Chapter 2 - The Tenement on Loomis
The journey led them three blocks deeper into the crumbling industrial perimeter of Loomis Street, away from the plowed commercial avenues and into a forgotten corridor of neglected brick four-flats. Snow piled high on rusted iron fire escapes, and broken delivery pallets lay rotting against water-stained brick walls.
Vincent fell into step beside Dominic, leaning in to whisper in a low, urgent tone. "Boss, this block is active territory for the Russo crew. Sal Russo has been running extortion rackets out of the tire shop on the corner since last winter. You walking these stairs without a security detail is an unacceptable tactical risk."
"Sal Russo doesn't breathe in this city unless I permit it, Vincent," Dominic said without slowing his stride. "Keep your eyes on the street. Carry the thermal bag."
Lily trotted ahead, her loose shoelace finally tucked into her frayed boot, leading them through an unlocked front entrance smelling of damp concrete, cheap bleach, and ancient radiators. They climbed three flights of narrow, creaking wooden stairs. In the dim hallway, flickering yellow bulbs cast jagged shadows over peeling wallpaper.
At the end of the third-floor corridor, Lily stopped at Apartment 3B.
The door frame bore deep gouges near the deadbolt—fresh crowbar marks. A bright orange notice was taped to the center of the wood: FINAL EVICTION NOTICE – VACATE WITHIN 48 HOURS.
Dominic’s jaw tightened. "Who put this paper on your door, Lily?"
"The loud man with the leather jacket," Lily whispered, pulling a bent brass key on a frayed shoestring from under her collar. "He yelled at Mommy yesterday. He said if she didn't have twelve hundred dollars by tonight, he was going to throw all our blankets out onto the sidewalk."
Lily turned the key in the stiff lock. The door gave way with a pathetic squeak.
The apartment was freezing. It was barely fifty degrees inside, colder than the stairwell. A tiny electric space heater sat on the floor, its coils glowing a faint, pathetic orange, clicking rhythmically as it fought the drafts pouring through cracked windowpanes stuffed with old towels.
In the corner of the bare living room, on a worn mattress resting directly on the floorboards beneath a mountain of coats and thin blankets, lay a woman.
Her breathing was rapid and shallow, a dry wheeze catching in her throat with every inhale. Dark circles bruised the hollows beneath her closed eyes, and her skin held the waxen, pale translucence of severe exhaustion and fever.
"Mommy," Lily called softly, running across the room and kneeling by the mattress. "Mommy, wake up. I brought the hot soup. A nice man made a deal with me."
The woman stirred, groaning weakly as she tried to lift her head. Her dark hair was damp with cold sweat, clinging to her forehead. "Lily...?" she rasped, her voice paper-thin, laced with sheer terror. "Lily, where did you go? I told you... never leave the room alone..."
"I had to get the medicine soup, Mommy," Lily pleaded, gently stroking her mother's arm with her worn red mitten.
The woman struggled up onto one elbow, her blurry vision focusing on the tall, imposing silhouette standing in the doorway of her ruined apartment.
Dominic stepped out of the shadows, the dim light from the hallway catching the silver at his temples and the sharp, aristocratic line of his jaw. He carried the steaming container of soup in one hand.
The woman froze.
Her dark eyes went impossibly wide. Every drop of color drained from her already feverish face, and her breath hitched in her chest as if she had just seen a ghost rising from the grave.
"No..." she breathed, trembling so violently the coats shook around her shoulders. "It can't be you."
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Dominic stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he looked at her fever-flushed face. "Ma'am, I am only here to ensure your daughter—"
"Dominic," the woman whispered, a tear spilling over her hollow cheek. "You swore you would never come looking for me."
