specter had died. I remember thinking it was a loss of potential, because he died so young for a man who had crafted that sort of legacy for himself.”

“Adorable,” I mutter. “But I don’t give a fuck who he was or what he did. If he’s truly the person who’s come back to terrorize me, then I’m going to make him pay.”

“First we have to find him,” Nicholas states. “Everyone will get to work on that. Leave no stone unturned. Twenty years ago, he was a cowardly serial killer without a name, but now we have something to work with. We will find him.”

I offer the Don a grateful nod before looking at my cousin.

“Get Lukas to go to the Bratva as well. Things will move quickly if they throw in their resources to our efforts. You can tell them everything. Even who I am. They’ll be interested to know just how much control I have over their organization.”

I might have been working from the shadows, but I’m still my father’s son.

My words make Adrian chuckle. “Mikhail, that bastard, is going to be pissed.”

“I’ll talk to Lukas about it,” Camila assures me.

The meeting comes to an end soon after and I leave the room as fast as I can. My chest still feels like it’s about to cave in on itself. I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since I talked to Madelyn yesterday.

Between the time I walked into the mansion earlier this afternoon and now, it’s started to snow. Frozen crystals fall lightly from the sky. It’s fucking freezing, but I can barely feel anything.

“Hey, Dom,” Camila says softly, putting a hand on my shoulder from behind. “Just breathe, okay.”

I turn to see the concern in her blue eyes. Suddenly, I feel like that scared little boy who didn’t talk or smile. The one who had just watched his entire family get murdered. I’m transported to moments I hate to remember. My one defining moment of weakness.

Two decades ago, there was a serial killer terrorizing the streets of Chicago. No one knew who he was or where he came from. But he had two distinctive characteristics that separated him from all other murderers—the skull mask he wore when he committed his crimes, and the fact that once he was done, he would without fail always carve out the letter S on his victim’s wrist. It was a signature. A big fuck-you to the Feds that were trying to catch him.

After the first five murderers without a trace, it became pretty clear to everyone that they were dealing with a full-blown psychopath. There was seemingly no method to his killing, no rhythm. He killed those five people over the course of a year. And then the next year, when my family was on vacation in Chicago to visit my mother’s sister, they ended up becoming his victims as well.

We were on our way to the airport when our car had a flat tire. My dad got out to assess the damage while my mom started calling for any tow trucks that could help us. It was a pretty deserted road and it was dark. He’s always so good at picking locations without any witnesses.

He got my father first. Everything happened so fast. One moment, I was a little boy in the back seat, arguing with his brother. In the next, I heard my father’s shouts, followed by the sound of him being stabbed. My mom got out to investigate and she met pretty much the same fate. I still remember the sound of her begging him to spare her children, until she went quiet. And then it was just me and Ilya.

My older brother was smart. He was thirteen, terrified out of his mind, but he managed to warn me that he was going to open the door, and as soon as he did, the two of us would need to run as fast as we could. I kept crying for our parents but Ilya told me to shut up. He held my hand tight and opened the back door. As soon as he did, S was there, standing waiting for us.

Ilya didn’t hesitate to throw his entire weight onto him. They both went flying out of the car. Ilya told me to run. He begged me to leave and so I did, running as fast as my little legs could carry me. But S was a full-grown man who caught up to me in no time. He finished my brother fast and was going to kill me, too. He managed to stab me right above my heart, and I was so sure I was dead. I remember that moment of acceptance that I was going to die. Because at least I’d be going with my family.

He was about to carve his signature into my wrist as I laid there beneath him, but then the car service my mother had called arrived, headlights shining on to the insanity as he approached. S left before the man could reach us. Which is how I survived.

The stab wound to my heart should have killed me, but it didn’t. I had to get a lot of reconstructive surgery to fix the arteries that pump the blood through my body over the years. I think I had my last one when I turned sixteen. But I always have to be careful. It’s possible my heart could worsen, so I go for periodic checkups as often as I can. To ensure I’m healthy enough. To make sure Ilya’s sacrifice was worth it. I stayed alive to ensure my parents’ death meant something. To carry on their legacy.

But most of all, I stayed alive to kill that bastard.

“I’m going to kill him,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I know you will,” Camila murmurs.

Everything in me aches to do it. I’ve never been one for murder. The few times I’ve killed someone, I did it in lieu of any other options. But with Scepter, I’m going to destroy him—and I’m going to enjoy watching the light leave his eyes.

It’s late in the evening when I finally leave the Don’s mansion. Camila follows me out, her expression making it clear she has something to say. I arch an eyebrow, when she walks with me all the way to my car.

“What?”

“Don’t stop seeing her.”

“What?” I repeat, confused.

“Madelyn, Dom. Don’t stay away from her because you’ve somehow found a way to blame yourself for this whole thing.”

My cousin knows me well. Madelyn texted me three times today, all messages that I couldn’t bring myself to reply.

“I didn’t somehow find a way to blame myself. I am to be blamed for bringing a psychopath to her doorstep.”

“You can’t protect her if you’re not right by her side.”

“I can’t protect her if all I can feel is crushing guilt when I’m around her,” I retort. “It was bad before, but now it’s so much worse. I want with everything in me to just tell her everything. But the only thing I’ll achieve from that is losing her forever, and I’m not ready to lose her forever.”

“Why are you so sure you will?”

I scoff. “That’s a joke, right?”

“No. You won’t know until you try. And you’ve finally found happiness with her. Don’t throw it all away because of your guilt.”

I exhale softly but I don’t say anything else.

“Just try, okay? Have faith in the relationship the two of you have built,” she tells me before leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Oh, and are you going to Carly’s Christmas party on Sunday?”

She’s sent me several texts already reminding me that her party is in two days and begging me to come.

“No,” I reply gruffly.

“You should come. And bring Madelyn. I think it’s high time I met her.”

“I’ll think about it.”

After she leaves, I get in my car and drive home. Turns out, Camila doesn’t even need to worry. As soon as I step through the doors of my penthouse, I find familiar green eyes glaring daggers at me.

And with that one look into her eyes, I feel calmer than I have in a day. I exhale a harsh breath.

“Hey, Flowers,” I say softly.

Why fight the inevitable? If I can’t leave, I’ll wait until she cuts my heart out herself and hands it to me.