Chapter 7 - The Safe House In The Woods
By sunrise, the Mercer estate was a crime scene cordoned off by federal agents and local SWAT teams. Dominic’s personal physician, an elderly man bound to the family by decades of loyalty, had stitched Dominic’s thigh and patched the graze on his ribs inside a remote cabin tucked deep within the Wisconsin pines—a property listed under none of the corporate registries.
Vivian sat on an old rocking chair by the wood stove, wrapped in an oversized wool sweater, holding a mug of herbal tea. Her hands still bore faint soot marks from the fire.
Dominic sat on the edge of the cot across the room, his torso wrapped in heavy medical gauze. He had refused painkillers because he insisted on keeping a clear head.
“The media is calling it a mob war,” Vivian said, staring into the flickering embers of the stove. “Arthur Callahan released a statement claiming you attacked his daughter Brooke after she rejected your advances. The board of Mercer Holdings has voted to suspend your executive powers by noon.”
Dominic didn't look at his phone; he looked only at her. “I don't give a damn about the board. What did the doctor say about the baby?”
Vivian paused, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. “Her heartbeat is strong. She’s stubborn. Like her father.”
Dominic let out a long, ragged exhale, burying his face in his hands. His broad shoulders shook slightly. It was the first time in eight years Vivian had ever seen the invincible king of Chicago show vulnerability.
“I’m sorry, Vivian,” he whispered, his voice muffled by his bandaged hands. “I thought if I kept my hands dirty, yours could stay clean. I thought if I controlled every variable, nothing could ever hurt you. But I became the very thing that terrorized your father. When Brooke kissed me at that restaurant, I felt sick to my stomach. I was using her to get the server codes, but seeing you standing there... holding that baby blanket... it ripped my soul out.”
Vivian set her mug down on the wooden table. “Apologies don’t erase eight years of lies, Dominic. You built our marriage on a tactical defense perimeter. If we survive today, that marriage is over.”
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Dominic lifted his head, his dark eyes hollow with grief. “And what about our daughter?”
“Our daughter will never grow up in a house built on fear,” Vivian said firmly. “Now plug that drive into your computer. It’s time we destroy Arthur Callahan together.”
