Chapter 10 - The Shadow at the Window and the Gathering Storm
The adrenaline crash hit Clara the moment Toby’s pulse stabilized.
Her knees buckled slightly, and she had to grab the metal railing of the bed to steady herself, her vision swimming with tiny black dots at the edges of her field of vision.
Dominic caught her by the elbow before she could hit the floor, his grip firm, warm, and utterly unyielding.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low and steady.
“I’m fine,” Clara murmured, shaking her head as she tried to pull away, though she leaned into his support more than she cared to admit.
“You’re running on fumes, Hayes,” Dominic said, guiding her toward a vinyl armchair sitting in the corner of the isolation room.
“Sit down before you pass out and I have to put you on the table next to my brother.”
Clara didn’t fight him.
She sank into the chair, letting her head drop back against the cracked vinyl upholstery, closing her eyes as the steady beep of the monitor washed over her like a lullaby.
Dominic stood beside her, his dark eyes scanning the room, then shifting toward the small, high-set window that looked out onto the alleyway behind the hospital.
The glass was dark, reflecting only the harsh fluorescent lights of the room.
Suddenly, a shadow flickered across the glass.
It wasn't a reflection.
It was something moving outside in the alley, climbing the rusted metal fire escape that led up from the back loading dock.
Dominic’s hand slid silently inside his coat, his fingers wrapping around the grip of his Beretta.
“Vance,” Dominic spoke into the small lapel mic clipped to the collar of his ruined shirt.
“We have movement on the west fire escape. Second floor. Looks like two more of Rinaldi’s boys trying to find a backdoor.”
“Already on it, boss,” Vance’s voice crackled back through the tiny earpiece with a burst of static.
“Me and Miller are waiting at the top of the landing with a couple of iron pipes and a very warm welcome. Shall we send them back down the stairs or throw them into the dumpster?”
“Send them to the bottom,” Dominic said coldly.
“And make sure they leave a message for Donato Rinaldi telling him that if he sends anyone else into my hospital tonight, I’ll personally carve his initials into his front porch.”
“Copy that, boss. Out.”
Clara opened her eyes, looking up at Dominic through the dim light of the ward.
“Your war is following you here, Mr. Gallo,” she said, her voice dry, devoid of fear, filled only with the weary realization of a woman trapped in an endless cycle of violence.
“It’s not my war anymore, Clara,” Dominic replied, looking down at her with an intensity that made the air in the room feel thin.
“It’s our war now. The moment they stepped into this ward with guns while you were trying to save my brother, they made it personal.”
“I didn’t ask to be part of your syndicate,” Clara retorted, though there was no real heat behind her words.
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“You didn’t ask to be beaten by your father either,” Dominic countered softly, his voice cutting straight through her defenses with surgical precision.
“Sometimes the war finds you whether you enlist or not. The only choice you get is whether you stand and fight or let them sweep you into the gutter.”
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