Chapter 145: Chapter 145
Dominic’s footsteps were unhurried as he left Landon in the lobby, drowning in his own humiliation.
Rodger fell into step beside him, silent as always. Neither man needed to speak; the air around Dominic carried its own current, sharp and suffocating.
Dominic’s mind circled back to the poisoned gas. It gnawed at him, yes, but it was not enough to break him. If the choice was five thousand lives or Celeste, the scales would never even tip. He would burn those five thousand without blinking if it meant keeping her.
None of them were her. None could ever be her. None could disarm him the way she did, none could make him unravel and still hold him together in the same breath. None could wound him and heal him in the same heartbeat.
His hands betrayed him, trembling faintly. He noticed it, hated it, and curled them into fists until the shake stilled.
By the time they reached the hospital floor, the scent of antiseptic hit him again. The quiet, the low hum of machines, and the nurses moving with soft shoes.
All of it was background noise to the truth waiting in the private room ahead.
Celeste.
He stepped back into the room, closing the door behind him. Amara glanced up instantly. Her eyes were questioning, almost afraid to ask what had passed between Dominic and Landon.
But one look at Dominic’s face, stone-carved and unreadable, told her there’d be no answer tonight.
He moved to the bed. Her hand was still where he had left it, pale against the sheets, with her fingers limp beneath his. Machines beeped their steady rhythm, cruelly reminding him that her heart was alive even if she couldn’t look at him.
For a long moment, he just stood there. He was simply breathing her in, swallowing a rage that could burn cities if he let it.
"Boss," Rodger’s voice was low, and careful. "We need to move. Carlos won’t wait long." he said, referring to the gas. They don’t involve civilians who knows nothing into their fight, and Dominic knows it.
No matter how Dominic tried to act unaffected about it, Rodger knew it affected him. Dominic would never sit back, and watch that happen.
Dominic didn’t answer. His thumb brushed across Celeste’s knuckles, slow, and deliberate, as though in that simple motion, he was carving a vow into his own skin.
Then, finally, his voice came, quiet but absolute. "Get me a line."
Rodger stiffened. "A line?"
His eyes didn’t leave Celeste. "To Jim. Call him."
The name dropped heavy in the room. Even Amara’s breath hitched. She has no idea who Jim was but Dominic voice held importance to the name.
Rodger said nothing for a beat, as though he hadn’t heard right. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped another octave.
"You sure, Boss?"
Dominic turned his head at last, slowly, his gaze cutting through the air and landing on Rodger with the kind of weight that didn’t need words.
Rodger nodded once. "I’ll get it."
It took ten minutes for Rodger to return. He held a secure phone in his hand. The screen was wiped clean, and the line rerouted through layers of protection.
When he placed it on the bedside table, the silence in the room deepened, like even the machines understood what was about to happen, and the new alliance that might break generations.
Dominic picked it up, and pressed the line. The dial tone bled into the room.
It rang.
It rang once, twice, and even three times. On the fourth, a voice answered.
"You’ve got balls calling me, Dominic." The voice was gravel, slow, like smoke curling through the receiver. Jim was speaking.
Dominic leaned back in his chair, one hand still resting on Celeste’s hand. "And you’ve got patience answering."
A low chuckle slid through the phone. "Still sharp. I thought maybe grief dulled you. Heard about your woman. The winds talk, you know."
Dominic’s jaw flexed once. There was no answer from his end. Silence pressed on the line until Jim laughed again, louder this time.
"There it is. That silence. Deadlier than a bullet. You didn’t call me for pleasantries. What do you want?"
Dominic’s voice was calm, and steady. "Carlos."
Jim paused. Then the sound of a lighter flicking, and the hiss of smoke pulled in. "Ah. He’s been making noise. Shaking cages, and drinking much. I thought you two were cut from the same cloth. So what’s this? A falling out?"
Dominic didn’t bother with denial. "You want him. I’ll give him. I also want him."
The silence on Jim’s end was long this time. Even Rodger shifted slightly, though he kept his eyes fixed ahead.
Finally, Jim exhaled. His exhale was of smoke and laughter laced together. "You don’t barter with Carlos easily. And you don’t betray allies unless you’re bleeding. So why now, Dominic? Why crawl to me?"
"As you know, Carlos went too far," Dominic said, his tone flat, and unhurried, as though the weight of the world sat in his palm and he was still unimpressed by it.
Jim laughed. His laugh was quiet, dark, and tinged with mockery. "Too far? Dominic, you’ve both gone too far a thousand times. That’s what men like us do. Don’t dress it in morality now. You think I’ll move against Carlos for your conscience?"
Dominic didn’t blink. "No."
"Then you’re wasting my time," Jim said. "Carlos is a beast, but he’s my kind of beast. He keeps the blood flowing in the streets, he keeps the government fat, and the boys loyal. I don’t move against that unless I want my empire gutted. You should know better than to call me with a dream."
Rodger’s jaw clenched, ready to speak, but Dominic lifted a finger and stilled him. He could hear the whole conversation from the Bluetooth Dominic shared with him.
His eyes stayed on Celeste’s face. He watched that steady rhythm of her breaths, fragile but present. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
"You owe me."
The line went quiet for a second, then Jim snorted. "I owe no one."
Dominic’s thumb brushed across Celeste’s knuckles, calm, deliberate, while his voice sliced through the receiver. "Seven years ago. Naples. Your grandchild. You remember."
The silence that followed was absolute. The kind that pressed into the lungs and starved the air out of the room. Even Rodger’s head turned sharply toward Dominic, his eyes narrowing, in realization that this wasn’t just business, it was history.
Dominic didn’t let up. His words were knives, clean and merciless. "You remember the fire. The ambush. The men who wanted to send you a message. And you remember who carried your six years old grandchild out of the smoke, alive. You remember the hands that didn’t hesitate, when everyone else ran, right?"
On the other end, Jim’s breath caught. It wasn’t loud, but it was there. The breath was the sound of a man dragged back into a memory he didn’t want, but was forced to feel it again.
Dominic pressed. "You owe me. I don’t forget, Jim. Neither should you."
For the first time, Jim didn’t laugh. He didn’t taunt. The sound of smoke drew in, then out, long and deliberate, like he was stalling, like he was remembering the weight of a child in his arms, and the thought of loss.
Finally, his voice came, quieter now. "You bastard."
Dominic didn’t answer.
"You hold that card for seven years," Jim muttered. "I asked what you wanted in return, but you never played it. You never cashed it. And you drop it now... for Carlos."
"For Celeste," Dominic corrected softly, his voice steel wrapped in fire.
Another silence followed. Then Jim’s laugh came again. This time, it wasn’t mocking anymore. It was edged with something sharper. It was edged with respect, wariness, and even a hint of unease.
"Fine," Jim said at last. "We’ll talk. In person. Soon."
The line immediately went dead.
Dominic lowered the phone onto the bedside table. He exhaled once, slow, and steady, as though sealing the matter with that single breath.
Then he turned back to Celeste. His fingers found hers again, folding around them like steel around glass. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was absolute.
"No one takes you from me."