Chapter 5 - The Glass Fortress
The staircase leading up to the second-floor apartment above Rossi’s Bakery smelled of dust, vanilla extract, and damp wood.
Dominic climbed the steps slowly. The rhythmic creak of the floorboards beneath his heavy dress shoes was the only sound in the quiet building. It was nearly two in the morning.
He stopped outside the peeling green door of Apartment 2B.
He didn't knock. He simply reached out and touched the wood, feeling the faint vibrations of a small television playing inside. A children’s cartoon.
Before he could decide how to announce himself, the deadbolt clicked.
The door swung inward. Elena stood on the other side, wearing an oversized gray hooded sweatshirt, faded denim, and a butcher knife gripped tightly in her right hand. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, dark circles bruised beneath her lower lids.
When she saw Dominic standing in the dim hallway—his cream suit ruined by rain, his shirt clinging to his broad frame, his ink visible beneath his open collar—she didn't lower the knife.
"I told you to leave us alone," she whispered, her voice raw.
Dominic didn't look at the knife. He looked at her eyes. "My mother called Salvatore Genovese two hours ago, Elena."
Elena’s hand dropped an inch, the knife trembling. The color drained from her cheeks once more. She was a North End girl; she knew the names that parents used to scare unruly children into silence. "Genovese?"
"She knows the boys exist," Dominic said, stepping forward. Elena took an involuntary step back, and Dominic entered the small apartment, closing the door behind him and locking the deadbolt with a soft, final click. "She doesn't know where you are yet. But by morning, she will."
The apartment was tiny—barely six hundred square feet. In the adjoining living room, two twin mattresses lay side by side on the floor. On top of the mattresses, huddled beneath a patchwork quilt, four small bodies slept in an tangled heap.
Julian’s arm was thrown over Leo’s chest. Nico had his face buried in a worn teddy bear. Mateo was sleeping sideways, his foot dangling off the edge.
Dominic stood frozen in the middle of the worn linoleum kitchen, staring at the four children.
His sons.
Six years of their lives: first steps, first words, scraped knees, fevers in the middle of the night, first days of kindergarten—stolen. Extinguished by a mother’s ambition and a son’s misplaced trust.
A tight, agonizing knot swelled in Dominic’s chest, threatening to strangle him. He walked softly to the edge of the mattresses and dropped down onto his heels.
He extended one large, calloused hand, his fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently brushing a strand of dark hair from Leo’s forehead. The boy sighed in his sleep, turning slightly, his tiny hand instinctively reaching out and grasping Dominic’s thumb.
The child’s grip was warm, small, and infinitely fragile.
Dominic closed his eyes. In that single, quiet moment, the entire world shifted on its axis. The billions in holding assets, the political influence, the family legacy—none of it meant anything. If the entire city of Boston had to burn to ashes to keep these four boys breathing, Dominic would strike the match himself.
"They look just like you," Elena’s voice came from behind him, soft and broken.
Dominic didn't open his eyes. He let the child’s small hand hold his thumb. "I’m sorry, Elena."
"You couldn't have known," she whispered.
"I should have looked harder," Dominic said, opening his eyes and turning his head to look up at her. "I should have known my mother was lying. I should have turned this country upside down until I found you. I let my pride tell me you abandoned me for money."
Elena sank down onto the floor beside him, her back against the worn sofa. "She was terrifying, Dominic. She stood in my living room with three men who looked like they had killed people before breakfast. She looked at my belly and told me I was nothing. A vessel. She said if I stayed, she would make sure you never loved me again, and that the state would take my children before they drew their first breath."
"She will never touch them," Dominic said, his voice dropping into that dark, immovable register that commanded armies of lawyers and legions of enforcers alike. "I broke the engagement tonight, Elena. In front of three hundred people. I dropped the Barrett diamond on a champagne tray and walked away."
Elena’s eyes widened in disbelief. "You... you did what? Dominic, the Barretts own the shipping ports! Your mother—"
"My mother is about to learn what happens when you wage war against your own blood," Dominic stated calmly. He released his thumb from Leo’s grasp, tucked the boy’s arm back beneath the quilt, and stood up.
"Pack their bags," Dominic said.
Elena looked up at him, fear flickering in her eyes again. "Where are we going?"
"The Glass Fortress," Dominic replied. "My compound in Manchester-by-the-Sea. It has reinforced perimeters, satellite surveillance, and thirty men who take orders from no one but me. You will be safe there."
"Dominic, I can't just move into your fortress! I have a job, the boys have school—"
"School is closed for them until I clean this city," Dominic said, turning to face her with an intensity that brooked no debate. "Listen to me, Elena. This isn't a zoning dispute. This isn't a corporate takeover. My mother has unleashed Salvatore Genovese, and Thomas Barrett will use every crooked cop on his payroll to retaliate for the humiliation I handed him tonight. You stay here, and by sunrise, this building will be surrounded."
Elena looked at her sleeping sons. She saw the undeniable truth in Dominic’s eyes.
May you like
She stood up. "Five minutes," she whispered. "I’ll get their shoes."
***
