Chapter 50 50

Chapter 50 50
Vivian's POV

Dominic went to the hospital without me and I understood, but it was hard for me to accept. I assumed he was trying to shield me from whatever it was that occurred where Marcella was, but I couldn’t remain in this largeet waiting. Not when he was hurting. Not while his family was dying.

I also called for a car despite him directly commanding me not to. When I barked at the driver to take me to Northwestern Memorial, he’d hesitated for a moment fearing, perhaps, that Dominic would disapprove before obliging. Twenty minutes later, I was directed to an ICU following sterile hospital hallways.

I walked into the waiting room and there was Dominic, settled in an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair that looked absurd for a man of his size and stature. He glanced up when I came in, and surprise crossed his face before something else passed over—something that could maybe have been relief.

"What are you doing here?" There was no real anger in his voice, only weariness.

"I came for you." I sat down next to him, close enough that our shoulders brushed. "For both of you."

“I thought I told you to stay at the mansion—”

“I don't always take orders from you. You should have known that by now."

For a moment I was afraid he might be angry and turn me away or scold me about safety. Instead, he drew me close and hugged me as though I were the only solid thing left in his crumbling world. The tension vibrated in every line of his body; I could feel the fear he made every effort to control.

“She’s not good,” he murmured against my hair. “The burns, the infection, her age. Too many complications. It’s only a matter of time now, the doctors tell us.”

"I'm so sorry, Dominic."

We sat together, mute and dreading the news neither of us wanted. The ICU waiting room was depressing in the manner of all hospital waiting rooms: fluorescent lights that were too bright, out -of-date magazines, a muted television mewling quietly to itself in one corner and no one paying any attention.

Celeste showed up half an hour or so afterward. She seemed tired and scared in a way I had never seen before. Celeste had been so cool, so perfectly in control. It was jarring to see her like this.

She spotted me sitting with Dominic and paused. "You came."

"Of course I came."

"Thank you." Her voice cracked slightly. "For being here for him."

Three of us were waiting, a very odd family brought together by circumstance and emergency. Celeste was seated on Dominic’s other side, and he grabbed his daughter’s hand. I’d never seen them show physical affection, but grief erased those careful barriers.

There was something off about the passage of time in that waiting room. Minutes felt like hours. Each time someone in scrubs passed, we tensed collectively — is this the moment when we’ll hear something?

Finally, a doctor appeared. Middle aged, haggard, the kind of face that gave bad news for a living. He did not have to say anything. His face told us everything.

“I'm so sorry," he murmured. "We did everything we could. Your aunt died five or six minutes ago. “At least she didn’t suffer at the end.”

Dominic didn't move. Didn't react. Just sat there frozen, as if he were absolutely still the words wouldn’t become real. Then, gradually, he balled his hand into a fist so tight I could see him going white against his skin.

Celeste crumpled to the floor in uncontrollable tears, her finely crafted facade falling apart into oblivion. Instinctively, I held her, this woman I hardly knew who was giving me such unexpected kindness. She held on to me as her body trembled with grief.

Dominic suddenly jumped up, went away along the passage and vanished round the corner. I looked at Celeste questioningly.

"Should I go after him?"

She shook her head, mopping at herself with shaking hands. "Let him process this alone. He needs his space when he’s hurt. Always has."

But I couldn't. There was some instinct I wasn’t quite clear on that wouldn’t allow me to leave him alone with this grief. I slid out of Celeste and made my way in the direction Dominic left us.

I discovered him in a stairwell, outside the normal hospital flow. He pounding his fist into the concrete wall over and over with steady rhythm, blood pouring from his knuckles. The crash filled the confined area.

"Dominic, stop—"

"She's dead because of me." He slammed into the wall again, more forcefully. "Marcella is dead because Cassius wanted to harm me.”

"No, that's not—"

"Yes it is. He went after her intentionally because he knew it was going to kill me. This is my fault." Another impact, more blood. “I should have taken better care of her. Should have seen the attack.”

He pulled his fist back for another blow but I caught hold of the arm, clung with all my might. “You don’t bring her back by tearing yourself apart.”

He stared at me and the open agony in his eyes had my heart burning. "So then what should I do? How am I expected to go through life like this?”

The spell was shattered, the question too broken, him open in a way Dominic would never let himself be. This strongman, who had ruled with fear and violence, was suddenly a grieving man who didn’t know how to grieve.

“You’re supposed to let me help you. You're supposed to rely on the people who love you instead of lifting yourself out of it yourself.”

He gazed at me with such excruciating pain. “Everyone I love gets hurt in the end. My mother. Isabella. Marcella. You're next. You have to see the pattern."

"I'm not going anywhere."

“You better run while you can.” His bloody hand reached up to cradle my face, smearing crimson on my cheek. "Before I hurt you and it's too late for you to save yourself from me."

Before I could say anything, before I could tell him it was already too late and that he wouldn’t do it because hello: a forty-five minute delay between what you are thinking and actually typing it on your phone, his phone rang. Xavier's ringtone.

"Dom, get your ass back to the mansion now. The Feds are there with a warrant. They're tearing the place apart."

Xavier drove back through Chicago traffic and Dominic and I sat in the car, both of us rigid — he in the passenger seat, me scooted down in the back. When we arrived at the mansion, there were several federal vehicles parked in the driveway, agents coming and going with boxes of evidence.

“What are they trying to find now?” I asked quietly.

"Anything they can use. Everything they can find." Dominic's voice was flat, emotionless. He'd shut down whatever he had felt, grief that would be a liability, bury it beneath the Don facade he had adopted out of necessity.

As we got out of the car, an agent approached. “Mr. DeLaurentis, we need you to come with us. We have additional questions."

"Am I under arrest?"

"Not at this time. We are all part of a community of people who want to kill protected birds, myself included, but we can make that happen if you prefer.” Same threat they always made, same subtext of coercion.

Dominic glanced at me and for a split second his mask slipped. "Go to Celeste's house. Stay there until I call you."

"I'm not leaving you—"

"That's not a request, Vivian. It's an order." The Don’s voice was cold now, he was in command. "You'll be safer there."

I wanted to fight, wanted to refuse, but I could tell this was not the time. Xavier appeared at my elbow.

"I'll take her. You just have to deal with this.”

Dominic nodded and turned to the agents, already transitioning into combat state. That he was ready for yet another battle even after losing someone he loved. I watched him leave, this man who had lost so much today but was still fighting, still standing.

While in Xavier's car, I was still glued to the mansion behind us as we drove away from all the craziness. Seeing federal agents pile into what had become my home. Then I saw something that made my blood freeze in my veins.

Parked on the other side of the street, partially obscured by a car but recognizable if anyone had known to look for it—Cassius. There he was watching the raid, with a gleeful look of delight Yep, because he is loving every minute.

He shouldn't be there. He should have been in custody, behind bars and unable to hurt anyone.

As we drove past, his gaze met mine through the window. He pulled out his phone and deliberately snapped a picture. Of me. Documenting my presence, my vulnerability. And then he vanished, lost in the mass of spectators.

“Xavier, Cassius was just —” I heard myself panic-eyed.

"I saw him. That Son of a bitch made bail.” Xavier's hands curled hard around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
1
"What does this mean?"

Xavier was silent for a long while, driving in the traffic and working through implications. It means the gloves are now fully off. He’s not in hiding any longer, not working through intermediaries. He's hunting directly. And you just became prey.”