Chapter 5 - The First Step
The grand ballroom was entirely empty now, save for the echoes of screaming sirens wailing outside the estate gates as local police and federal agents arrived to haul away Dr. Cole and Silvio Marchetti in handcuffs.
Camille Vitale had already fled the estate in a waiting taxi, her engagement ring tossed contemptuously onto the foyer table. The alliance of convenience was broken, and the Vossi empire had violently purged its cancer.
Inside the private study, the air smelled of burnt gunpowder and expensive scotch.
Domenico sat in his wheelchair near the French doors, watching the rain beat against the glass. He had not touched a drop of Dr. Cole’s "medication" in three days. Under Dr. Palermo’s emergency supervision, a heavy saline flush and antitoxin treatment had already begun clearing the lingering neurotoxins from his bloodstream.
The door creaked open.
Nadia walked in, holding a small tin basin of warm water. Behind her skipped little Nina, clutching her crayon book under one arm.
“Mr. Vossi,” Nadia said softly, her eyes lowered, wringing her hands in her apron. “The staff... we heard what happened downstairs. Are... are you going to let us stay?”
Domenico turned his wheelchair around. He looked at Nadia, and then down at the little girl who had saved his life by picking up a stray pill from a crimson carpet.
“Nadia,” Domenico said, his voice thick with an emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. “You and your daughter are never leaving this house unless you want to. From this day forward, your family has a home here for as long as you wish.”
Nina smiled her wide, dimpled smile, marching right up to the wheels of his chair just like she did every single afternoon. She placed the basin of warm water on the floor, dropped to her knees, and began unlacing his custom leather shoes.
“See, Uncle?” Nina chattered happily, dipping her hands into the warm water and splashing his ankles. “I told you your feet were just sleeping! They’re waking up now!”
Domenico looked down at her small hands. Then, slowly, deliberately, he clenched his jaw, gripped the armrests of his chair, and pushed down with every ounce of muscle memory, willpower, and fury left in his body.
His boots touched the floor.
The phantom pain in his lower back flared into a white-hot flash of agony—not the cold numbness of paralysis, but the burning, stinging fire of a nerve finally reconnecting, screaming back to life after six months in the dark.
Nadia gasped, covering her mouth with both hands, tears instantly spilling over her lashes.
Nina stopped splashing water, her jaw dropping open in pure awe as she stared up at him.
Domenico Vossi’s legs trembled violently. His knees shook like dry timber. But as he planted his heels firmly against the Persian rug and forced his torso upward, straightening his back inch by agonizing inch, the impossible happened.
He stood.
He stood tall, towering over the desk, over the empty chair, and over the ruins of the betrayal that had tried to bury him.
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He looked down at the three-year-old girl kneeling at his feet, and for the first time in six months, the mafia boss smiled.
“You were right, little doctor,” Domenico whispered, his voice steady and strong. “They’re awake.”
