Chapter 14: 14

Dom didn't speak. Not for a very long time. And then he let out a slow exhale and replied.

"Then do what you can. Is there anything else you're not telling me? I need to know everything that's going on in there."

On the other end of the line, the doctor exhaled, his shoulders sagging as he said.

"She's holding on by a thread, if that's what you mean. I'll be completely honest with you, her body is shutting down. The only thing keeping her alive right now is the machines and my team. But..." He hesitated for a moment and remembered a crucial piece of information. In his haste to tell Domenico everything he needed to know, he'd left it out. "Without a blood transfusion, there isn't a chance that she's going to make it through tonight. But with one we can only hope, even though I wouldn't advise anyone to have a lot of hope that things are going to get any better."

Dom leaned back in his chair, clenching his jaw so tight it looked like it would crack. And then he said, "What are you waiting for, give her the transfusion immediately."

The doctor shook his head, before his eyes dropped for a moment. "We have already tried. She's a rare type. We have reached out to every donor we have on record, but so far we haven't gotten anything. If we don't find a match fast, there's nothing more we're gonna be able to do. And the earlier the better."

Another heavy silence hung between them. Dom didn't blink, or move. He kept staring into the distance now, trying to think if there was anything he could do to salvage the situation.

"So you're telling me that her only chance to live is slipping away because you can't find the right blood?"

The doctor swallowed hard. He knew that tone and the danger in it. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Without it, she won't survive."

Dom didn't explode, knowing fully well there was nothing he could do about this. He didn't raise his voice.

He only muttered a response in that dark, low and sharp-as-glass voice.

"Then you better fucking find it. I don't care how. You find it."

When he dropped the phone, he was seething inside because of how bad things had gotten. And because... he was about to do something he never thought he would do for anyone.

The sound of fists slamming into leather echoed through the whole room as Blaze's knuckles cracked against the punching bag. Every single strike was harder than the one that preceded it.

Beads of perspiration were already dotting his forehead and the sweat was pouring down his face, jaw clenched tight as he punched. He wasn't really fighting the bag. He was fighting the ghosts in his head and the memories that just wouldn't let go.

His men were dead because of a very silly mistake. Their faces hunted him since he saw them in their coffins, about to be buried. And no matter how hard he punched, he just couldn't seem to get it out of his head, causing him to drive himself to the limits of his abilities.

Across the room, Lars was at the weights. His chest heaved as he pressed the air, arms straining top as the instructor who was standing behind him guided his movements.

Gabriel had already told them he wouldn't be coming this week, and Dom, as of late, had been very busy. So it was just the two brothers meeting up this week.

The exercises continued for a little while but was soon interrupted when the door opened and a guard walked in. He looked a bit tense.

"Mr. Lars," he called out carefully. "You have a call."

Lars didn't reply until he was done with his set.

"It can wait."

The guard sighed and shifted uneasily. "I'm afraid not, sit. It's from Andre."

The moment he heard that name, Lars froze. A bolt of adrenaline shot up his spoke. And he sat up slowly, his eyes already glistening with anticipation as he waved the guard over.

The guard quickly jogged towards him and handed him the phone which he put on his ears right away.

"This better be good news."

Andre's voice came through, and he sounded a bit weary.

"I'm sorry, Lars." He went straight to the point, just as Lars liked it. "We just hit another dead end."

Lars closed his eyes, and then his jaw flexed at the information. He was getting that every time and he was tired of hearing it, tired of constantly going after the culprit.

Sometimes, just like now, he wondered if calling it quits would be better but anytime he remembered his mother's face, and the way she looked before they dragged her away, the anger exploded inside him.

He remembered the accusations. Her sentence. And the most agonizing of them all, her cries as she was being led away. She was murdered for a crime she didn't commit. They said she'd leaked mafia secrets to the government.

Those were all lies and he was sure of it. And right now he wanted nothing more than to crush whoever was behind the whole setup.

"Keep searching," Lars said. "I don't care what it takes. I will not take failure for an answer. You hear me? I will not stop until the person behind this pays."

"Yes, sir." He ended the call and handed the phone back.

His hands were starting to shake again. It always happened when he remembered his mother's undeserved cruel end.

Once the door closed behind the guard, he roared and slammed his fist into the wall. Blaze stopped punching and turned, already knowing what the problem was.

He'd been around his brother numerous times to know when it had to do with the investigation of his mother's murder.

"I already suggested we do this together."

Lars shot him a glare. "No. I don't need your help. I'll take care of this myself."

"Don't be stubborn," Blaze shot back. "You'll get nowhere alone. I know someone who could be of great help."

"I said no," Lars snapped, grabbing his towel and slinging it over his shoulder before checking his bleeding knuckles.

Blaze shook his head, watching him go. He felt bad for his brother, but he couldn't force him. He turned back to the bag, fists clenched again. And for some reason, his thoughts went back to Lucy and her mother.

They were both poor women who had nothing to do with any of this. Dragged into a world of blood and violence because of an alcoholic husband’s mistake.

Thinking about it now, he wondered if he was doing what was just, or if it was simply cruelty. Evil.

For a second, he felt the urge to pity her. To regret it all.

But he clenched his fists harder, shoved the thoughts down and slammed his knuckles into the bag again.