Chapter 4 - The Apartment on Elm Street
The rain was falling in thick, relentless sheets across South Boston as Dominic’s black SUV pulled up to the curb of an old, three-story brick tenement building on Elm Street.
Marco sat in the driver's seat, glancing nervously at the rearview mirror. "Boss, my guys on the street say your father has already put out a pick-up order. The capos are looking for you. If Victor finds out where Clara lives—"
"He won't," Dominic interrupted coldly, checking the magazine of the Sig Sauer 9mm pistol he kept beneath his seat before sliding it into his shoulder holster. "Because by tomorrow morning, Victor Moretti won't be in a position to give orders to anyone."
"Boss... you're talking about overthrowing your own father," Marco whispered, awe and terror mixing in his voice.
"My father stole six years of my children's lives," Dominic said, his voice flat and lethal. "He’s lucky I don't burn his estate to the ground tonight. Stay in the car, Marco. Watch the street. If any Moretti cars turn the corner, kill the engines and notify me immediately."
"Yes, Boss."
Dominic stepped out of the vehicle, pulling his suit jacket over his head as he ran up the slick concrete steps of the apartment building. The hallway inside smelled of old radiator steam, boiled cabbage, and damp laundry—a stark contrast to the marble and gold of the Charles River conservatory.
He climbed the squeaky wooden stairs to the third floor, stopping in front of apartment 3B. A small, hand-painted wooden sign hung on the door: The Okonkwo-Vance Residence.
Dominic knocked softly.
Silence inside. Then, the soft sound of hesitant footsteps approaching the door.
"Who is it?" Clara’s voice called out, laced with deep anxiety.
"It’s Dominic, Clara. Open the door."
"Go away, Dominic! Please! Your father's men will find you here! They'll hurt the boys!"
"My father doesn't know this address yet," Dominic said, leaning his forehead against the cold wooden door frame. "And I have four armed guards patrolling the block. Clara... please. I dropped the ring. I left the conservatory. I walked away from the Barrett marriage."
A long silence followed. The faint click of three deadbolts unlocking echoed through the hallway.
The door opened three inches, held back by a brass security chain. Clara’s pale face appeared in the gap. She looked at him, taking in his wet hair, his ruined navy suit, and the raw, desperate sincerity in his dark eyes.
"You left Sloane Barrett?" she whispered.
"I left everything," Dominic said softly. "The family, the money, the territory. None of it means anything if my sons are growing up in a three-room apartment while I pretend to play prince of Back Bay. Let me in, Clara. Please."
Clara stared at him for a long, agonizing moment before slowly sliding the security chain out of its latch and opening the door wide.
Dominic stepped inside. The apartment was tiny—a small living room filled with secondhand furniture, a small kitchen with a mismatched dining table, and four small colorful backpacks lined up neatly against the wall. But it was clean, warm, and filled with the unmistakable scent of lavender and fresh-baked bread.
In the corner of the living room, sitting on a worn braided rug, were the four boys. They were wearing matching flannel pajamas, playing quietly with wooden train tracks.
When the front door closed, all four heads snapped up simultaneously. Four pairs of dark, intelligent eyes fixed onto Dominic.
The room went dead quiet.
Leo—the eldest, who had stepped on Dominic’s shoe at the restaurant—stood up slowly, holding a wooden locomotive in his small hand. He walked up to Dominic, stopping right in front of his long legs.
"Are you the man from the restaurant?" Leo asked, his brow furrowing in that familiar, stubborn crease.
Dominic dropped to both knees right there on the worn carpet, bringing himself level with the boy’s eye-line, completely unmindful of his wet, tailored trousers.
"I am," Dominic said softly, his voice trembling as he looked into his son's face up close.
"Why were you crying when you looked at us in the bathroom?" Julian, the second boy, asked, coming over to stand beside his brother.
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Dominic swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat so large it felt like swallowing glass. He reached out with a hand that had signed execution orders and held millions of dollars, his long fingers trembling as he gently touched Leo’s small shoulder.
"Because," Dominic whispered, tears filling his eyes as he looked from the boys to Clara, who was standing by the kitchen counter with her hands over her mouth, weeping silently. "Because I didn't know you existed... and finding you is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life."
