Chapter 3 - Blood and Business
Dominic’s head whipped toward the door. The protective brother vanished in a single microsecond, replaced entirely by the predator who commanded the Brooklyn underworld.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his hand slipping inside his coat to grip the handle of a heavy automatic weapon strapped to a shoulder holster.
The steel door banged open against the brick wall.
Mason stood in the doorway, panting heavily, his knuckles bleeding and his tailored suit jacket torn at the shoulder. Behind him, Cal was dragging a third man—one of Rourke’s enforcers—who was groaning and bleeding profusely from a head wound.
“Boss, we got hit,” Mason blurted out, his eyes wide with adrenaline. “Two cars rolled up the alley three minutes after we left the room. They weren't local muscle. They were Rourke’s private security detail. Heavy hardware.”
Dominic didn't panic. He didn't even raise his voice.
“How many?”
“Four in the alley, two trying to breach the back loading dock,” Cal reported, dropping Rourke’s enforcer onto the concrete like a sack of laundry. The man groaned and curled into a fetal position. “We dropped the ones in the alley, but they’ve got the building surrounded. Rourke knows you’re here, boss. He must’ve tracked your car.”
Dominic glanced back at Nora, his eyes assessing her physical state with clinical precision. She looked pale, exhausted, and bruised, but the fear in her eyes had hardened into something much more dangerous.
“Can you run?” he asked her.
“I’ve been running for fourteen years,” Nora replied, lifting her chin with a defiant stubbornness that made Dominic look remarkably like their father. “What’s another block?”
Dominic’s lips twitched into a dangerous smile. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small, sleek Browning pistol, and pressed it firmly into her right hand. Her fingers closed around the grip instinctively, her thumb sliding over the safety catch with a familiarity that surprised even her.
“Mason, take the east stairwell,” Dominic barked commands with the crisp precision of a military general. “Cal, secure the front exit. Clear a path to the black sedan.”
“What about you, boss?” Mason asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“I’m going to go have a little chat with Mr. Rourke,” Dominic said softly, his voice dropping into a register that sent a shiver down everyone’s spine. “He’s been waiting fourteen years to finish our family business. It’s only polite that I return the favor.”
“Dominic, no,” Nora stepped forward, grabbing his sleeve. “Rourke has an army waiting outside. You can't just walk out there!”
“Watch me,” he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Mason, get her to the car. If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you myself. Understood?”
“Crystal, boss,” Mason nodded, drawing his own weapon.
Before Nora could argue further, Dominic turned and strode out of the basement, his long black coat billowing behind him like the wings of a dark angel.
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“Come on, Eleanor,” Mason said gently, nudging her toward the opposite corridor. “The boss gave an order. We move.”
Nora cast one last look back at the empty basement where her entire life had turned upside down in the span of an hour. Then, gripping the heavy steel pistol in her right hand and feeling the phantom ache of the broken compass scar on her shoulder, she followed Mason into the dark.
