Chapter 8 - THE SISTER WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
Dominic had spent eighteen years believing Sofia Russo was dead.
She had been sixteen when Salvatore’s warehouse burned.
Her body was never formally identified.
A charred necklace had been found near the remains.
The family buried an empty coffin.
“I saw her go inside,” Dominic said.
Clara sat across from him.
“You were there?”
“I was twenty-three.”
His voice sounded far away.
“My father ordered me to stay outside. Sofia ran in after him.”
“You tried to follow.”
“Victor stopped me.”
Victor looked down.
“I saved his life.”
Dominic’s eyes remained on the photograph.
“And I hated him for it.”
The red-haired woman looked unmistakably related to Dominic.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
But her message made no sense.
YOUR FATHER TOOK MINE.
Clara turned the photograph over.
“There’s an address.”
An abandoned church on the North Side.
Dominic wanted to go immediately.
Clara insisted they notify investigators.
For once, he agreed without argument.
The church was empty except for one woman sitting in the front pew.
Red hair.
Black coat.
A scar ran along her neck.
Dominic stopped twenty feet away.
“Sofia?”
She turned.
His composure shattered.
“Sofia.”
He moved forward.
She raised a gun.
“Stay there.”
Dominic froze.
Clara remained behind him.
“You’re alive.”
“No thanks to your father.”
Dominic looked confused.
Sofia laughed bitterly.
“You still worship him.”
“No.”
“You built his empire.”
“I inherited his mistakes.”
“And expanded them.”
Dominic absorbed that without protest.
Sofia looked at Clara.
“Thomas Jenkins’s daughter.”
Clara stepped forward.
“You sent the photograph.”
“Yes.”
“Why threaten me?”
“To make him come.”
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“You could have called.”
“Would you have believed me?”
“Yes.”
“Gallagher told me otherwise.”
Clara frowned.
“Gallagher?”
Sofia explained.
The warehouse fire had not killed her.
Gallagher’s men had found her unconscious and taken her.
For years he convinced her that Salvatore caused the fire intentionally to destroy evidence—and that Dominic had known.
“Why keep you alive?” Clara asked.
“Leverage.”
“Against whom?”
Sofia looked at Dominic.
“Our mother.”
Dominic went still.
“Our mother died when I was twelve.”
“No.”
One word.
It broke him.
Sofia explained that their mother, Evelyn Russo, had not died from illness as Salvatore claimed.
She had left.
She discovered Salvatore’s early criminal operations and threatened to take the children.
Salvatore hid her away and told Dominic she was dead.
Years later Gallagher found her.
“He used me to force Mom into silence.”
Dominic looked physically sick.
“Where is she?”
Sofia’s anger cracked.
“She died three months ago.”
Dominic sat heavily in a pew.
Clara wanted to touch him.
She waited.
Then he reached blindly toward her.
Clara took his hand.
Sofia watched.
Something in her expression softened.
“She talked about you until the end.”
Dominic lowered his head.
“What did she say?”
“That you were gentle once.”
He laughed bitterly.
“She remembered wrong.”
“No.”
Sofia’s voice softened.
“She said power would either turn you into your father or teach you why he was wrong.”
Clara squeezed Dominic’s hand.
Sofia lowered the gun.
“I wanted to hate you.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right.”
Sofia blinked.
Dominic continued.
“I can’t understand what happened to you. But I can listen.”
Clara looked at him.
The man she met months earlier would never have said that.
Sofia began crying.
Dominic didn’t move toward her.
He waited.
She crossed the distance herself.
Brother and sister embraced.
It was awkward.
Broken.
Real.
Later, Sofia gave investigators the final records Gallagher had hidden.
The criminal network collapsed quickly after that.
Arthur Pendleton accepted a plea agreement and testified.
Gallagher faced federal racketeering charges.
Leo cooperated after realizing Gallagher planned to blame everything on him.
For the first time in decades, the war surrounding the Russos began to end.
But Dominic made a decision nobody expected.
He started dismantling his own criminal operations.
Victor confronted him in the penthouse.
“You understand what this means?”
“Yes.”
“People will call you weak.”
Dominic glanced toward Clara.
She was helping Sofia unpack boxes.
“People have called me worse.”
“You could lose everything.”
“No.”
Dominic watched Clara laugh at something Sofia said.
“I finally figured out what everything is.”
Clara heard him.
She pretended she hadn’t.
That night, Dominic drove her home.
Her radiator had finally been repaired.
Arthur’s building had been seized.
The new management company had lowered several illegal fees.
Clara stood outside her apartment.
Dominic waited.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
He turned.
“Dominic.”
He looked back.
“You forgot something.”
“What?”
“It’s someday.”
He stared.
Clara smiled.
“You were supposed to ask me something.”
Understanding slowly crossed his face.
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Seven?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
Then Clara pointed at him.
“One condition.”
“Anything.”
“If you ever call me a parade float again, I’m pouring the entire pitcher over your head.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“I deserve that.”
“And no bodyguards at the table.”
“Victor will be devastated.”
“And I pick the restaurant.”
“Now you’re abusing power.”
She laughed.
Then Dominic leaned forward.
He stopped inches from her.
“Can I kiss you?”
Clara’s smile disappeared.
Not because she was angry.
Because he had asked.
The man who once believed wanting something entitled him to take it had asked.
“Yes.”
Their first kiss was quiet.
Slow.
Careful.
When they separated, Dominic looked almost stunned.
Clara smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Dominic.”
He touched her cheek.
“I should have learned to ask years ago.”
Clara kissed him again.
“Better late than never.”
Across the street, unnoticed by either of them, someone raised a camera.
Click.
The photograph would appear online the following morning.
May you like
And it would change both their lives.
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