Chapter 3 - The Mobster’s Anonymous Drop
Wednesday morning broke with a biting frost that turned the autumn leaves into brittle glass across the Gallo estate. Linda arrived at her usual post precisely at 5:30 a.m. Her eyes were swollen, the purple shadows beneath them darker than the night before, and her movements mechanical. She moved through the grand kitchen, brewing Dominic’s preferred Blue Mountain coffee, setting the heavy silver tray with trembling fingers. She knew she had less than forty-eight hours to find eighty thousand dollars. The advance Dominic had given her yesterday had merely wiped out her previous month's arrears; it hadn't bought a single day of the new experimental trial. As she carried the tray toward the study, her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She expected Dominic to summon her, to demand to know why she looked like a walking corpse, or worse, to dismiss her for lack of focus. Instead, when she entered the study, Dominic was not sitting at his desk. He stood by the fireplace, watching the flames lick at dry birch logs. The room was silent except for the crackle of the wood. “Set it down, Linda,” Dominic said without turning around. His voice was flat, devoid of its usual predatory edge, yet carrying an unmistakable gravity. “Yes, Mr. Gallo.” She placed the tray gently on the edge of the mahogany desk, keeping her gaze lowered. She turned to leave, her footsteps nearly silent against the thick Persian rug. “Wait.” Linda froze, her hand gripping the edge of the service cart. Her breath hitched. Here it comes, she thought. The termination. The realization that she was too broken to serve a monster. “Mr. Gallo?” Dominic turned slowly, his sharp, slate-gray eyes fixing on her. He walked toward her with measured, deliberate steps, his tailored charcoal suit fitting his imposing frame with intimidating precision. He stopped a few feet away, studying her face with an intensity that made her skin crawl. “You were late getting back yesterday,” Dominic said casually, though every word was weighed. Linda’s blood ran cold. He had followed her. The terrifying realization crashed over her like an icy wave. In the hierarchy of the underworld, defying a mob boss was a death sentence; snooping around or hiding personal crises from him was grounds for immediate suspicion. If he knew about Keo, if he thought her personal burdens posed a security risk to his criminal enterprise, he could erase her and no one would ever ask a question. “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered, her voice cracking as tears pricked the corners of her eyes despite her desperate attempts to hold them back. “I had an emergency. A personal matter. It won’t happen again. Please don’t fire me.” Dominic watched the genuine terror and exhaustion wash over her face. He saw the way she braced herself for a blow that never came. He felt a rare surge of disgust—not toward her, but toward a broken societal and medical system that forced a mother to tremble before a criminal just to keep her child breathing. “I didn’t ask you why you were late to reprimand you,” Dominic said quietly. He reached inside his jacket pocket, withdrew a plain, unsealed manila envelope, and tossed it onto the coffee table beside her cart. “Pick it up.” Linda stared at the envelope. Her hands shook violently as she reached out, her fingers brushing the thick, heavy paper. She lifted the flap. Inside sat eight neatly organized banded stacks of fresh, crisp $100 bills. Exactly eighty thousand dollars. Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up at Dominic, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly, unable to form a single coherent word. Her eyes widened in absolute disbelief. “This—this is—” “Your salary advance, adjusted for inflation and emergency hardship,” Dominic interrupted smoothly, his face remaining a mask of stoic control. “Take the rest of the week off, Linda. Get your personal affairs sorted out. If I see you scrubbing another floor in my house before your son’s treatment is fully underway, I’ll assume you have no respect for my investments.” Linda’s knees buckled. She dropped to the Persian rug, clutching the envelope to her chest, sobbing openly without trying to muffle the sound this time. The floodgates broke open, releasing weeks of pent-up terror, agony, and exhaustion. When she looked up to thank him, the room was empty. Dominic had already slipped out through the private side door, leaving the broken, weeping mother alone with her miracle.
