Chapter 13 - CHECKMATE
The rooftop was a windswept plateau of wet gravel and iron maintenance vents.
Rain whipped across the surface in wild, diagonal sheets.
The city lights below looked like distant, cold stars through the heavy fog.
In the center of the roof sat a luxury twin-engine helicopter, its rotor blades beginning to spin with a deafening, rhythmic chop.
The wind from the blades whipped my black silk dress violently around my legs.
Vincent was dragging a heavy leather duffel bag toward the helicopter’s open cabin door.
“Vincent!” Dominic yelled over the roar of the engines.
Vincent stopped.
He dropped the duffel bag onto the wet gravel.
Slowly, he turned around.
He held a semi-automatic pistol in his right hand.
The rotating blades cast strobing shadows across his mangled, terrified face.
“Stay back, Dominic!” Vincent screamed into the wind.
“I’m leaving! The money is gone! The cartel is dead! Just let me go!”
“You killed five men in my house, Vincent,” Dominic said, walking toward him through the rain.
“You burned my family’s name to the ground.”
“You allied with the man who tried to murder our father.”
“Our father was a coward!” Vincent shrieked.
“Our father died protecting this city from monsters like you,” Dominic countered.
Vincent raised his gun, leveling the barrel straight at Dominic’s chest.
“I don’t care about our father!” Vincent cried, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“I care about winning!”
Dominic didn't stop walking.
He kept closing the distance, step by deliberate step.
“Shoot me, then,” Dominic said softly.
His voice cut straight through the roar of the rotor blades.
“Look into my eyes and pull the trigger, little brother.”
Vincent’s hand began to shake violently.
Tears cut through the soot and blood on Vincent’s cheeks.
He had spent his entire life living in Dominic’s shadow.
He had spent his entire life trying to be the man Dominic was.
And now, standing face-to-face in the storm, the truth was laid bare:
Vincent was just a frightened boy with a stolen gun.
“Damn you, Dominic,” Vincent sobbed.
His knuckle turned white against the trigger.
I didn't wait for him to shoot.
I pulled the small .38 revolver from the pocket of Dominic’s wool cape that hung over my shoulders.
I leveled it with both hands.
I didn't aim for his head.
I aimed for his knee.
I pulled the trigger.
The shot cracked sharp and clean over the sound of the helicopter.
The round shattered Vincent’s right kneecap.
Vincent screamed in agony, his leg buckling instantly beneath him.
His gun flew from his trembling fingers, skittering across the wet gravel and falling over the edge of the roof into the sixty-story abyss below.
Vincent collapsed into the puddles, clutching his shattered leg, weeping like a broken child.
Dominic stopped two feet away.
He looked down at his brother.
There was no victory in Dominic’s eyes.
No satisfaction.
Only a profound, exhausting sadness.
Dominic knelt in the rain beside him.
He reached out with his good hand and placed it on the back of Vincent’s neck.
“The Russo name ends with us, Vincent,” Dominic whispered into his brother’s ear.
“No more blood.”
“No more lies.”
Sirens wailed from the streets below, a symphony of flashing blue lights surrounding the entire block.
The helicopter pilot cut the engines, raising his hands through the cockpit window in surrender.
Special Agent Catherine Vance stepped onto the roof from the stairwell door, flanked by six armed federal agents.
Her weapon was lowered.
She looked at Vincent weeping in the rain.
Then she looked at Dominic.
“It’s over, Dominic,” Agent Vance said quietly.
Dominic stood up slowly.
He raised his uninjured right hand in the air.
“I surrender to federal custody, Agent Vance,” Dominic said.
“No,” Agent Vance replied, stepping forward.
She pulled a certified document from her coat pocket.
“Under Title 18, Section 3521 of the United States Code, Dominic Russo has been granted full federal immunity for cooperating in the dismantling of the Bianchi syndicate.”
She handed the document to Dominic.
“Your father atoned for his sins thirty years ago, Dominic.”
“Tonight, you finished the job.”
She looked at me, a rare, genuine smile softening her stern face.
“And the Harrison estate has been fully restored to its rightful heir.”
Agent Vance turned to her men.
“Take Vincent Russo into custody.”
Two agents moved in, lifting Vincent by his arms and dragging him toward the stairs.
The roof fell silent.
Only the rain remained, falling gently on our faces.
Dominic turned to me.
The wind blew his dark hair across his forehead.
He looked tired, bruised, and completely free.
He walked over to where I stood, stopping an inch from my face.
“Mia,” he whispered.
“Dominic,” I answered softly.
He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped my cheek.
His skin was warm against the cold rain.
“You shot him,” Dominic murmured, wonder in his voice.
“He was going to kill you,” I said, leaning into his palm.
“I couldn't let him do that.”
“Why?” Dominic asked, his gray eyes searching mine with raw vulnerability.
“Because if you died,” I whispered, “I would never get to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“That I don’t belong to you, Dominic Russo.”
A slow, breathtaking smile broke across his rugged lips.
May you like
“I know,” he said softly.
“I belong to you.”
