Chapter 54 54

Chapter 54 54
Vivian's POV

I was sitting on a bench in Grant Park with Veronica, being harangued by her to leave Chicago—to abandon Dominic and save myself if that were even possible at this point! And the next thing I knew the world came to pieces.

Gunfire shattered the afternoon calm. They began screaming and running every which way. I looked up and saw Dominic sprinting toward me, his face a look of determination and terror. Then I sighted the gun, straight at me, held by a man with cold eyes and steady hands.

It was Dominic, and he laid his heavy hand on me with such violence that I fell forward. His body lay on top of mine, protecting me with his own. I heard a groan of pain, felt him flinch with impact. And then blood — so much of it, pooling across his white shirt, spreading and seeping through the fabric in an obscene, dark stain.

"Dominic!" My scream was raw, desperate.

He'd been shot. Because of me. Protecting me. Using his body as a human shield, catching that same bullet the shooter intended for my body in his own.

Around us, the firefight continued. More gunshots. More screaming. The world was a nightmare of violence and terror. Xavier came into view in an instant, swooping out of the pandemonium like a guardian angel, snatching both of us and shoving us behind a wall of cement near the fountain.

"How bad?" “What will you need?”Clenching to the emergency, already sizing up in a swift practised manner the gash.

“Bad enough,” Dominic gritted as he did so. Blood continued to soak his shirt at an alarming rate, from his shoulder perhaps or his chest. I wasn’t sure where he’d been struck.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. "This is my fault. Holy s--t, this is my fault—“

“Shut up,” grunted Dominic, his words laced with pain. "Not your fault. Just stay down."

More gunfire erupted. Sirens wailed in the distance, then came closers. Cassius’s men were in retreat at this point, the surprise had been lost and they’d been outgunned. The whole attack hadn’t taken more than ninety seconds but had felt as if it lasted for hours.

"Where's Veronica?" It dawned on me that my sister wasn't next to me. She had been there when the shooting began. Now she was gone.

I scanned the chaos, panicked, looking for half a week. Xavier saw her first—sprinting toward a black SUV on the street, the sound of her heels clicking against asphalt as she ran. She climbed in without turning to see if I was alive or dead. The car pulled away before it could be stopped.

“She played us,” said Xavier, his tone of absolution firm. “They’re innocent, This was all a setup from day one. She brought you both here so Cassius could have this."

A few minutes later an ambulance arrived, and paramedics bustling past Dominic with professional urgency. They cut away his bloody shirt, exposing the wound — a through-and-through in the shoulder, bleeding hard but not immediately deadly. He was pale and sweating; his skin was damp with shock.

“I’m good,” he continued to say as they attended to him. "I've had worse."

“You’re shot,” I protested, my voice cracking. "You need surgery—"

"This is not even the worst one.” As though that somehow justified it.
They wouldn’t allow me to go in the ambulance. Some thing about space limitations and medical stuff. Xavier transported me, tailing the blaring stein as it cut through traffic in Chicago.

“He’ll be all right,” Xavier said, but the death grip he kept on the steering wheel was proof that he wasn’t as certain as he sounded. “I was thinking, I’ve seen Dominic get through a whole lot worse than a shot in the shoulder.”

"You don't know that. You can't know that." My hands were shaking uncontrollably. "He could die. Because of me. I was so dumb to even think Veronica gave a damn —"

"Stop. This isn't on you. Veronica manipulated you. Cassius orchestrated the whole thing. You were simply the bait they employed.”

“And that is supposed to be making me feel better?”

They forced we wait in a sterile room that smelled of antiseptic and fear at the hospital. Hours passed with agonizing slowness. Police were there, and they were asking me questions that implied they didn’t believe any of my answers already.

“What were you doing in Grant Park Mrs. DeLaurentis?”

"Meeting my sister. She phoned and said, 'Will you come?”

"Why did she want to meet?"

