Chapter 4 - The Boy at the Harbor
Marin struck Dominic across the face.
No one stopped her.
Not Marco.
Not the guards.
Not even Isabella.
The sound echoed through the empty bedroom.
“You promised me.”
Dominic slowly turned his face back toward her.
“I know.”
“My son is gone because of your family.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that!”
Her voice cracked.
Eli's inhaler lay on the bed between them.
Marin grabbed it.
“He needs this.”
“He has another at school.”
“He needs this one when he's scared. His breathing gets worse when he's scared.”
Dominic immediately turned to Marco.
“Tell every team: child has asthma. Whoever has him needs medication.”
Marin stared.
Dominic looked back.
“I will bring him home.”
“You said that before.”
This time he had no answer.
Isabella tapped urgently against her chair.
Marin wiped her face and went to her.
Isabella wrote:
Eli smart.
Marin gave a broken laugh.
“He's nine.”
Isabella wrote:
You taught him.
That was true.
After Eli's first serious asthma attack, Marin had taught him his address, phone number, emergency contacts, and what to do if separated.
She had also taught him something strange after noticing the black sedan outside school.
“If somebody ever takes you somewhere and you don't know where you're going, pay attention. Smells. Sounds. Turns. Anything.”
At the time she had felt ridiculous.
Now it might save him.
Dominic examined the note.
“Harbor.”
Newport had dozens of private docks.
Theodore wanted Isabella's trust documents.
“Why originals?” Marin asked.
Dominic looked at his mother.
“Because copies won't transfer control.”
Isabella nodded.
Then Marin noticed something.
The note smelled faintly sweet.
Not perfume.
“Vanilla.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What?”
“The paper.”
He smelled it.
She was right.
Marin closed her eyes.
“Eli loves that smell.”
“How does that help?”
“He told me once there was a harbor where the air smelled like cupcakes.”
Dominic stared.
Marin suddenly remembered.
“Commercial bakery. Near the old shipyard.”
Marco immediately knew it.
“Thames Street warehouse district.”
They moved.
Dominic refused to let Marin come.
She refused to stay.
“My son.”
That ended the argument.
Twenty minutes later, three vehicles stopped several blocks from the waterfront.
Rain had returned.
Dominic ordered everyone to keep their distance.
No guns drawn.
No confrontation near Eli.
He and Marin approached an old warehouse.
Inside, Eli sat on a chair.
His hands weren't tied.
A frightened young man guarded him.
Eli was talking.
“Whales sleep with half their brain awake.”
The guard stared at him.
“What?”
“Some dolphins too.”
“Please stop talking.”
“I talk when I'm nervous.”
The guard sighed.
“So do I.”
“You aren't talking.”
“Exactly.”
Eli looked toward a broken window.
Then he noticed movement.
His mother.
He didn't react.
Marin nearly cried from pride.
Dominic whispered, “He saw us.”
“How do you know?”
“He stopped talking.”
Theodore was nowhere nearby.
That worried Dominic.
Too easy.
Then his phone rang.
Theodore.
“Don't enter.”
Dominic stopped.
“You're watching.”
“Always.”
“What do you want?”
“The documents.”
“You'll get them when Eli walks out.”
Theodore laughed.
“You still think this is negotiation.”
Dominic looked around.
Then he saw a camera.
“The boy first.”
“No.”
Dominic glanced at Marin.
She understood.
They needed another option.
Inside, Eli suddenly began coughing.
The guard stood.
“You okay?”
Eli reached for his pocket.
Nothing.
His breathing became rapid.
Marin's instincts overwhelmed strategy.
“Eli!”
She ran inside.
Dominic cursed and followed.
The guard panicked.
“Stay back!”
“No one is hurting you,” Dominic said.
Marin held up the inhaler.
“He needs this.”
The young guard looked at Eli.
Then at Marin.
Something changed in his face.
“Give it to him.”
Marin rushed forward.
Eli took two doses.
Within minutes his breathing eased.
The guard lowered his hands.
Dominic studied him.
“You don't want to be here.”
The man looked away.
“Theodore has my brother.”
There it was.
Another hostage.
Another frightened person.
Dominic realized Theodore's power wasn't loyalty.
It was leverage.
“How many people does he control this way?” Dominic asked.
The guard whispered, “Everyone.”
He gave Dominic a location.
An abandoned waterfront hotel.
Theodore's real headquarters.
But before they could leave, headlights appeared outside.
Theodore's men.
The young guard panicked.
“Go through the loading door!”
Dominic lifted Eli.
Marin followed.
They escaped into the rain.
Minutes later, Eli was inside Marco's vehicle, wrapped in a blanket.
Marin climbed beside him.
Dominic stood outside.
“Take them home.”
Marin looked at him.
“You're going after Theodore.”
“Yes.”
“Then I'm coming.”
“No.”
“You still don't understand.”
She stepped from the vehicle.
“This stopped being only your war when they followed my son.”
Dominic stared at her.
Then Eli spoke.
“Mom.”
She turned.
“Go home.”
“But—”
“Miss Isabella needs you.”
Marin stared at him.
Eli smiled weakly.
“I've got like twelve giant guys watching me.”
Dominic almost laughed.
Marin kissed his forehead.
Then she looked at Dominic.
“Bring yourself home too.”
It was the first time anyone had said those words to him in years.
Not win.
Not destroy them.
Come home.
Dominic nodded.
At the abandoned hotel, they found no Theodore.
Instead, they found records.
Hundreds of them.
Payments.
Photographs.
Blackmail files.
And one medical report.
Dominic read the name at the top.
ISABELLA VIRELLI.
The attack three years earlier had not caused her inability to speak.
According to the report, Isabella's physical damage had largely healed within months.
Dominic read the final line.
Patient displays evidence of chemically induced neurological suppression after hospitalization.
His hands began trembling.
Someone had continued drugging his mother after the attack.
For three years.
He turned the page.
Authorized medical contact:
VIVIEN MORROW.
But three years ago Dominic had never met Vivien.
Which meant their meeting had not been coincidence.
Their engagement had not been strategy.
It had been planned long before he ever saw her.
And on the final page was a photograph of Dominic himself, taken five years earlier.
Across the bottom, someone had written:
May you like
PRIMARY TARGET: DOMINIC VIRELLI.
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