Chapter 59 Chapter 58

Chapter 59 Chapter 58
Dinners had become a sacred routine. I was never late.
I sat at the table and watched Chloe laugh at something silly, Isa telling stories, and my mother spoiling Ayla until she fell asleep.

I walked into the living room while Chloe was finishing dressing Ayla, and she looked at me for a second.
"Are you going out?" she asked.
"Yes. Quick, I promise I’ll be back in time."
"Dominic."
"I swear." I kissed Chloe’s forehead and left.

I walked to the car where Salvatori and Enzo were already waiting. I opened the door and got in, closing it behind me.
"Sir, we can handle him the usual way."
"No," I replied, adjusting my suit. "That would take away all the fun."

The car started moving. On my phone screen, a photo of them — Chloe holding Ayla — stared back at me as I checked the time. Since my meeting with Viktor, everything had grown: power, respect… and a family I refused to lose.

The vehicle stopped in front of the old warehouse. I stepped out slowly; the air smelled of oil and metal. Salvatori and Enzo followed behind. In the dim light, Matheo was kneeling, his face swollen, fresh bruises scattered across his skin. A chair waited in front of him. I walked in slowly, laid a handkerchief on the seat, and sat down, crossing my legs.

"You look terrible," I said, observing every bruise on his face. "Let’s start talking."

Matheo swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the floor.
"I-I have nothing to say," he tried.

I closed my mouth into a short smile.
"Are you sure? Cooperate, and I’ll spare your life."

He trembled when he answered,
"Y-you swear?"
"I swear."

He tried to say he needed the money, that he sold something to a buyer, but the words came out broken, without conviction.
The same excuses traitors always used — playing the victim for pity — I stopped listening after the first few sentences.

His body shook even more when I understood the scheme. It wasn’t personal.
"Loose ends irritate me. Traitors don’t deserve a second chance," I explained calmly.

My hand slid to the gun at my waist. I felt the cold metal as I unlocked the holster. I aimed at his head. The silence became absolute.
"I could prolong your torture," I said in a low voice, "tear every limb from your body."

But I promised my wife I wouldn’t be late for our daughter’s baptism.

I didn’t wait for a response. I pulled the trigger. The sound echoed through the space; Matheo’s body convulsed and collapsed. The metallic smell filled the air for a second.

I bent down slightly, took the handkerchief from the chair’s back, and wiped my hands with slow, mechanical movements. Straightening up, I smoothed my jacket and said, without looking back:
"Let’s go. We have a baptism to attend."

I walked out of the warehouse with Salvatori and Enzo beside me.

\[...\]

When I arrived at the church, the scent of candles and incense wrapped around me, mingling with the aroma of fresh flowers. People were seated on the pews — some whispering, others glancing discreetly toward the entrance. I walked down the marble aisle.

As I approached Chloe, she looked at me with that calm smile, holding Ayla in her arms. I sat beside her, gently stroking our daughter’s tiny arm, feeling her small body against mine.

The priest, dressed in a white cassock, began to speak solemn and rhythmic words, blessing the moment and explaining the meaning of baptism — the child’s entry into faith, purification, and divine protection. Chloe held Ayla’s hand tightly. When the time came, the priest asked us to stand. I helped Chloe carefully, feeling the baby’s weight and adjusting her posture so she’d be comfortable. We walked slowly to the front, where a small altar had been prepared with a baptismal font filled with holy water.

The priest took the child from Chloe’s arms, caressed little Ayla’s head, and made the sign of the cross on her forehead, saying her name aloud. The holy water trickled gently down the baby’s head.

The priest spoke words of blessing, invoking protection and health for Ayla, while I watched every detail, eyes misty, my hands trembling slightly as I held theirs. Finally, he handed the child back to Chloe, and we stepped back, returning to our seats. The congregation smiled, some clapping softly, and I stayed there, feeling my daughter’s tiny hand squeeze my finger.

After the baptism, we hosted a small lunch for close family at home. The garden was full of chairs, some covered with light blankets, and flowers scattered here and there. I held Ayla in my arms, feeling her warm little body against my chest as she snuggled closer with every movement.

Chloe sat beside me, eating slowly, talking, and laughing with the guests. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the air, blending with the fragrance of flowers and Chloe’s soft perfume — something that left me completely at peace. Soft laughter and children’s whispers echoed, and a light breeze brushed through her hair, making me want — almost irresistibly — to tuck a strand behind her ear.

I placed Ayla in her stroller, her tiny body relaxing against the cushions. I wrapped an arm around Chloe’s waist, feeling the warmth of her body, resting my head lightly against hers as I watched the little interactions around us.

A smile formed on my lips, unbidden — just appreciating the moment.