"Family business. Personal matters." I was vague in my answers, recalling Xavier's instructions on only replying to that which I was asked and not volunteering information.

“Did you know it would be violent?”

"No. Of course not."

“Did your husband even know you had crossed the bridge to go see Tomahawk?”

"I... I don't know. I left without telling him." The admission tasted like guilt.

They were suspicious, rightfully so. The whole situation looked orchestrated. But they couldn't hold me. I was a victim, not a suspect. Not yet, anyway.

And finally, after it felt like days but had probably been only three hours, a doctor arrived. Middle-aged, tired-looking, somehow possessing the demeanor of someone who had borne both good and bad news a great many times.

"Mrs. DeLaurentis?"

I got up so fast I almost fell down. "Is he—"

"Your husband has finished surgery. The bullet cleanly passed through his shoulder. I’d missed the major arteries and nerves. He's very lucky." The doctor's expression softened slightly. "He's expected to make a full recovery."

I was washed with so much relief I had to sit down again. "Can I see him?"

"Soon. But there’s another thing you should know.” The doctor's expression turned uncomfortable. “The police are looking to talk to him regarding the shooting. And there’s a federal agent in here with an arrest warrant. Your husband is going under arrest as soon as he gets patched up.”

I observed through a window as federal agents went into Dominic's hospital room. He was barely awake, his consciousness a cocktail of painkillers left over from surgery, his face pasty and haggard with pain. And they were arresting him. You read him his rights while he was lying on a hospital bed after taking that bullet for me.

"This is crazy," I said to Xavier, who had appeared next to me. "He just had surgery—"

"This is strategy. They’re using his being shot as cover to arrest him in a vulnerable state, before his lawyers can mount a proper defense.” Xavier's voice was grim. “It’s such a clever thing, but so vicious,” he continued.

"Cover for what?"

"To hold him without bail. To paint him as dangerous. So he can’t get in the way of their investigation.”

I observed as Dominic was read his rights, handcuffed to the rail of a hospital bed despite being injured. Heavily Armed guards were stationed outside his room. In less than 10 minutes, he had changed from patient to prisoner.

"What happens now?"

"Now they hold him. No bail this time. He is officially a flight risk and danger to the community.” Xavier's jaw was tight. At last they have him exactly where they want him—alone, in pain, and unable to defend himself.

"He's injured. They can't just—"

"They can and they will. The law doesn’t give a shit about bullet wounds when you get charged with RICO violations.”

I felt physically sick. This was because of me. If I had not gone down to see Veronica. If only I’d shared her call with Dominic. But if I’d been smarter, less naïve, far less in need of being able to believe that my sister might just care about me.

“Knock it off,” Xavier said, reading the guilt on my face. "This isn't your fault. Veronica orchestrated this. Cassius executed it. You are nothing but the hook they used to reel out Dominic.”

"That's not comforting."

A federal agent came up to us — female, late thirties, with the kind of sharp eyes that stripped through lies. "Mrs. DeLaurentis, we do need to talk to you about a few things."

“I’ve already given the police my version of events, like about the shooting—”

"This is different. We have questions regarding your marriage. About your identity. On the subject of your potential fraud regarding your relationship with Dominic DeLaurentis.” She pulled out a badge. “I’m Agent Morrison, FBI.”

Xavier immediately stepped between us. “You’re not getting anything out of her without a lawyer present.”

"That's her choice, of course. "But you will understand when I tell you that we found from other information, that Mrs. DeLaurentis is not what she says. And if that’s the case, she may be an accomplice to several federal crimes.” Agent Morrison gave me a business card. "Really ponder your next steps. Work with us now, and we can figure something out. Refuse, and face charges later."

As she headed off, my hands were shaking so violently I dropped the card. Xavier picked it up, his face dark.

"They know," I whispered. "About me. About the switch. Everything is falling apart."

"Not everything. Not yet." But the way Xavier sounded, he said, made him question that.