Chapter 58 58
Chapter 58 58
Vivian's POV
I saw the knife coming down toward Dominic’s chest in slow, grotesque-motion, every detail sharpened with uneven perfection. The blade kissed the fluorescent light. Cassius's face twisted in triumph. Dominic, on his knees and too injured to get out of the way fast enough to stop it. This was it, this was the moment he would die, and I would have to sit there and watch.
I didn't think. I didn’t crunch the odds, or weigh the repercussions, or worry for a second about my own safety. Simply responded on instinct, my body taking over before I could process it. I lunged out with every bit of strength that I could muster, crashing into Cassius so hard we both went down like a sack of rocks. The knife clattered across the cement floor, spiraling into darkness.
Cassius recovered first. He knew violence, had been in battle; I was a middle-class sissy who’d never hit anybody. His hands gripped my neck, pressure applied without finesse to restrict the flow of both air and blood together.
“Dumb bitch—” he spat, and his face was inches from mine.
His hands tightened. I couldn't breathe. There was no way I could think through the panic that was flooding my system. Black stars danced at the periphery of my vision. My weak hands were paws swiping ineffectually at his.
And then out of nowhere he was painfully ripped away from me. Dominic had him, and despite the wounds, despite the pain that must have been unimaginable, he was pure focused rage. And he was pounding on Cassius like they were nails, and each blow would kick up a puff of blood.
"Don't. Touch. My. Wife." A crushing blow followed every word.. Even Dominic's fists began to split open, smearing his own blood among the mounting pool trickling across the floor.
Xavier was at my side and dragged me away from the violence. "Don't watch this. You don't need to see this."
But I couldn't look away. This is what Dominic really was, raw and uncivilized. Violence personified. The monster everyone feared. And I’d literally just saved his life, thrown myself without thinking into danger, chosen him over protecting myself.
Police poured into the stairwell all at once, their shouts bouncing of solid concrete and steel walls. "EVERYBODY DOWN! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!" Federal agents streamed in behind, guns drawn and aimed at no one in particular. "GET ON THE GROUND NOW!"
Heaving hard, with blood from his split knuckles running across them, Dominic towered over Cassius’ motionless and bloodied form. His gaze flicked to me first, his grey eyes meeting mine even through the mayhem. Then he gazed at the agents companynig us with weapons drawn. With graceful deliberateness, he lifted his hands clear of his head.
"I want my lawyer."
They separated us immediately. They took Dominic to the infirmary with what was likely quite an escort to treat his re opened shoulder wound and his collection of other new injuries. I was led into an interrogation room and spent the next four hours answering the same questions in slightly different formats again and again.
"What were you doing at the hospital, Mrs. DeLaurentis?"
“Saving my husband from getting murdered.” I responded with brief, succinct answers, recalling Xavier's tip not to offer up details.
"Save him from what specifically?"
"From Cassius Cassano and his forces who'd made a full military strike on a civilian hospital.
"Who was the first to get physical in the stairwell?"
“Cassius stabbed my husband with a knife. I tried to stop a murder."
“That’s not what other witnesses are saying.”
More lies. More selecting and manipulating of the facts to build whatever narrative they desired. I was beyond exhausted, traumatized, still caked in dried blood, and desperate to know if Dominic was alive. But they held me there for several hours, coming back to the same questions over and over as if my answers would somehow provide something new.
Finally, they let me go. No charges filed. Yet. "Don't leave town, Mrs. DeLaurentis. We'll have more questions soon."
Xavier was there to greet me when I got out, just as tired and worn as I was. The shirt was ripped and the blood from wounds I couldn't see had splattered across it.
"Where's Dominic?" Before I could even say hello, the question exploded out of me.
"Back in surgery. My shoulder wound opened up in the course of the fight. And the knife wound inches from his heart. And that his leg had been shot, apparently, and I didn’t even know there was a gunshot." Xavier ruffled a hand through his hair. "This man's still being held together by hate and stitches at this point."
"Is he going to be okay?"
"He's survived worse. Much worse." Xavier sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as well as me. "Dominic doesn't die easy."
"What happens now? After he recovers?"
“And now we prepare for war in every front.” Xavier's expression was grim. “The kind of war that determines if we survive at all or get totally obliterated.”
"War with who?"
"Everyone. Federal prosecutors would like to see Dominic spend the rest of his life in prison. Cassius will take vengeance for this beating. Other mafia families are lurking like vultures, they smell our weakness and the opportunity to take our territory.” He looked at me seriously. "We're surrounded, outmanned and our leader has the operating table. Our strategic position could hardly be worse.”
Xavier paused, studying my face. “But you just saved his life tonight. Jumped between him and a knife with no thought for yourself. That means something. To him. To all of us who follow him."
Outside the surgical suite, I waited for hours. Time seemed to behave oddly, slowing and speeding at once. Celeste came, in due time, and still in the repulsive mourning black she had worn to Marcella’s funeral. She was here for her brother when he most wanted her.
We sat side by side in hard, uncomfortable plastic chairs, not talking for long stretches. Finally, she broke the silence.
"You threw yourself at Cassius. Took down a man with a knife while armed.”
"I didn't think about it. Just reacted instinctively."
“That was either so brave or so stupid.” The inflection in Celeste’s voice was not judgmental, only observant.
"Probably both."
She looked at me with those dark eyes that had seen too much. "You love him. My brother."
This time it wasn’t a question. Only an acknowledgment of a truth she already knew.
“Yes,” I confessed, for the first time speaking it aloud. "I love him. God help me, but I do."
"He loves you too. Though he would never say those words, not give himself that vulnerability.” Celeste's voice softened slightly. "But I know my brother. I’ve known him all his life. And with anyone else, I have never seen him like this. Never seen him give a damn about anyone the way he obviously gives one about you.”
“I mean, even though I’m—” I caught myself just in time to not spill the secret that could still ruin everything.
"Even though you're what?" Celeste's gaze sharpened.
"Nothing. Never mind."
She didn’t press, but the way she looked at me made clear that she knew more than what I told her. We lapsed back into silence.
Finally a surgeon walked in, still wearing his scrubs, and seeming exhausted. "Family of Dominic DeLaurentis?"
We both stood simultaneously. "That's us," I said.
"He's stable. The surgery went well. We fixed the shoulder, we repaired the knife wound — which was a fraction of the breadth of one hair away from his heart -– and took care of his grazing gunshot." The surgeon ripped his surgical cap off. “He will fully recover, but will require extensive rehabilitation.”
"Can we see him?" An overwhelming sense of relief washed over me, and I swear my legs buckled a little at the knees.
"Soon. He's in recovery now. Will need to rest, though.
"Thank you. Thank you so much." I could finally breathe again, I felt like for the first time in hours.
"There is one thing that you need to know," The surgeon looked a bit uncomfortable. “The federal officers are fighting to have security posted in his room. And they have instructions to take him to a federal holding facility as soon as he is cleared medically for transfer. Because, depending on the PHBF and general composition of Lancel and also how severe his wounds were, that could be tomorrow morning."
My sigh of relief instantly dissolved into bone-crushing dread. "You mean prison? They’re sending him to jail tomorrow?”
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. I said he requires at least a week of observation in hospital but, you know, they have legal jurisdiction over that decision.”