Chapter 11 - Blood for Blood
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Within an hour, the Vale estate was transformed into a command bunker.
Mrs. Hargrove and Dr. Julian were dragged down into the underground holding cells beneath the wine cellar—a place built during Prohibition that few people ever left alive.
I sat in the study, holding a hot cup of tea, watching as a paramedic stitched the small cut on my arm.
Noah was sitting on my lap, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, refusing to let go of my sweater.
Dominic walked into the room, wiping blood from his knuckles with a white handkerchief. He stopped in front of us, looking down at his son.
“Noah,” Dominic said softly, dropping to one knee so he was level with the boy.
Noah looked at his father. For two years, the child had recoiled from Dominic, terrified by the loud noises and violence surrounding his father's life.
But now, Noah reached out one small hand and touched Dominic’s cheek.
“Daddy,” Noah whispered softly. “The white man is gone?”
Dominic’s jaw clenched, his eyes glistening with rare, raw emotion. He took Noah’s tiny hand and pressed it against his face.
“He’s gone, quiet boy,” Dominic swore softly. “He’s never coming near you again. I promise you.”
Dominic looked up at me, his gaze intense, heavy with words he hadn't yet spoken.
“Vincent knows Julian failed,” Dominic said, standing up. “My uncle has pulled his men back to his compound in South Chicago. He knows I’m coming for him.”
“What about Tyler?” I asked, my voice trembling with sudden worry for my brother sitting vulnerable in a hospital bed. “If Vincent is desperate, he’ll try to hurt my family!”
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Dominic touched the back of my head, pulling me slightly toward him until our foreheads almost touched.
“I’ve already moved Tyler,” Dominic promised gently. “He’s currently in a private wing at Northwestern, guarded by six of my best men. Nobody touches what belongs to me, Clara. Nobody.”
