Chapter 6 - SHADOWS IN THE CATSKILLS
“They tracked the truck,” Leo said, his voice flat with exhaustion.
The heavy thumping of the helicopter grew louder.
It hovered low over the treeline along the Hudson River Parkway.
“Take the logging exit,” Dominic commanded.
Leo swung the heavy wheel.
The delivery truck bounced violently onto an unpaved gravel trail cutting deep into the pine forest.
Branches scraped against the roof like screaming claws.
Mud sprayed against the wheel wells.
The helicopter banked hard to the left, circling above the canopy.
“They can’t land in the dense timber,” Dominic said, his eyes scanning the tree line.
“They’ll rope down on the private access road two miles ahead.”
“How far to the house?” I asked, gripping the dashboard.
“One mile,” Dominic said.
The truck crested a rocky ridge and plunged into a secluded valley.
Nestled between two granite cliffs stood a low, sprawling lodge built of dark river stone and heavy cedar logs.
It looked like an ancient fortress buried in the woods.
Leo slammed the truck to a stop beneath an overhang of heavy pine branches.
“Engine off,” Dominic whispered.
The diesel engine died with a shudder.
The forest fell silent, save for the steady patter of rain on the pine needles.
“Leo, take the perimeter rifles from the gun safe in the root cellar,” Dominic instructed.
“Set the seismic sensors along the gravel path.”
“Understood, boss,” Leo grunted, climbing down from the cab.
Dominic turned to me.
“Let’s go.”
He took my arm, his grip firm but gentle.
We ran through the rain toward the heavy oak front door of the lodge.
Dominic entered a six-digit code on an iron keypad concealed behind a piece of decorative slate.
The heavy door unlatched with a dull hydraulic hiss.
Inside, the air smelled of dry cedar, cold ash, and old wool blankets.
Dominic locked the deadbolts and pulled the heavy velvet curtains across every window.
The room was plunged into gloom.
I stood in the center of the great room, dripping wet.
My boots left dark water stains on the wide-plank wood floor.
Dominic walked to a large fieldstone hearth and grabbed a wool blanket from an armchair.
He stepped toward me and draped it over my shoulders.
His hands lingered on the heavy fabric near my neck.
“You’re shivering,” he said softly.
“I’m not cold,” I replied.
He looked down at me.
His face was lined with cuts, exhaustion, and shadows.
“I’m sorry, Mia.”
The apology was simple.
Direct.
It didn't sound like a mafia boss.
It sounded like a man standing in the wreckage of his own life.
“An apology doesn't bring my grandfather back,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“And it doesn't erase the eight months I spent wondering why you never let me leave without a shadow behind me.”
Dominic looked away, his jaw tightening.
“My father was a monster,” Dominic said quietly.
“He built an empire out of extortion, fire, and dead men’s bones.”
He walked over to the dark hearth, staring into the cold black stones.
“When he died four years ago, I swore I would clean the blood off the Russo name.”
“I started liquidating the illegal rackets.”
“I moved our capital into shipping, real estate, and legitimate maritime logistics.”
He turned back to face me.
“Vincent hated me for it.”
“Vincent wanted the violence. He wanted the fear.”
“And when he found out about your grandfather’s hidden trust, he saw his chance to take everything back.”
I looked at him across the shadowed room.
“The trust isn't just money, is it?” I asked.
Dominic narrowed his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
I opened my hand.
The tiny black micro-SD card lay in the center of my palm.
“I found this inside the ledger binding,” I said.
Dominic stepped forward, his eyes locking onto the tiny piece of plastic.
“Arthur Thorne’s secondary encryption,” he breathed.
“Your father didn't just steal the money, Dominic,” I said, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“He recorded every meeting.”
“Every payout.”
“Every dirty judge, every corrupt FBI agent, and every politician on the syndicate’s payroll.”
I took a step toward him.
“This card doesn't just destroy Vincent.”
“It destroys Gabriel Bianchi.”
“And if the federal government gets it, it destroys you, Dominic.”
Before he could answer, the red alarm console on the wall chimed softly.
A high-pitched tone that repeated every two seconds.
On the small monitor screen, a thermal heat signature appeared near the perimeter gate.
Six armed men in tactical gear were moving through the mist toward the front porch.
And walking behind them was Gabriel Bianchi.
A megaphone crackled from the driveway.
May you like
Gabriel’s cultured voice echoed through the rain:
“Dominic! Send the girl out with the ledger, and I’ll let you die like a gentleman!”
