Chapter 7 - The Unravelling
The estate plunged into a dark, suffocating winter overnight.
When Lucia, Valentina, and Mia woke up the next morning and found Elena’s room empty, the fragile world Dominic had rebuilt collapsed like a house of cards.
The girls didn't scream or cry hysterically. They did something far worse. They retreated instantly back into their silent, unapproachable shells.
Lucia refused to eat breakfast. Valentina sat in the corner of her bedroom, staring blankly at the crayon drawing of the purple butterfly Elena had drawn with them. Mia crawled into her wardrobe and pulled the doors shut, refusing to come out for hours.
Dominic tried everything.
He sat on the floor with them. He tried to read the dinosaur books. He tried to sing the silly song about the yellow bird. But his voice sounded hollow, stiff, and lifeless. His daughters looked at him not with love, but with a deep, crushing sense of heartbreak. They knew he was the reason Elena was gone.
By the fourth day, the silence in the house was louder and more oppressive than it had ever been after Isabella’s death.
Dominic sat in his study, drinking himself into numbness. He looked at the empty leather chair across from his desk and remembered the way Elena had stood up to him, the way her warm brown eyes had flashed with passion, and the fierce, protective love she had shown his children.
He had let his paranoia destroy the only light his family had found in fourteen months.
A quiet knock sounded at the door. Marco walked in, looking remarkably pale.
“Dominic,” Marco said softly, hesitation evident in his tone.
“What is it, Marco?” Dominic snapped, rubbing his tired, bloodshot eyes. “If it’s not urgent, get out.”
“It’s about Elena Vasquez, Boss,” Marco said, placing a small tape recorder on the desk. “Our guys tapped her brother Mateo’s phone line three days ago. You need to listen to this.”
Dominic’s eyes snapped open. He reached out and pressed the play button on the recorder.
The static buzzed for a second, and then Elena’s voice filled the room, frantic and crying:
“Leave them alone, Mateo! I’m not going back! I don't care what the Morettis do to you, I will never give you the security codes to Dominic Russo’s house! He is a good man, and those little girls have suffered enough! If you try to go near that house, I will call the police myself!”
Then came Mateo’s panicked voice: “Elena, you don't understand! They know you were fired! The Moretti family thinks you're useless now. They are going to move on the estate tonight while Russo’s security is distracted!”
The recording cut off.
Dominic sat frozen in his chair. The blood roared in his ears like a furious ocean tide.
She hadn't betrayed him. She had chosen him. She had chosen his children over her own family, protecting them even after he had kicked her out into the cold streets.
Dominic stood up so fast his leather chair crashed backward onto the floor.
“Where is she?” Dominic growled, his voice trembling with a deadly rage.
“We tracked her phone,” Marco said, pulling out a tactical radio. “She’s at an abandoned warehouse near the docks in New Jersey. Her brother took her there to hide her from the Morettis, but Moretti’s men just tracked them down.”
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Dominic unbuttoned his jacket, pulled his custom firearm from his holster, checked the magazine with a sharp click, and slammed it back into place.
“Get the cars,” Dominic ordered, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying promise. “We are going to bring our girl home.”
