Chapter 8 - The Weight of the Crown
Dominic slowly stood up from the wreckage of the mirror wall, wiping the blood from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He turned around, his slate-gray eyes wide and trembling as he looked at his son standing amidst the broken glass holding a weapon twice his size.
Noah dropped the iron poker, the heavy metal clattering against the floorboards. The fierce, adrenaline-fueled courage that had sustained him vanished in an instant, replaced by overwhelming exhaustion. He burst into tears, letting out a ragged sob as he dropped to his knees.
I didn't hesitate. I pushed myself up from the desk, ignoring the bruising ache in my shoulder, and sprinted across the room. I dropped to my knees, scooping Noah into my arms and pulling him tightly against my chest.
"You're safe, buddy. It's over. I've got you," I whispered, pressing my cheek against his damp dark curls as he cried into my shoulder.
Dominic walked over slowly, his movements heavy and mechanical. He knelt down beside us on the shattered glass, his large, calloused hands hovering hesitantly near his son’s back. For the first time since I had walked through the limestone gates, the walls Dominic had built around his heart completely crumbled.
"Noah," Dominic choked out, his voice cracking with deep, agonizing emotion. "Look at me, buddy. It's Daddy. The bad man is gone."
Noah slowly lifted his tear-stained face, burying his head in Dominic’s chest. The mafia kingpin wrapped his arms around his son, pulling both of us into a fierce, protective embrace that held all the warmth and fierce loyalty the Vale dynasty had ever known.
I looked up at Dominic, the brass key still clutched tightly in my bruised hand. "What do we do about him?" I asked, nodding toward the dark drop of the escape tunnel where Julian had fallen.
Dominic’s slate-gray eyes hardened into cold, absolute granite. He pulled the master key from my hand, standing up and walking to the edge of the catwalk. He tossed the key down into the darkness, letting it clatter against the stone floor far below.
"Julian chose his grave a decade ago," Dominic said coldly, his voice echoing through the north wing. "Let the authorities find what's left of him down in the tunnels. As far as the city of Chicago is concerned, the Vale estate is officially closed to ghosts."
He turned back toward us, walking over and extending a hand to help me stand up, his grip steady and unyielding.
"And as for you, Clara Hayes," Dominic said, a rare, genuine ghost of a smile touching the corner of his lips. "You survived the limestone bastion. Which means you're officially the highest-paid, most dangerous nanny in the state of Illinois. Do you accept the job permanently?"
I looked down at Noah, who had finally stopped crying and was sleepily clutching my sleeve, before looking back up into the intense, compelling eyes of Chicago’s most feared crime lord.
May you like
"Only if I get hazard pay," I replied with a wry smile.
Dominic let out a deep, resonant laugh—the first real laugh this house had heard in years—and pulled us both closer as the storm finally began to clear outside the limestone walls.
