Chapter 6 - The Broken Sanctuary
Dominic didn't wait for his men. He cleared the front steps in a single, explosive bound, his gun drawn, his chest heaving as he burst into the house.
"Clara!" he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls of the narrow hallway.
No answer.
He threw himself into the kitchen. The table was overturned, the remnants of a chicken dinner scattered across the floorboards. His mother, Francesca, was sitting in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, weeping softly as she repeated her wedding date over and over again. His father, Samuel, was still in his chair, his breathing heavy and rattling, a dark bruise blooming across his pale cheek where someone had struck him down.
But Clara and Leo were gone.
Dominic dropped to his knees beside his father, his hand trembling as he touched the old man’s shoulder. "Dad. Dad, look at me. Where are they?"
Samuel Bruno looked up, a single, bitter tear rolling down his scarred cheek. He reached out with his shaking hand, his fingers closing around Dominic’s lapel with a surprising, desperate strength.
"The boy..." Samuel whispered, his voice a broken gasp. "They took the boy, Dominic. Clara... she fought them. She bit the driver. But they threw her in the back of the van. It was... it was Marcus, son. He brought the Albanians to my door."
Dominic stood up slowly, the world around him turning into a brilliant, blinding white glare of pure rage. He didn't scream; he didn't throw furniture. He walked out onto the porch, where Angelo and six other soldiers were waiting in the snow, their weapons drawn, their faces grim with the knowledge that the ultimate boundary had been crossed.
"Angelo," Dominic said, his voice completely clear, entirely devoid of human emotion. "Call every captain from here to the bridge. Tell them the Bruno family is going to war tonight. I want every Albanian establishment in this city burned to the ground by morning. And find out where Viktor Hoxha keeps his private cars."
"Dominic," Silvio said, stepping forward with a cell phone in his hand. "The line’s open. It’s Viktor."
Dominic took the phone, pressing it to his ear.
"Bruno," Viktor’s voice sneered through the receiver, high-pitched and arrogant over the sound of a roaring industrial heater. "I have your little baker girl and her brat. Marcus told me you were soft on them. He said you paid three grand just to watch her scrub your floors. If you want them back in one piece, you bring the harbor manifests and the private bank codes to the old sugar refinery on the Delaware River by two AM. Come alone, or the kid gets a swimming lesson he won't survive."
The line went dead.
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Dominic looked down at his watch. 1:15 AM.
"Silvio," Dominic said, handing the phone back. "Get the heavy weapons from the basement vault. We’re going to the river."
